Tag Archives: birthday

happy third birthday, sweet boy.

Happy third birthday, my sweet little boy.

I can’t believe we’re already celebrating one more year of your beautiful life. Looking back on the last year, I truly cannot believe how much you’ve changed. You’re like, a real person now! A silly, stubborn, curious, bold, and oh so very loveable person. A person that I can have conversations with and go on adventures with. A person that makes me laugh so hard without even trying. A person that I grow more in love with every single day.

The past year has been full of adventures for our family. Big adventures…. a new sister, saying goodbye to Portland and all your friends, moving, moving again, and then again. And you’ve handled everything like a champ, just rolling with the punches. You’ve amazed me, kid. To be honest, it’s been a tough year for me with all the changes that we’ve faced. But through it all, you have been the one thing that has kept me grounded. You have been my place of comfort amidst a whole lot of chaos. You have reminded me that no matter where we are in this world, in this life, that our family is my home. And I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.

This past year has also been full of dinosaurs. My god, you love dinosaurs. And animals. And going to the park. And the zoo. And mac and cheese and “special treats”. You love dancing. And playing t-ball in our backyard. You absolutely love reading stories. You love bath time. And swimming. And going for walks. You love watching shows and movies. And the popcorn that goes along with them. (You got that from me, kid. You’re welcome.) You love that you’ve learned to stand up when you pee. (I wish you loved aiming too.) And your stuffed animals. You love bubbles. You love spending time with our families. And meeting new people. (They’re so lucky.)

You completely adore your papa. You have mixed feelings about your sister, but you sure do love making her laugh. And for whatever crazy reason… you seem to love me a whole dang lot. I can’t even tell how much I love you back.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again a million times, I’m so lucky to be your mama. Happy birthday, my guy.

 

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birthday letter year 2


happy second birthday, toddler guy.

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Happy second birthday, my beautiful baby guy.  I can’t even tell you how much I’ve loved year 2 of Crosby.  It’s been easily, hands-down, 100%, the best year of my life.  If I had one wish right now, it’d be to keep you at this age forever.  But today isn’t about my wishes, it’s about yours!  What are your birthday wishes, sweet boy?  If I had my guess, I’d say you’re wishing for… a “strawberry snack” (sliced strawberries), your “blanketandphi” (blanket + pacifier), a trip to the zoo, an episode (or 5) of Daniel Tiger, followed by a book reading marathon, a lengthy game of jumping up and down, and an ice cream cone.  I promise, I’ll do my best to grant as many of those wishes as possible today.

This year we’ve gotten to see so much more of your wonderful, sweet, silly personality.  I love that you call everyone your friends, I love that you say goodbye to everything: people, animals, objects, places…, I love your pure excitement when at the end of the night we talk about all the things we did that day, I love your ability to drop everything when you hear an airplane from a million miles away, I LOVE that you reach for my hand to hold, I love your sweet manners, I love your aggressive tickles… I just really freaking love you, kid.  And I absolutely adore being your mama.

I can’t wait to celebrate you today and smother you with one million kisses.  Happy second birthday, bubba!

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31.

IMG_8206This post is a week overdue but I still feel the need to put it to paper.  Errr…. to interwebs.  You know what they say, if you don’t blog about it, it didn’t actually happen.  True story.

Anyways, I turned 31 last weekend!  I don’t know why I’m !exclaiming! that because at this point it’s not something I feel the need to brag about.  Remember when Casey turned 31 and he had this whole theory about how you’re not really “in your 30’s” until you turn 31? And then I made fun of him?  Per usual.  And now… I totally understand where he’s coming from.  It’s all fun and games until you turn 31.  Is my new motto.  No it’s not.  I’m actually totally fine with it, but I do get what he’s saying now.

I had such a fun birthday weekend.  Well, birthday week, really.  If this birthday had a theme, I would say it was pampering.

Wait, is it just me or does the word “pampering” conjure up a completely different image after having a kid?  I mean, I’m assuming that’s how Pampers got their name, right?  I don’t like it.  Waa.  Excuse me while I go thesaurus an alternative word.

OK, I’m back.  Let’s try this again.  If this birthday had a theme, I would say it was mollycoddling.  (<— lol wut.)  Throughout the course of the week, I got a mani/pedi with one of my besties, I got my hair did, and my mom took me to get a facial and massage.   Plus, just having my mom here meant I barely had to cook, I barely had to change a diaper, I got treats and coffees and free time to do things like take a nap and take a toddler-free shower.  See!  I was mollycoddled!   Best part of all of it was the fact that my mom was here.  She’s the queen of making people feel special on their birthdays.  Decorations, cakes, gifts and cards, free babysitting.  She’s the very very best.

On my birthday night, Casey took me to dinner at a place where the servers use that little scraper thing that wipes up crumbs in between each course.  AKA fancy.  It was so freaking good, we’re convinced we cleaned our plates better than any other person that ate there that night.  We had a serious conversation about how they probably brought our plates back to the kitchen and were like, oh these are clean, did anyone even eat on them? we don’t even need to wash them.  Basically we were the King and Queen of the clean plate club, is what I’m trying to say.

And yes, that’s a whole paragraph on how much we ate at dinner.  It’s an exciting life we lead.

It was such a great birthday, and I’m so thankful to have such a wonderful family and friends to help me celebrate… me.  

birthdaybafoonsYou guys. What is wrong with us?  It took us approximately 37 tries to get a photo of just the two of us, without Crosby.  Here’s just a small smattering of the outtakes.  And why are our eyes shut in all of them?  Is this what happens when you’re officially in your 30’s?  Are your eyes more sensitive to light or something?  Help.

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Here’s to 31!  So far, so good.

Posts from my 28th, 29th and 30th birthdays herehere and here.


one and a half.

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It’s 8:15am and Crosby is already taking his first nap of the day.  Because 5am wakeup.  Whoever said that him getting up before 6am was a “phase” owes me a 10-month supply of Stumptown.  It doesn’t happen EVERY morning anymore, but it still happens more than humanly necessary.  The only positive from this (sleepy) situation is that I get so much accomplished before the rest of the world is still in their REM cycle.  So far this morning I’ve served my kid and I breakfast, done a load of laundry, read 4 books, danced around the dining room to children’s music, talked to my dad, engaged in a lengthy text convo with my pal, scheduled a dental appointment, solved world hunger and (drumroll please) gotten dressed!  ::fistpumps::

I likely won’t do anything else productive for the rest of the day though, so.

But speaking of little Crosboy, he is officially 1 1/2 years old today!  Non-parents reading this are like, WTF who cares.  And I’m all like, I knowwww but half birthday’s mean something when your kid is this little.  I don’t know why?  It’s just a rule or something.  Probably because every month is so significant, developmentally, when they’re this young?  Or maybe it’s because we’re all just so obsessed with our tiny little monkeys, we’ll take any excuse to talk about them/celebrate them/make ourselves feel bad about how quickly they’re growing.

So what does one do on their child’s 1 1/2th birthday?  Well, for starters I sang half of the happy birthday song to him before I laid him down for his nap.  I also gave him a one-armed hug.  I went in for a high-five but stopped halfway.  I only changed half of his diaper.  (I’ll just let you think about that for a moment….)

Am I doing this right?

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Realistically, I know that a half birthday isn’t cause for a huge celebration.  But that’s not going to stop me from giving Crosby 100 extra kisses and “i love you’s” today.   It’s also not going to stop me from taking 50 extra photos and saying “hello” to him a dozen more times in hopes that his sweet little voice will say “HEYYOW!” back to me.  It’s not going to stop me from looking the other way when he feeds the dogs his banana, because it makes him laugh so hard.  It’s not going to stop me from letting him take out and put on every single pair of shoes in my closet, even though he always trips in the heels AND it’ll take me forever to put them all away.  It’s not going to stop me from tickling/kissing all his chins as much as possible because I know he won’t let me do that shiz forever.  It’s also not going to stop me from writing this sappy blog post about my baby guy who is becoming more like a… boy guy… every single day.

And so anyways, the point of all this is to say happy half birthday, sweet baby guy.  I think you’ve earned yourself half of a cookie today.  shawnnathompson_halfbirthday3Maybe even two.

 


casey’s beach birthday.

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Casey’s 31st birthday was this past Sunday. (Which, according to him means he’s “officially in his 30’s”, whereas when he was 30, he was “just 30, but not in his 30’s”.  Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man.) So to celebrate his official entry into his 30’s, I surprised him with a little weekend trip to the beach.  Our sweet friends rented us their house in Rockaway Beach, one of our very favorite places on the coast.  (Thanks Laura & Alex!) So on Friday afternoon we packed up the kid and the pups and made our way west towards the land of rainboots and matted hat hair and clam chowder and salt water taffy and finding sand in your pockets for weeks.

We spent the bulk of the weekend just wandering up and down that ding dang beautiful beach.  No agenda, no plan… just us 5, roaming around.  The weather was lovely, 50/60ish degrees with just the slightest nip in the air.  The kind of nip that gives you rosy cheeks, not icicle cheeks.  There’s a fine line between rosy cheek weather and icicle cheek weather and if you’re not careful you can stumble right past it and wander straight into runny nose/into your mouth/don’t notice until you taste it/because your face is numb weather.  Which everyone knows is the gateway to frozen nostril hairs weather, which means you’ve just entered a whole other realm of existence known as Minnesota in February.

What were we even talking about?

The beach!  The beach.  Crosby was in heaven.  He’s been to the coast before but this time he could walk on his own!  And walk he did, straight for the water.  Nonstop.  The kid has no fear… which is equal parts awesome and terrifying.  And the dogs, man.  The dogs were in their element.  If they had their way, we would live right there smack dab in the middle of the beach.  And let’s be honest, if I had my way, I would too.

We also indulged in a boatload of fresh seafood at the Old Oregon Smokehouse.  No for real though, we ate so much… it probably was an entire boatload.  Like, captain and oars and life jackets and all.  Deep fried life jacket probably tastes a bit like deep-fried octopus anyways, right?

Let’s just move on to the shoddy iphone pics, shall we?  Check them out, if you’d like.

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I hope you had a great birthday, Casebear.  Love you more than I love deep-fried anything.  And that’s a lot.


¡Crosby’s birthday fiesta!

IMG_5323So Crosby’s first birthday has come and gone and I’m still sort of adjusting to the fact that I now have a toddler.  Did you know that a 1-year-old is considered a toddler?  I didn’t!  I could have sworn that toddlerhood didn’t happen until 2.   Ugh, what do I know?  A year into this madness and I still have no idea what I’m talking about.  But so yah, I guess I have a toddler now!  I mean, seemingly it’s just a title change but for an over-thinker like me, it is a big deal.

I know I’ve talked about this before, but it’s always crazy to me how these kinds of transitions happen overnight.  There’s no easing into it.  One day I’m the mom of a baby, and the next day I’m the mom of a toddler.  And I don’t know, it just seems… different.  Right?  Like… I picture a baby mama in her bathrobe, softly humming to her tiny bundle while she rocks him to sleep at 3am.  I picture a toddler mama chasing her popsicle-mustached kid down the sidewalk, loudly hollering at him to SLOW THE $%@! DOWN.  Calm down, I’m just being dramatic… I would never give my kid a popsicle.

Do you know what I mean though?  The difference between baby and toddler is kind of significant.  Shouldn’t there be a grace period of 3-6 weeks for moms to get used to the idea that their baby isn’t a baby anymore??  Maybe I should start a Kickstarter for that.

Ok in all honestly, I’m pretty ok with the this transition.  But what really concerns me the most… is that moms of toddlers definitely can’t get away with Day 3 hair as much as moms of babies.  So, I have some major soul-searching/shampoo buying to tend to.

Well so anyway the real point of this post is that Crosby turned 1/became a toddler and so we threw a party for him!  Or, to be more accurate, we threw a fiesta for him!!   err… sort of.  I casually flirted with the fiesta theme but didn’t go too overboard.  Hashtag I didn’t have the budget to go overboard.   Hashtag my husband loves a budget.  Hashtag finance major.  Hashtag nerd alert.  (Gross, I promise I’m done spelling out hashtag.  <— Last one, I swear.)

Anyhoo.  We threw a little fiesta at our house with about 35 of our Portland pals.  We’d planned on having the party outside but of course mama nature decided to weep on Crosby’s birthday (apparently she was having a tough time with the baby/toddler transition too) which meant we had to move the party inside and act like sardines.  Luckily there was plenty of Jarritos, cervezas, and margaritas to refresh our souls.  And listen, I know some people might find it inappropriate to serve booze at a first birthday party.  I hear you.  But!  Most of our guests were adults.  And also… this party was kind of a celebration for Casey and me, too.  The past year has been bananas and all things considered, I thiiiiink… we did pretty good job.  And doing a pretty good job at raising a baby deserves a mediocre marg.  Which is now my new Instagram bio.  (No it’s not.)

Gracias so much to our Portland friends for making this day so special for us and Crosby.  We love you, amigos!  And gracias to our families for all the cards/gifts/calls/video chats.  We love you and miss you, familia!

How ‘s about that’s enough of speaking in broken Spanish?  Although I did tell Casey in perfecto Spanish that “I like food at our Thompson house for my family”.   And he was impressed.  So.  ::hairflip::

And with that!  Here we go with the pictures, if you care to see…
IMG_5322IMG_5320IMG_5380I’ll never be one of those super pinteresting moms (heh heh) but at the end of the day, a margarita is a margarita, no matter what kind of mason jar/plastic cup it’s served out of.  Is my new Facebook bio.  (No it’s not.)


IMG_5333IMG_5330IMG_5326Trying to get four 1-year olds to sit still for a picture is like… trying to get four 1-year olds to sit still for a picture.


IMG_5372lolz. real lyfe. 

IMG_5373 IMG_5349IMG_5356Homeboy DUG IN to his cake.  I initially was going to make him a vegan/gluten free/sugar free/healthy smash cake monstrosity but after googling them for 2 minutes I threw my hands in the air and headed straight for the Betty Crocker aisle.  I mean, it’s only one day, man.

IMG_5352IMG_5357IMG_5355IMG_5358IMG_5369IMG_5362We eventually had to take the cake away from him, or he probably would have devoured the whole ding dang thing, which resulted in my favorite tears I’ve ever seen him cry.

IMG_5339My hombres.  And I’m not sure what the seriousness is that’s going on behind them…but I like to think that they’re giving one of the little kids the stink eye for taking the last sombrero hat.

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It was such a fun day, celebrating our toddler guy.  Feliz cumpleaños, Crosby.


happy first birthday, baby boy.

shawnnathompson_crosbyturns1Dear Crosby,

Today is your first birthday.  You are one whole year old.

(Pause for some hysterical sobbing.  No really I’m fine it’s fine everything is FINE.)

Way back when you were still in my belly house, I made a plan to write you a letter on your first birthday.  But it seemed so far off, almost to the extent that I couldn’t even imagine it.  And then I blinked… and here we are.  One year!  One year full of ups, downs, twists, turns, somersaults, cartwheels, bellyflops, and a whole lotta poop.  My favorite year, ever.

I’ve been feeling pretty nostalgic this past week.  I’ve been thinking about where I was and what I was feeling a year ago.  Exactly one year ago from the moment I’m writing this, I was waking up in the hospital from a restless night’s sleep.  I’d been induced the night before and I knew I would be meeting you today.  I was nervous, excited, scared, and so so incredibly eager to meet the little gremlin that had been kicking me in the ribs for the past 38 weeks.  After a pretty intense day, you finally made your way into the world.  When your papa told me “it’s a boy!”, I felt a joy that I could never even attempt to describe in words.  And I’ve felt that joy every single day since.

You, my boy, are everything.  You are the silliest, sweetest, most curious baby I know.  You are so independent, it amazes me.   You’re smart.  You’re confident.  You have the best sense of humor.  And you are already like, way cooler than I’ll ever be.  Every day I thank my lucky stars that I get to hang out with you for the rest of my life.  (Please don’t ever leeeeave me!)

Listen up kid, because this is the most important part.  If you should ever read this, I want you to know that I am so incredibly proud to be your mama.  I want you to know that I will love and support you unconditionally, forever.  I want you to know that your papa and I have become better people and a better team, because of you.  I really want you to know that we couldn’t possibly love you more.

We have a lot of life to look forward to with you, but until then… I want to wish you a very happy birthday, sweet baby guy.

I love you so.


crosbaby grows up and gets a horse.

Good morning to you! Good morning to you! You look like a monkey, and you smell like one too.

Casey’s mom used to sing that to him when he was a little one.  I think it’s kinda the sweetest and so we’ve sort of adopted it as our morning song to Crosby.  Sometimes we swap out the word monkey for Crosby or baby.  Or dumptruck, if he has a particularly… full… diaper.

Speaking of Crosby (always), we hit up baby group yesterday.  I’ve mentioned before that we go almost every Tuesday to meet up with moms and babies of similar ages so Crosby can play and I can ask the other mom’s things like, has your baby started playing with his penis too?  Group has been amazing for us.  Crosby literally grew up next to some of these other babies and I’ve become great friends with some of the fellow lady mamas.  But the sad news is that we won’t be going for much longer because it’s only offered for babies up to 12 months.  And guys?  Have you heard?  Crosby is 11 1/2 months old…!  I’m not sure how/when/how we made it this far, but we’re less than 2 weeks from celebrating Crosby’s first year of life.  I truly cannot believe it.  Also, someone hold me.

I’m in the process of planning his birthday party.  That’s in two weeks.  So far, I’ve sent out invitations.  That’s it.  Seriously, someone needs to hold me.  Somehow I don’t feel old enough (ha!) or mature enough (hahaha!) to be hosting a first birthday party.  It just seems like something a…. mom would do.   Not that I don’t feel like a mom, I totally do, I just don’t feel like a mom mom.  You know what I mean??  Yah, me neither.  I guess it’s just that I have only ever thrown parties for adults before.  True, most of the guests at Crosby’s party will be adults, but still.  This is a party for a baby.  My baby.  …Who’s not really a baby anymore.  Sob.  I’m probably going to weep into his birthday cake.  Maybe my goal for the day should be to try not to cry more than my 1-year old.

If any of the bday party guests are reading this they’re probably like, oh great this is going to be a reeeeeal fun party.

Crosby got his first present in the mail the other day.  A beautiful wooden rocking horse from his Pappy and Grammy (my dad and stepma) and some books from his aunt and uncles.  We contemplated holding on to the gifts until his actually birthday, but he’s a baby.  So whatever.  We FaceTimed with the fam so they could watch him opening his gifts.  He was so mesmerized by wrapping paper, let me tell you.  It was so sweet to watch him gently tear the paper.  But then it got boring so I shoved him aside and finished the job for him.  As moms do.  And anyways, he loves the horse.  Seriously loves.  Though he was a bit confused as to what he should actually do with it, at first.  As evidenced by my lovely, grainy, iphone pics…

What dis?


Hey ma!  What dis? 


Is dis how I do it?

Or maybe dis way….?

Oh wait, I’ve got it!…. 


Nailed it.

Thanks for the sweet gifts, family!  Crosby loves them, and you too.  xo

 


on turning 30.

IMG_0153This post is coming to you live from the front lines of my 30th birthday.  Gah!  It’s weird to see it typed out… today I am 30.  The big three-oh.  Dirty 30.  I’m 30, flirty and thriving.  30…. nope, that’s all I got.

30 seems like such a monumental birthday, don’t you think?  It’s such an abrupt departure from 29.  And from your 20’s, in general.  It’s like saying goodbye to an entire chapter of life.  An entire decade of life!  It’s also kind of like saying goodbye to your youth?… if you’ll oblige me in being deep for a moment.  But, don’t you agree?  Turning 30 just seems so significant.  And you know, I guess it is.

To be honest though, I ain’t scurred.  I’m actually pretty excited to turn 30.  In my mind, people in their 30’s have it together, man.  They’re mature and know what they want out of life and don’t take crap from anyone.  They have SUV’s and stock options and can keep plants alive longer than a week.  They have their shit together.  They know things.  And now that I’m 30, I guess I will too.  …Keep in mind though, I was just in my 20’s yesterday.   So, don’t expect me to have all the answers yet.  But check back in next week, I’m sure I’ll have it all figured out by then.

Casey and Crosby took me to a delicious dinner last night to celebrate, and we ate things like deconstructed olives and oxtail.  Because those are the types of things sophisticated 30 year olds order.  Crosby stuck to cheese sticks and potato wedges though, because he’s a baby.  And babies definitely don’t have their shit together.

Other birthday haps: My best friend is flying in from Texas today to hang out with me for a few days.  Yeehaw!  And on Saturday afternoon Casey’s organized a pedal pub birthday celebration with some of our Portland pals.  So it’s safe to say I will probably have a buzz for the rest of the week/end.  A sophisticated buzz, that is.

Happy my birthday to you!

Posts from my 28th and 29th birthdays here and here.

 


crosby’s birth story.

DSC_0361_3[ All photos in this post were taken by my lovely and talented friend, Krista. ]

It was Friday, August 29th and I had just wrapped up my last day of work before going on maternity leave.  I had my 38 week doctor appointment that afternoon, which Casey surprised me at.  He originally didn’t think he could make it to that appointment but thank jeeves he did, considering how it turned out…  My initial blood pressure check was high, which is not cool at that stage in pregnancy, so the nurse took it twice more (both high) before my doctor concluded that she’d like me to go across the street to the labor and delivery wing of the hospital to take a series of BP tests over the course of an hour or two to see if it would stabilize over time.  If not, we would talk about inducing.  Gulp.

At this point I was thinking that maybe my BP was high because I was just a little riled up, given I’d just finished my last day of work and was anticipating a bunch of plans we had over the holiday weekend. (LABOR DAY weekend, how charming!)  So I was sort of expecting to take the few extra tests and be on our merry way.  They put me up in a bed, hooked me up to a bunch of machines and set the BP monitor to go off every 15 minutes in hopes that it would level out once I was able to relax in a more calm setting.  Let me tell you that the setting was not at all calm, however, since my nurse decided to make it her mission in life to try to remove the wedding band that was stuck on my swollen finger.  After many failed (and painful) attempts to remove it, and coincidentally many more high BP readings, we had to cut it off of my finger.  Again, not a calm setting.  At this point my Dr decided that regardless of the stressful situation, my BP was just too high and the baby was better off out than in.  And with that, she explained that I was to be officially checked into the hospital and they would start inducing that night.

Well, damn.  Of course Casey and I knew that at that point the baby could be arriving any day, but we honestly were not at all expecting to be that early.  We were fully preparing for me to go way way past my due date because that’s what everyone had warned us of.  But apparently everyone is a liar.  Luckily, my doctor let us run home and pack our hospital bag (the only thing in our bag so far was a few pairs of Casey’s underwear and my slippers) and get the pups set up with a ride to doggie daycare.  And you know, take a few minutes to wrap our brains around the idea that we were about to become parents.  No big whoop.

We got back to the hospital at about 9pm (with Jimmy John’s, because priorities.) and I was given cervidil to “ripen” my cervix for labor.  Which is quite possibly the squirmiest thing I’ll ever talk about in my life.  But, you know, reality.  Throughout the night I started having little tiny contractions but was mostly just mildly uncomfortable with having the cervidil in place.

The next morning my water broke at about 10am and from there they started administering pitocin to get labor going.  I then started to have REAL contractions which ranged in frequency from 2-8 minutes apart.  Contractions were not at all what I expected.  In fact, once I actually knew I was having one, I realized I’d been having them for a week or two prior.  I was expecting to only feel them in my lower belly but my contractions were actually the most painful up near my ribs and in my lower back.   And by “painful”, I mean holy f*ck that shit hurts.  But I did the damn thing and saddled up on a birth ball and rolled with the punches until mid-afternoon… at which point I threw in the towel and asked for the mother-effing epidural.  Sidenote: no one ever mentioned the fact that you have to breathe through contractions while you’re getting an epidural.  I mean, I guess that’s obvious but I hadn’t really thought about it.  Being slowly murdered from the inside while someone is stabbing you in the spine with a needle the size of a baseball bat is no picnic.  I must say though that when the sweet angel of epidurals kicked in, I was a-ok with errythang.

At that point my mom had arrived from MN (woohoo!) and with my drugs in full effect we all just kinda sat back to wait for more labory things to start happening.  Not long after, the doctor informed us that the baby wasn’t responding very well to my contractions.  Basically every time I had one, the baby’s heart rate would drop.  Over the course of a few hours we tried a few different things to combat this – reducing pitocin, injecting me with fluid, placing an internal monitor on the baby’s head to try to get a better read on the situation, and rotating positions like crazy to see if there was one that the baby might respond to better.  Which, let me tell you, is super difficult to do when half of your body is numb.  We got to the point where nothing was really working and baby’s heart rate got down to a scary enough level that the doctor starting talking about a c-section as worse case scenario. We had found a position that the baby seemed to like, (which was me on my hands and knees. AKA: flattering!) and I was dilated to a 7, so the plan was to sort of wait it out and see if things got better so I could hopefully deliver naturally.  Things did not get better.  After one significantly scary drop in baby’s heart rate, the doctor and a bajillion other people rushed into our room and it was decided that we would be having an emergency c-section.

I cannot even begin to explain how scared I was at this point.  The last drop in baby’s heart rate left me with so much fear that I couldn’t really focus on anything other than getting the baby out safely.  I kept thinking about how I’d do anything, go through anything, to make sure that the baby was ok.  I couldn’t imagine that we’d come that far and something would happen to him. It was the absolute scariest moment of my life.

The doctors and nurses did a dandy job of (attempting to) keep me calm and the mood light while I was wheeled back into the OR.  Casey wasn’t allowed into the room until everything was set up and ready for surgery so I was left on my own while they prepped me for surgery.  The meds were intense, everything was super hazy, and most of what I remember consists of my entire body shaking uncontrollably and trying to form sentences that didn’t sound like molten lava coming out of my mouth.  Casey was finally allowed into the OR to join me behind the scary blue curtain of fear.  And thank god because he somehow was the calmest I’d ever seen him.  And I needed that.  The c-section itself was much more aggressive than I ever imagined.  Though I felt very minimal pain, I can’t really explain the intense amount of pressure and overall uncomfortablness that comes with being sliced open and having a human pulled from your body.  (Apologies if you’re eating lunch while reading this…)

As soon as I heard that the head was out, I asked if it was cute (obvi) and then within 20 seconds the rest of the baby was pulled out.  We found out then that the reason he was in distress during labor was because the umbilical cord was wrapped around his shoulder, and every time I would have a contraction the cord would pinch and his heart rate would drop.  Once he was out and I heard him cry, the relief that washed over me was overwhelming.

Casey’s job was to tell me if we had a boy or girl and I remember staring up at him as he peeked over the sheet and his eyes got huge (I found out later that he got a real good glimpse of the situation that was my wide open stomach) before looking down and telling me that we had ourselves a baby boy.

We named our boy Crosby Earl Thompson.  Crosby because we loved the name, Earl after Casey’s dad, and Thompson because duh.  He was born at 8:23pm, weighing in at 6 pounds 15 oz and 20.5 inches long.  He was also born with the most perfect head of brown hair you ever did see and the most precious button nose that I really hope stays… buttony.

After Crosby was cleaned up a bit and Casey helped cut the cord, the nurse placed him on my chest for a little skin-to-skin action while he screamed bloody murder into my face.  (Crosby that is, not Casey.)  It was the most fun I’ve ever had being yelled at in my life.

Casey’s parents had arrived somewhere between heart rate drops and the c-section and they and my mom were awaiting news of the little one in the waiting room.  One of my favorite memories of the birth (even though I wasn’t even there to witness it) is of Casey walking into the waiting room and telling our family that we had a son.  His parents weren’t originally planning on flying in for the birth, so the fact that Casey could break the news in person to his parents, and to tell his dad that we had named our son after him, is super special.  I really wish I could have seen the looks on all the faces… but I can imagine.  It makes me ugly cry whenever I think about it.

Looking back, I realize a lot of his story is a bit stressful and scary-sounding.  But it is kind of true what they say, you forget about all of the shitty labor stuff as soon as the baby arrives.  Which is then replaced by actual shitty stuff.  Black, sticky, shitty stuff.  That you will find in your sweet little baby’s first 10-15 diapers.

Crosby Earl, your papa and I are so excited that you’re here.  Thanks for coming to hang out with us in life.  We love you so much.

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