Ethan Lawrence Erickson

It's March 1st.  2015.  And this is the post announcing Ethan's birth.

There you have birth order, folks.  The three kid crazies are in full swing!

In all fairness, I had written the majority of this post when Ethan was about a month old, but that week, he, unfortunately, went back to the hospital with RSV… then Ava got Pnemonia… then Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went… and here we are two full months into 2015 and I have sat down because I must - I just must! - finish the post, that may very well be my last for a while (see above about three kid crazies being in full swing).

We are enjoying this season full of running around, and school, and activities, and night wakings, and all things that come along with having three young children, all in very different stages. But that, in its all encompassing madness, leaves very little time to write, or read, or shower for that matter. So I'm giving myself grace for the fact that Ethan will grow up with a much slighter "baby book" than Ava; and that Scarlett will probably need therapy during at least one point in her life for being the middle child; and that Ava will not have the experience of having me volunteer frequently in her classroom for at least the near future.  All those things are real, but so are the blessings of having a full home, brimming with love and silliness and craziness and siblings.

So, without further ado, the post, which I wrote four months ago, announcing the birth of our precious son.

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We are in love, yet again.

Ethan Lawrence Erickson

October 12, 2014 5:53pm

9 pounds, 4 ounces

20 inches

Nothing can describe the miracle of birth. Of labor. Of that long, hard fight to bring a tiny human into this world. I've done it three times now and I knew exactly what was coming this time. I vividly remember sitting there, as the pitocin drip started, thinking "I just really don't want to do this again" (the luxury - or curse? - of being admitted for an induction calm, collected, and with no adrenaline pumping though your system to make you brave).

But then, after you've given everything you've got, every last ounce of energy, determination and love in the culmination of the last 40 (or 40+ in my cases) weeks, there is this. 

And you'd do it all over again, in a heartbeat, right now, or tomorrow, or forever after, if it meant bringing this sweet child of yours safely into the world to be a part of your family.

The girls arrived barely an hour after Ethan was born.  And the excitement and wonder on their little faces as they met their little brother for the first time was priceless, not to be traded for anything in this world.

Every birth story is different. I've held this in my mind each time, and I think it went a long way to giving me peace - and joy! - each time, rather than being disappointed in the minutia of what did not come of the "plan."  I was far more idealistic with Ava, being a first-timer, of course. I was very opposed to induction with Scarlett and held out eleven long days over due to welcome my whopper of a ten pounder. With both the girls I was anxious, perhaps most so with Scarlett. But this time I had a peace; maybe it was because this was't my first rodeo, or maybe it was a gift for what was to come.

Long story short, about four hours after Ethan was born, and after the girls had been able to meet him (thankfully) and gone home, he began to run a temperature. He was monitored for a few hours and then several blood tests later doctors were not comfortable with his white blood and bands count. Basically he was presenting symptoms consistent with an infection of some sort. About 18 hours after birth he was admitted to the NICU to start IV antibiotics and phototherapy for jaundice (which is particularly risky in combination with an infection).  

It's as frightening as it gets when your child is in the hospital, and we had no prior experience with this.  I, as a typical type-A-was-once-thinking-of-becoming-a-lawyer, like to be prepared for all medical decisions beforehand having done my own research.  I've sought out with ferver doctors I trust, and these wonderful and patient doctors have allowed me to be very involved with our medical care, and to weight the risks and benefits of decisions.  Needless to say though, when Neonatologists you've never met are whisking your tiny son away to protect him from what once likely would have been a life threatening outcome (long before modern medicine), you're in over your head.  And you put trust in them and their education and experience. 

Ethan stayed in the NICU for four days.  They were the longest and toughest of my life.  I was discharged on the second day, so spent the remainder of his stay going back and forth between the hospital and the girls at home, who after several days and a clearly stressful situation, needed some of their Mama, too. And I had just given birth, of course, so I needed to sleep in a bed rather than a folding chair for say, five or six hours a day. Friends and family pitched in, and the best thing possible, when all my babies were in different places, was to know that they were all in good hands.

I have a renewed admiration for doctors and nurses, and for other warrior-NICU parents who have endured stays far more serious and lengthy that Ethan's.

Even on discharge we had no clear understanding of what happened with Ethan.  The cultures grew no infections, but apparently this is not uncommon due to the fact that such a small amount of blood can be drawn from a newborn. So perhaps the antibiotics did their job and kept him well.  There was also a theory that his birth was traumatic, or something about our bloods being incompatible and his white cells ramping up to fight off mine received through the cord; the theories are somewhat cloudy to me, because when doctors were finally comfortable to discharge him, and he was visibly better, I just wanted OUT. 

The days after the girs' births were so special, so magical, to be just Jeff and I alone in a tiny hospital room bonding with the life we created.  For the last five and a half years, since Ava was born, I get a nostalgic feeling every time I pass by Saddleback Hospital.  My miracles were born there!

I'm left, now a month after Ethan's birth, a little saddened by the uncertainty of what we went through, and that the days following his birth were stressful ones of me trudging back and forth from the NICU and Jeff trying to hold down the fort at home.  It was so hard to see his little body through the isolette, all poked and prodded, the IV tapped so uncomfortably to his arm that it was difficult for him to nurse lying on that side. I realize at the same time how lucky we are to have good medical care, and that we came home eventually with a healthy baby, something some parents tragically don't get to experience, so I'm not ungrateful.  But still a bit melancholy that his story was so different than what I had experienced with the girls, and what I had expected to experience with him, likely our last baby.

I'm reminding myself now, as I sort through my feelings on all of it, to cling to that long-held belief that every birth story is different, which in part is what makes them beautiful. I'm also mulling over something my Dad, Ethan's middle namesake, sent me the day I was discharged and had to leave my baby behind in the hospital.

Joy emerges from the ashes of adversity through your trust and thankfulness.
-Jesus Calling

If that is one thing I can know and truly embrace, then I thank you for your different - and beautiful in it's own right - birth story, Ethan.

Baby Bump #3

We are extremely fortunate to have moments precious to our family captured by Hugh. Even though I'm in my last week of pregnancy now, and definitely pretty grumpy, hot and uncomfortable, I look back at these and see the beauty of that growing belly, and what a miracle this little family of mine truly is.

Kindergarten

You blink, and this happens…

I've read and heard all about what that first day of Kindergarten - especially with a firstborn - was going to be like.  But, in reality, I wasn't really sure what to expect. We prepared with some special shopping trips. I consciously said nothing about what she'd wear the first day of school until the night before, not because I hadn't thought about it, but because obsessing over that is not a president I want to set. That will come, hopefully much later; ideally maybe never. She got The First Day of Kindergarten sent to her by Auntie Jess, and she read that with Jeff before bed.  I couldn't be home for bedtime that particular night, so ironically I read it long after she was peacefully asleep, sitting in the nursery we now have set up for a baby boy, in the rocker I rocked her in for the first year of her life. I followed the book by this, from a writer who so often touches my heart during this journey of parenthood.

Borrowing from this writer, and in as few words as possible, Ava, what we want you to know in the depths of that big, huge heart of yours, as this new chapter begins, is to be kind and brave and let your light shine, sweet girl. You will do great things; but remember, we already love you as much, and are as proud of you, as is possible. You do not have to earn our love or pride, and you can do nothing to loose them, either.

When the actual morning came, there were no tears from Ava, of course; she was born ready for this adventure.  She immediately drew to her teacher with the effortlessness I believe only a kindergartener can display. Seeing her so naturally hug her teacher around the waste as if she'd known this woman since birth, not a mere 10 minutes, made me momentarily wonder why I'd never ever, not once, considered the profession of teaching, especially such a sweet and tender age.  But then I remembered…. and remembered why this particular schooling decision was exactly right for this daughter of ours.

There were several friendly little girls who seemed to draw to each other, and one little shy one who was a bit tearful.  My heart has swelled each day over the last week when Ava's come home and said this little one has cried less and less as Ava and another girl have asked her to play, and rubbed her back, and tickled her to make her giggle. You're living well your part of kind and brave, sweet girl.

And then it was over.  It's only four short hours after all; barely enough time for a few errands and some one-on-one time with Scarlett (soon to be one-on-two time yet again).  But celebration was in order, because you only start kindergarten once. Manis and pedis all around!  Girls were in heaven, and I'm not opposed to this particular first day of school tradition myself.  Hopefully we'll be FaceTiming doing just this on her first day off somewhere in college.

Summer….. and Being Still

We've had a great summer.  We've camped; we've beached,; I've blogged (and not here, clearly); girls have done swim lessons, dance lessons, gymnastics lessons, and VBS; we've had adventures at the aquarium, sea world, strawberry picking, the zoo, the Natural History Museum, Sea World, Disneyland and more; we've caught up with old friends we don't see enough, and made new friends along the way.

This summer has been hot, and challenging being pregnant; I've realized we're so much more active in the summer than in the winter, and tromping through sand carrying beach gear for three has about put me over the edge more than a couple times. But it's also been a joy having lazy summer mornings at home, and watching the girls' relationship grow as they spend every day together.  They truly keep each other company, and have much more fun together than apart.

Now, drawing to the end of August, I'm ready to get through all the changes coming in the next couple months.  First, in a couple weeks, we'll send our first baby off to kindergarten. It's half day, and only a short walk away, but, nevertheless, a huge change. Then, likely weeks later we'll welcome our third baby - a boy! - into a lifestyle nothing like the one in which his sisters were welcomed. We'll be up and out of the house five days a week (praying for late bird schedule and not the 7:45 start time that is early bird - yikes!), and now both his older siblings will have activities to shuttle to and from. In Fall, Ava will have something after school three days a week, Scarlett once, and we'll go to Bible study once. Both Ava and Scarlett were born in May, when all activities are winding down; and even when Scarlett was born, Ava wasn't yet in preschool, so our biggest commitment, really, was making it to library storytime punctually at 10am once a week. What a different world this babe will come to know!

This pace is the part that scares me.  I can do babies; I think by the third a mama's confidence is built in that. With your first you worry about how you'll love a baby, how you'll breastfeed, how you'll ever sleep again, how your relationship with your husband will change. I've had two babies who've taught me that you just do love, without even trying; that your milk comes in; that you'll sleep (someday!); and that your relationship with your husband will be different: better, deeper somehow. I read a beautiful article a week or two ago that spoke of things as a mama not getting easier with time, but that you, as a mama, actually just get better. Truth, plain and simple.

But this time around I'm not just being a mama to one baby, or two; I'm juggling three, all on very different levels and schedules. I'm scared for that. So when I say I'm ready, I mean I'm ready to be done with the uncertainty of what life will be like; I'm ready to get this show on the road. The waiting and uncertainty is unsettling, and something at which I've never been good.

We've had it pretty easy the last few years.  The trials in the beginning of our marriage with job loss and the economy have settled, and the fears over our little miracle baby Scarlett have lost their vibrancy with time. I'm not complaining by any means, but I think the last few weeks have shown me my impatience with waiting and uncertainty, as well my rustiness in practicing being still.*

So, for the rest of the summer - all two weeks of it - I'm going to enjoy these slow days, and these last few hot-day adventures, just the three of us. One thing is for certain, life will not soon again move this slow, as every year the kids grow seems to bring a faster and faster pace. I know we are soon to loose our family dinners seven nights a week, which is something I've long dreaded. I know, too, that all my children, barring summers, will never again be together and enjoy each other's company during the week. I know the newborn phase for this baby will be different; the quiet and slow times will be few and far between. So with each family dinner, and weekday spent together, and soon to be baby coo, I will try my hardest to be still.

Here's to some of the memories of this past summer…

*He says, "Be still, and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10a