Monday, November 2, 2009
When we first started talking Halloween at my house both of my kids knew in an instant that they wanted to be pirates. No bribing, pleading or begging on my part could change their minds. I wanted Olive to be a spider and truthfully, I was fine with Rex being a pirate. Pirates have hooks, carry swords and guns, and wear lots of skulls. In the eyes of a three-year-old boy there is nothing cooler than a pirate.
As I discussed costume options with Olive she informed me that she is a princess everyday, so for Halloween she was going to be a pirate. At the ripe old age of two, that girl already knows her place in the world. She is a princess in every sense of the word. At the last minute, our highness changed her mind. At 3pm on Halloween, she informed me she was going to be a witch and that was final. Lately, in my opinion a witch is very fitting for this little princess.
We enjoyed a weekend in Pocatello trunk or treating with my brothers kids and visiting old friends and family. On Sunday, we celebrated my mom's birthday. Always a good time.
As far as the candy stash at our house. My kids made a huge haul, however, they are still small enough that they will never realize that all the Kit Kats are gone. Ahhh the Kit Kat heaven in an orange wrapper.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
As a teenager, all I wanted in life was a Volkswagen bus. To me, they epitomized all things cool. I dreamed of the day I would own an Old English sheepdog that could ride around with me in my eagle-nosed, 23 window VW bus. Then I met my husband. He told me that although they might look great, their engines were crap. Not one to be told what to do, I completely ignored him. I ran out and bought a 1998 VW beetle to tide me over until the day I could own my own bus. Although new, just like the old bugs, my cute like VW was a money pit that never ran right. After months of dumping a ton of money into repairs, I finally traded it in for an all to reliable Ford. To this day, however, ever time I pass a VW bus something in me aches for one of my own....
In other news... The swine flu is not just some vicious rumor. It is all to real and totally terrible. I speak from experience and I speak for all of us. The nightmare started about a month ago. Actually, the story begins the day Lola was born and Richard's throat started to hurt. By that night Richard and I both felt horrible. If we had been smart we would have been proactive and put some masks on around our wee ones, but we weren't...lesson learned. Two weeks after Lola was born, we were sitting on our couch one Saturday afternoon recovering from what we thought was terrible cold and flu. As Lola lay by me on the couch, I mentioned to Richard that her breathing seemed really fast and really shallow. I decide to do a little investigating on Web MD to see if I should be worried about her breathing. As I surfed the Internet, I happened to look over at her laying on the couch and saw that she had turned completely blue. I picked her up and her head flopped backwards. There was no breathing and I felt no pulse. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. All reason left my mind, and I completely freaked out. I believed that Lola was dead. Richard raced to my side already on the phone with 911 and holding the baby bulb nose syringe. He grabbed her, suctioned out her throat and nose, and then began to give her CPR. I could not believe what I was seeing. I could hear myself still screaming as the ambulance pulled up to the front of our house. Rex and Olive came to the front room to see what was going on. They saw the paramedics all kneeling over what appeared to be their dead baby sister lying on the floor.
Moments before they arrived, Richard had gotten her to take a small breath on her own. Immediately, they put her on oxygen and put us in the ambulance. We rode to the hospital, where just twelve days earlier she had been born. It was the worse 20 minutes of my life. I thought I had lived through hell before with the things we have experienced with Olive, but nothing could prepare me for the feelings of terror I had when I thought I was holding my dead child. By the time we had reached the hospital, Lola's oxygen saturation levels had reached 40%. I was worried that she might have suffered brain damage. (They tell me now, that she shows no signs of brain injury.)
Hours later we found ourselves sitting in the PICU (pediatric intensive care unit) Our baby was finally diagnosed with double pneumonia most likely caused by H1N1. Her lungs were almost completely filled with fluid which had caused her to tire out struggling to breathe. This resulted in her respiratory arrest. For the next two weeks Lola was kept in isolation in the ICU as she underwent intensive respiratory treatments and medication to heal her little body. Born at a whooping 10 pounds, she dropped nearly two pounds during her stay. Today she weighed in at 10 lbs 4 oz. At two months of age she has only gained 4 ounces more that her birth weight. This is a terrible way to start life here on earth and I don't recommend it. After 14 days in the hospital, we were finally allowed to bring our Lola home.
While in the hospital Lola was diagnosed with a heart condition called Wolf-Parkinson-White. This is a condition in which the electrical pathway of the heart can short circuit causing the heart to beat abnormally fast, never allowing the heart to rest between beats. This condition was discovered one night when Lola's heart beat reached 250 beats minute. She now is on a medication that controls her heart rate with the hopes that as she gets older her heart will repair itself. If it does not then a relatively simple heart surgery (as if any heart surgery is simple) can fix the problem.
So, we bring her home thinking that things could finally get back to normal. We were wrong. Three days later, a trip to our pediatrician revealed that both Rex and Olive had the swine flu, and Richard and I were suffering from another strain of influenza. We masked up and called my mother. She came and took Lola to Pocatello where she stayed for the next ten days. The rest of us sweated through 103.5 degree fevers and coughed all over each other. As of today, Lola is her to stay. She is 8 weeks old, and I have only lived with her for 3 weeks. I feel like we are just now being introduced. She is darling. The rest of us are also feeling better. Olive barley dodged the bullet of having to be hospitalized with her swine flu. She began suffering severe dehydration from all of her vomiting. Luckily, her anti-nausea chemo pills got her vomiting under control, until she was able to keep some fluid in. I write this now feeling confident enough to say that we are all finally feeling better.
Richard and I have started to joke that our children are like my beloved VW buses. They are darling to look at but their motors are crap and they are always in need of repair.
In all seriousness, I have to end this post by giving all the credit to my husband. In my greatest moment of need he was there to save the day, and save Lola's life. I know that if I had been home alone that day, the ending of this story would be very different. He saved her life. I watched him do it. As I stood there totally helpless, he breathed life back into my baby. Days before, I might have brought her into this world, but he gets all of the credit for keeping her here in it. Richard, I love you, and everyday I thank God for you. Thank you for saving my baby.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The last month of any pregnancy is always the longest. Everyday that you wake-up, even though your due date is still weeks away, you can't help but wonder if today is the day. From the way I looked, it seemed I had passed my due date months ago. In the beginning of August, I began to tell strangers that I was due any minute with twins. In reality, I had until the 9th of September before the big day, and my doctor had no intention of inducing me any earlier than the 2nd of September. I was dying. Every bone in my body hurt. Each day I hoped and strategized how to go into labor early, and every night I went to bed still very pregnant and very uncomfortable. Every morning as I complained to my mom she would tell me, "It will happen when you are not thinking about it." This statement would prove to be oh so true.
Then it happened. Something broke, and it wasn't my water, it was Olive's thumb. Days earlier, we had noticed that Olive's thumb had swelled to twice the size of the other. However, she never showed any signs of discomfort or pain, and she continued to use it like always. We called her doctor who worried it might be a blood clot caused by her central line. He had us admit her to the hospital Sunday morning to run several scans and x-rays on her hand. After several MRIs they determined it wasn't a clot, and an X-ray of her finger showed that it had been broken. They drew some blood labs to test for any infection that might have settled into the joint, and told us to return to the doctor Monday morning. I scheduled her an appointment to immediately follow my weekly checkup with my doctor.
At this point in my pregnancy, my appointments have become quite bit more involved. At each visit, the doctor must determine how far I am dilated and how soon I might deliver. This involves some compromising positioning that I felt my two toddlers did not need to see. I had my friend Kelly Whitlock meet me at the doctor's office so she could watch my kids for me while I saw the doctor. As I pulled up to the hospital, she was standing in the parking lot waiting for us to arrive. She came over to help me unload the kids from the van. As I bent over to help Rex get out, my plans for the day completely changed. Within seconds, I was standing in a huge puddle of water, and I knew I hadn't wet my pants. There was no doubt, my water had broke. I was completely unprepared. My mom had been right, I was not planning on this at all. I could only think about how my house was a mess, and I still hadn't packed my hospital bag despite all my mom's warnings.
Kelly helped the kids and I slosh up to my doctors office. I was like Hansel and Gretel leaving a little trail of goo behind me everywhere I went. It was completely disgusting and I even left a puddle in the elevator. For this I apologize. I walked into the office, the doctor took a quick look at me, and told me this baby would be here by 4:00. They then sent me across the parking lot to St. Luke's to get my self admitted. By now, everything I was wearing was completely soaked. The most unfortunate part of the whole scene was the white cotton skirt I had chosen to wear that day. It could not have been a pretty picture. On our way down the elevator, Rex actually slipped and fell in the puddle I had left on our way up. I felt sorry for anyone who had to be around any of us.
By this point it was 10:15 in the morning. I called Richard and told him he had to come to the doctor's immediately. Olive still needed to go to her broken finger appointment, and then he needed to take the kids to Kam's house to stay. I then called my Mom to tell her to get her little self over here to Boise ASAP. I planned on her only needing 3 hours to get here from Pocatello, except she wasn't in Pocatello she was in Island Park. According to my calculations, the baby was going to get here before she did.
At a quarter to 11, Richard showed up and took the kids into Olive's appointment (sure enough her thumb is broken, but shows no sign of infection). Meanwhile, Kelly took me over to the hospital to help me get admitted. After filling out all the paperwork and donning a hospital gown by 11:45 I was hooked up to monitors receiving pitocin and having full fledged labor pains. By 1:00 I had them give me an epidural. By 1:10 I started to worry that Richard was going to miss the entire blessed event. At 1:15 he arrived and I expressed concern that I was feeling way to much pain for having had an epidural. They told me my legs should feel numb and heavy, they did not. They told me I would have a warm, fuzzy feeling, and my feelings were far from warm and fuzzy. The contractions started coming fast and hard and so did the pain. I felt everything. By 2:30 it was time to push, but Dr. Werdel had not yet arrived. They then told me to not push. Wait..What?!
Flying to the moon would have been easier. At the last minute my doc finally arrived.
Here is where my version of the story and Richard's version differ dramatically. I believe I then spent the next forty to forty five minutes fighting for my life and believing the end of my body as I once knew it was near. It was the worst pain of my life. I was sweaty and screaming "ouchy ouchy ouch!" until my little girl was born. Richard claims that I only pushed for eight minutes, swearing at the top of my lungs the whole time. Regardless, at 2:57 pm on August 31, 2009 little Lola Linly Ashcraft made her grand entrance. She was good and ready to arrive weighing in at 10 pounds and 20 inches long. Her name had been a source of debate for Richard and I for approximately 8 1/2 months. I loved it immediately. He was never sure. The un-medicated labor must have convinced him I was right. It is a beautiful name. Linly is a combination of Richard's mom , Kelly, and my mom, Linda's names combined.
We are home now, and it still blows my mind that I am a mother of three. No one has every even determined whether I should be a parent at all. Once home, it still feels surreal that I have another little girl, yet at the same time she seems such a natural and obvious part of our family. I hope you enjoy the pictures. The one of me on the hospital bed is the only one I ever took pregnant. It was obviously taken before the pain began. The ones of Rex and Olive are my favorite. They have taken to Lola in such an adorable way, and are always very interested in where she is and how she is doing. It is darling. For now, things to me feel just as the should: chaotic, messy, loud and exhausting. In other words, completely perfect.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
For two months, every other night, Richard stood on the scale holding Maggie. It was my job to determine if they had gained any weight. Indeed they had. The reason for this ritual...a suspected canine pregnancy.
A few weeks earlier Richard was able to track down a stud sheepdog here in Boise. Within days, a large, Old English Sheepdog named Napoleon was roaming around my backyard. He however, seemed completely uninterested in little Miss Magpie May (our dog Maggie). She didn't seem to care too much for him either. We did our best to help them form a relationship; taking them on doggy dates and giving them treats to share. Then we kept our fingers crossed. For 2 and 1/2 weeks these two were left to nature's mating devices, and some helpful encouragement from Richard and I. By the time Napoleon went back home, we were hopeful Maggie was pregnant. Nonetheless, we were completely unsure if our match making had been successful.
June 3rd, we decided that Richard needed to lay off the potato chips and ice cream because all the weight gain had been his. According to our calculations, if we were going to be grandparents to some puppy loving, it would have occurred by now. Two days later, while cruising the Costco, I got a frantic call from Richard. Maggie was having puppies. I had been out running errands when Maggie had started giving birth. By the time Rich arrived home for work, she had birthed three puppies in the backyard. By two o'clock in the morning, Maggie was the mama to three females and five male puppies. It was quite the event, and Richard and I were up all night warming the pups, cutting umbilical cords, helping Maggie nurse, and cleaning up the mess of having puppies. I loved every minute of it. It was really quite amazing.
Our largest pup weighed 11 ounces. The smallest was only about 6. They were no bigger than a can of soda. All of them have steadily increased in size, and are now well over five pounds each. Rex has already picked out his favorite, a little boy with a black eye patch he calls Roscoe. The plan, however, is to sell them and get some bills paid before my baby arrives.
I look like I am ready to deliver any minute, which is what I tell people when the ask how much longer I have. The conversations are much easier and less painful then hearing them tell me I look like I will never make it 6 more weeks, or if I am sure there is only one in there. However, the heat of the dog days of summer our killing me. Maybe they are right...I might not make it six more weeks.
In the meantime, Richard has created a little puppy blog. You can see all sorts of darling puppy pictures at http://oldenglishsheepdogpuppies.blogspot.com. If you, or anyone else you know is interested in puppies, I know some that are available for purchase.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Wow...it has been a really long time. Is anyone still out there? Am I still here? These are all good questions. I can't believe five weeks have passed since I last checked in. A lot of stuff (not all of it fun) has been going on around here. As a result, my motivation level for doing anything more than some basic hygiene rituals and cooking some macaroni and cheese have plummeted.
We just returned form LA where Richard and I spent the weekend attended the unexpected funeral of his uncle Kent. Kent and Harold (Richard's dad, and Kent's brother) have been business partners and neighbors for the past 21 years. Between the two of them they have helped each other raise the 13 kids that exist within the two families. Needless to say, they are all very close.
Last week, while hiking with one of his sons in the Sierra mountains, Kent fell to his untimely death. It has really shaken the entire family. Richard, who had hiked with Kent on numerous occasions knew right where he fell. It has been one of those occasions that really make you stop and take inventory of your own life.
Tomorrow I hope to get back into the swing of things. In the meantime, potty training continues...Rex is great about not wetting his pants...BUT, when I can't find him, I know he is in a closet somewhere pooping them. Apparently he has no shame about pooping all over the face of his beloved Spongebob underroos.
As for Olive, she is finally growing some teeth. Chemo has slowed the growth, and she has had the same 6 teeth she had a year ago. However, today I spotted the edges of three new pearly whites.
For little baby Ashcraft, our ultrasound went great. All the parts are in the right spots. That is always a relief. We did not find out what we are having, but after much debate we have finally settled on some names. If the baby is a boy, his name will be Ike Earl Ashcraft. If it is a girl, after the elimination of Lola, Dot, Ivy, Phoebe and Cricket we have decided her name will be Violet Camille. Personally, I think it is a girl.
One more side note, I might not be the only one pregnant in this household. Richard has attempted to breed Maggie with a dog named Napoleon. Since this is a family friendly blog page, and my mother is easily embarrassed, I will not go into details. However, It makes for a great story, that I do enjoy telling, so if you ever want to know, just ask.
As for now, I am off to brush my teeth and call it a day, but I promise to return before the end of the month.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Being a grown up is completely overrated. Once upon a time, my life was my own. I pretty much spent my time thinking, doing and being whatever I wanted. Then I became a grown-up, and by that I mean homeowner, tax payer, wife and mother.
As an eight year old, all I wanted was to decide for myself when I would go to bed. I hated nothing more than hearing my friends outside playing on those long, summer nights while my mother enforced our rigid eight o'clock bedtime. Currently, I am thinking about upping the kids' bed time to 7:30 because by 7:00 I need a nap. By 9:00, I have fallen asleep on the couch. Around 11:30 my husband usually tells me to go to bed. This always makes me mad. Doesn't he know I am a grown-up. I will decide when my bedtime is.
As an eighteen year old I realized just how much the government was taking from my paychecks. Taxes have been lame ever since.
By the age of 28, I thought I had done my share of dating and living on my own. I was ready to be a wife and mother. I started with wife hood. At first, it was weird making life decisions with someone else's input. Then I became a mother. My kids dictate everything now. Don't be fooled parents are not in charge. 2 and 3 year olds are in charge. They decide when we eat, sleep and even go to the bathroom.
Speaking of bathrooms, currently we are in the midst of potty training. I fully believe it should be called parent training. In the past week, I have learned to drop anything and everything when Rex indicates, either verbally or with his 'I gotta go' dance, that he needs to use the bathroom. I have decided that often times he fakes like he has to go just for entertainment sake. He likes seeing what he can get me to stop doing at a moments notice, including using the bathroom myself.
In addition to helping him up on the potty forty to fifty times a day, he has trained me not to yell about wet spots on the carpet or poopy SpongeBob underwear. This is parent training at its finest.
Originally, my plan was to send Rex to the first grade still wearing a diaper. I figured he would come home one day completely embarrassed, and tell me that all the other kids were wearing under-roos and he was ready to join them. I would tell him to quit wetting his pants and the whole process would take about five minutes. This plan is no joke and I had every intention of following it. Then my mother intervened.
We were talking on the phone early one morning when Rex walked in carrying a clean diaper. He informed me that he was stinky and needed his diaper changed. My mother could not believe what she was hearing and insisted that he was ready to be potty trained. He might have been ready, but I was not. I figured my mom lived three hours away, and couldn't force me to do anything. The next day she showed up at my house with a box of pull-ups and about twenty pairs of Elmo and Buzz Light Year underwear.
Rex was as excited as I was about this potty business. He was furious about not having a diaper. We put his little underwear on and he ran around the house screaming at the top of his lungs. in the meantime, Olive came wandering in with a pair of his underwear pulled on over the top of her diaper. As my mom and I debated whether I should train both of the kids at the same time, Rex came running in completely naked and carrying a diaper. I asked him where his underwear were but he refused to talk. A search around the entire house, and I could not find his underwear anywhere.
By seven that night, both Rex and I were exhausted from a day of crying our eyes out and wetting our pants. Olive was still wearing Rex's underwear, which only made Rex even more upset every time he saw her. That night as I got the kids ready for bed, we both gave a sigh of relief when I strapped his diaper on under his pajamas. As I tucked Rex into bed, I found his missing underwear. They were wadded up and shoved under his blankets at the foot of his bed.
In a little over a week, Rex has gotten very good at using the potty. I have decided that maybe Olive can be potty trained before the first grade as well. With my change in attitude and Rex's potty time achievements, I would even go as far as to say that the potty/parent training has been a success.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
If the collar looks like it is on wrong...it's because it is. Her Dad was in charge of getting her ready for bed.
Even Olive knows her dad has screwed up.
For those of you keeping track, the calendar has rolled over four times since Olive's last trip down to Primary Children Medical Center. Every 3-4 months, Olive's brain stem and spinal cord are scanned to monitor and measure the growth and stability of her tumor. Each time Richard and I head down to SLC, I am overcome with dread. Never, have we left with great news. All but once, has the scan showed that Olive was in need of immediate tumor removal surgery. This past October, we received the best news of the entire year, when they told us that chemo had stabilized her tumor and it had not grown. That had been the best news until now....
This past Thursday, as I was sitting in the very same chair in the very same waiting room where I first heard of the news of my baby's tumor, I felt has if I had spent a lifetime in that chair. Yet I felt as unprepared for whatever news they were going to give me has I had over a year and a half ago.
The Doctor called my name. I couldn't get up. the doctor came over and told me he needed to discuss the results of the scan with me. I held my breath. He asked my if I had a followup appointment with our neurosurgeon and my heart stopped. Then he said, "It appears that the tumor is shrinking." For a moment the world stopped spinning and time stood still. This was news we had been told we might never receive.
I had drawn the attention of all the other waiting parents in the room. All eyes were on me watching this miracle unfold there in that same terrible waiting room where this whole thing had started. The same type of parents who some 18 months ago looked away as they heard the news of my baby's tumor at the same time I did. The parents who last time were secretly glad that the news was mine and not theirs. The parents who wanted to comfort me, but didn't know how, or knew that there was no comfort they could offer. This time the parents all came to hug and congratulate me. To join in the celebration I was having. Everyone knew this was a miracle.
When we meet with Dr. Brockmeyer he too was stunned by the results. Olive's tumor which at one time was over several inches long had been reduced to 8mm through the course of surgery. Although relatively tiny, this group of small cells still posed a huge risk. They have the potential to rapidly divide and grow if not destroyed. Her scan shows that since October, her tumor has shrunk by 2mm. Only about 1/12 of an inch, but it is smaller. We are headed the right direction if only 2mm at a time. Inch by 1/12 of an inch Olive is going to kick cancer's butt.
Other good news included a hearing test that came back normal. Worried that her chemo drugs could be causing hearing loss, Olive's hearing has to be monitored as well. Things sound great. In addition, her collar is doing a great job at keeping her spinal cord well aligned. With missing vertebrate, the weight of Olive's head could cause curvature of her neck and spine. All looks good.
God is answering our prayers. Thank you for your constant faith. Even when my faith might waver,and I am too tired to pray. I know that God is still listening to all of your prayers, and I am strengthened to know that.
On a side note my Mom and I decided to fly out to Colorado with my kids and visit my sister. We are spending a week in Pueblo and having a great time. The kids love cousin Ruby and have had fun having sleepovers every night for a week. Getting back to real life will be a bummer. For now I say, "Let them eat cake."
Saturday, January 31, 2009
As a teenager, I hated babysitting. I really did. I didn't do a whole lot of it, and when I did, frankly, it just wasn't worth the money. I was the fourth of five children, and my little sister is just two years younger than I am. As a result, I came into motherhood with very limited experience around children. To compensate for my lack of exposure to wee ones, I became addicted to parenting books. I read all the advice these books had to offer. I took most of it to heart, and put some of it into practice. However, no where in all the books and magazines I have read, did anyone ever make mention of, or give warning to all the smells of motherhood.
A few days ago, I found myself watching an episode of Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe. For those of you who don't know, this show follows the host, Mike, around the country filming him doing various filthy and stinky jobs. At the end of the episode Mike than makes a pitch to the viewing audience to send in suggestions for future episodes. As a mother of two small toddlers, I wondered... how has Mike never done an episode on childcare? This has to be one of the dirtiest, stinkiest jobs on the planet.
There is no need to even discuss the obvious sources of foul odors that little children can produce. It is the unexpected sources of stink that each new parent quickly discovers. One of the worst offenders: neglected and lost bottles or sippy cups of milk. Egads, the thought alone makes me shiver. The smell of curdled milk is unmistakable. Once you have been exposed, you instantly know the scent once it hits your nostrils. The other day I detected a faint odor of bad milk in my house. I knew I had to find the offending cup before the situation became worse. I crawled around my entire house on my hands and knees looking for the wayward bottle. I looked under beds, in the couch cushions, in all the toy boxes. I searched under chairs and tables, I threw back the cover of each child's bed. Despite all my efforts I could not find the milk.
The smell grew stronger and seemed to come form the area of the kitchen/living room. I searched again and still no luck. I asked Rex and Olive where they had put their cups. Rex looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and said the fridge. I can tell you this much. This milk was not in the fridge. The smell grew slightly worse. By day five, I could no longer smell the milk. Once out of sight (or smell) it quickly became forgotten.
Yesterday, I decided to clean up my kitchen and the kids play area in our dining room. Over in the corner is the kids play food, grocery cart and kitchen set. On a whim, I decided to open all the doors and cupboards of their little kitchen. I opened the door to the little fridge and inside was a stray sippy cup. Right where Rex had told me it was. When I picked up the cup it actually felt heavy. I gave it a little shake and it was completely solid. Curious to the contents, I decided to look inside. The lid wouldn't even budge. The rotten, molded milk had cemented the cap onto the cup. I hesitated to try a little harder. Maybe a new form of cancer curing penicillin lay inside the cup. As I was debating, Olive wondered by and from her wafted an all to familiar and offending smell. The cure for cancer would have to wait. My kid's diaper was working over time and this was one smell that doesn't get better with time. As for Dirty Jobs; Mike Rowe, I challenge you to the dirtiest of all jobs...parenthood. You are welcome here anytime.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
An ultrasond showing a teeny, tiny, gummy-bear sized baby.
Look! I have a bun in the oven.
After three pregnancy tests, I was convinced that I might be pregnant.
Rex and Olive dress up and dance for joy.
With each test I take, the big, blue, plus sign seems more and more undeniable. It has been confirmed. For me, kissing can result in pregnancy. According to the ultrasound, our new bundle of joy is due to arrive on 09-09-09. This pregnancy occurred in record time. 12 days after deciding to start trying for another kid, we were pregnant. For the record, we didn't even find time for each other more than a couple times. So, it is almost unbelievable. I almost feel cheated. We didn't get to try for very long. With Rex, we were pregnant in 17 days, and with Olive, I was on birth control when I got pregnant. Richard and I don't even dare wash our underwear together unless we are sure we are ready for more kids. I guess we are ready. If the baby is a boy, chances are his name will be Ike Earl Ashcraft. If it is a girl, I love the name Lola, and Richard likes Tess, so her name will probably be Ivy Camille Ashcraft.
As for Olive,her white blood counts have been horribly low all month and her bone marrow is struggling to recover. She was scheduled for chemo last Friday, but her counts were short by 520. Yesterday, my birthday plans included a day with my daughter at the cancer clinic. We arrived shortly after 8:30, by 10:15 we were home again. Olive's white blood counts are 60 cells too low. We are hoping she will be eligible by Wednesday. What does all this delay mean? Medically, I am not sure. Olive will probably have to start receiving daily injections to stimulate her bone marrow. For me, it means we won't be done with chemo until after the new baby arrives. Not ideal, but what can you do.
As for Rex, he doesn't want a baby brother, or a new girl baby. I hate to break it to him, but there is no turning back now, boy or girl, a new baby is coming.