Our newest baby girl, Annie Kate (yes, most of the time I use both of her names as her first name, but just Annie is fine, too!) was born on November 18. However, we didn’t get to bring her home until 10 days later. 

Today, I want to talk about Annie’s time in the NICU and how those 9 long days changed me as a person. That might sound dramatic, but I believe it is true. 

Annie had to stay in the NICU for a couple of reasons. Because she was only 35 weeks, 4 days gestation, she was very, very sleepy. She basically wasn’t ready to be in the world yet, so she had a hard time wanting to be awake. Since I had the IV magnesium prior to her delivery, that meant that she also had the magnesium in her system, too. The magnesium has a relaxing effect on the body, which added to the issue of her sleepiness. They said she was “magged out.”

The problem with all of her sleepiness was that she wasn’t motivated to eat. Annie simply didn’t have the energy or motivation to nurse or take a bottle. They placed an NG tube in her nose which allowed her to be fed formula and breastmilk. 

We had no idea how long it would take for her to “want” to eat on her own, and the doctors and nurses didn’t know, either. It was just a waiting game. We were reassured that this was very normal for babies of this age, but there was just no way to tell how long we might have to wait. This was the toughest part because I work well with timelines, timeframes, calendars, and schedules. Everything felt so open-ended and unknown, which made me very anxious. 

The good news was that Annie didn’t have any issue breathing on her own. She had a nasal cannula giving her an oxygen boost for a few hours after she was born, but it was removed by the end of her first day, and she never had to use it again. Annie was never in any danger nor was there a threat to her life. For that, we were super grateful. Thank goodness we had done steroid shots for her lung development the week before she was born in anticipation of her 37 week induction. 

The first few days after Annie was born, I was still admitted in the hospital. I spent my days sitting beside her bed in the NICU, holding her, rocking her, and attempting to feed her every 3 hours. After the feeding attempts, I would pump milk for her to be fed through her NG tube. I did this for 12 hours a day. It felt like we weren’t making any progress for several days. She was so content to be asleep all day, everyday. When she would attempt to nurse, she would try for 3-5 minutes and then give up in exhaustion. I felt very defeated and like this was going to go on forever.

By Thursday of that week, it was time for me to be discharged as a patient. This was the day I was dreading — leaving the hospital without Annie. In my mind, I was thinking she would be released when she was 36 weeks, which would have been Thursday, but she hadn’t made enough progress to go home. That day, I wanted to spend as much time with Annie as possible, so I planned to be at the hospital until after 9 p.m. Luke picked me up, older kids in tow, and I have to say that walking out of those doors without my baby or my husband was one of the most difficult things I have done. Hot tears burned down my cheeks. I am sure the people who saw me leaving assumed someone I loved had just died. In a way, it felt like a death — a death of the way I had hoped things would go. 

Not a flattering photo of either of us, but I wanted to remember the emotion of this moment. 

I really was grieving, even though I didn’t notice it at the time. 

I didn’t want my pregnancy to end that way. I didn’t want her to come early. I wanted to spend one last intentional night together as a family of 6 before we brought her into the world. I didn’t want to be confined to a bed during labor, delivery, and the first 24 hours after she was born. I wanted to hear that first cry. I wanted to hold her longer than 3 minutes before she was taken away to the NICU. I didn’t want to touch her through portholes in an isolette or hold her with cords and wires attached. I wanted our older kids to get to hold her and not just see her through a window. 

At our hospital, when you are moved from Labor & Delivery to Mother-Baby, they play a lullaby over the speakers to signify that a baby has been born. When I was moved to Mother-Baby, the lullaby played, but my baby was not with me. My heart was crushed in that moment. When we arrived in my recovery room, the nurse removed the bassinet where Annie should have been sleeping. The room felt quiet and empty. Those little things felt like really big things and added to my grief.

I spent the next 5 days at the hospital with Annie. I would arrive for her 8:00 a.m. feeding and stay until her 8:00 p.m. feeding. Sometimes I would leave to go home for an hour…sometimes I would eat a meal… but most of the time I just wanted to be there to hold her. This was a tough time for our family. The older kids definitely didn’t like the disruption to our normal routine. Luke carried a lot of extra stress and responsibility, and he didn’t get to spend as much time with Annie as he would have liked. 

Sitting in the NICU for 12 hours a day was very lonely. However, it afforded me a lot of time to be alone with my thoughts, which is truly a luxury these days. I wasn’t distracted by TV, laundry, dishes, other children, the dog, or any kind of To Do list. While many times, my mind seemed to be racing, I also noticed that I kept returning back to the same thoughts. 

What I thought was important… really wasn’t that important. 

I am a self-professed People Pleaser. Because of this, I often get very wrapped up in bending over backwards to overextend myself for others. I commit myself to a lot of “jobs” (without pay) and responsibilities (that I sign myself up for), and while I really love volunteering and helping, I realize now how many times I have been pulled away from my family for these obligations. When you’re staring at your sweet newborn in a NICU bed for several hours a day, you realize how much time you wish you had with her and with all your children. You start to recount where all of your precious moments have gone over the last several years, and you realize that maybe you haven’t given your family as much of you as they deserve. I am not saying I want to quit everything or stop volunteering altogether, but maybe I really can take a step back for a little while. 

Comparison is the thief of joy. It is also the thief of healing.

When Annie Kate was taken to the NICU, I felt the same fear and worry that probably all parents feel when their babies go to the NICU. However, I instantly felt guilty, even foolish, for feeling that way because she was actually pretty healthy and didn’t need very much intervention. When I would visit her, I saw a lot of other babies with a lot of serious medical needs. I watched other parents sit at their babies’ bedsides, and I felt bad that Annie would likely be going home much before the other children. While I was there, a baby was released to go home after spending 89 days in the NICU. 89 days! A little voice told me, “See, you have no reason to be sad! These parents spent 89 days without their baby at home. Suck it up, Buttercup!” 

However, not allowing yourself to feel your emotions can be very detrimental to the healing process. It stunts you, holds you hostage, and forces you to put a lid on a boiling pot. Eventually, it will all spill over the sides in a big mess. It is very healthy to express your thoughts, feelings, concerns, worries, fears, and emotions. Just because someone else might “have it worse” doesn’t mean that you aren’t entitled to feel upset. It isn’t being dramatic or attention-seeking if you are truly allowing yourself to process your feelings. 

It isn’t a competition to see who has the saddest story, or who has gone through the most trauma. Everyone can be heard. Everyone can be supported. Everyone can cry or break down if they need to. Recognizing and honoring how you feel is very healthy and crucial to moving forward from any kind of hard experience.

Human life is so precious. 

This may seem like an odd thought, and something that should be obvious, but many days I feel really discouraged by what I see on the news and in the world around me. Murder, violence, child abuse, drugs…the list goes on and on. Does anyone actually care about other human beings anymore? 

But spending over a week in the NICU and seeing the way the doctors, nurses, therapists, chaplains, and volunteers all work together to help these little babies get better and have a chance at a long, healthy life was so special to witness. Each child is spoken to, held, rocked, read to, checked on, cuddled and prayed over multiple times a day, regardless of whether his or her parents are there or not. If a child’s life was not important, these efforts would not be made. 

Being in the presence of the NICU staff was a true honor, and it restored my faith in humanity. 

On day 9 of our stay, they were finally able to remove the NG tube and see how little Annie Kate could do on her own, exclusively nursing. As it turned out, she did great and even gained 3 ounces in one day! We pushed the staff a little to let us try a “homeward bound,” which is where you stay the night in a recovery room and feed the baby through the night like you would at home. No one really checks on you, and you have to call and report the feedings and wet/dirty diapers as they happen. It’s a nice way to see how things might be at home without losing the security of the nurses. Thankfully, the doctor agreed to let us give it a try!

Annie and I were taken to our room for the night, and it just so happened to be the same recovery room I was in before. It was one of those “full circle” moments.

This time, however, the bassinet got to stay in the room.

We had a great night together. She fed every 3 hours like clockwork. It was probably the most restful night at the hospital I have ever had! I had a good feeling that she would be released to go home the next morning, and thankfully I was right. 

I packed up our room, again. This time, however, my baby got to leave with me. Luke came to get us, and as we all said our goodbyes to the 4th floor,

they played the lullaby over the speaker for Annie Kate and me.

Two weeks ago yesterday, just after 5:00 in the morning, we brought our sweet Annie Kate into the world. Born at 35 weeks, 4 days gestation, she weighed 5 pounds, 7 ounces, and measured 18 ¾ inches long. 

Annie’s arrival was unexpected. We were planning an induction at 37 weeks because my blood pressure had become a little unpredictable. I had been dealing with hypertension throughout the entire pregnancy, in addition to gestational diabetes, advanced maternal age (eye roll), and my history of preterm labor. Because of those risk factors, my pregnancy required a lot of appointments, ultrasounds, and twice-weekly non-stress tests among other monitoring. My last two pregnancies prior to this one were also considered high risk, but the hypertension was a new issue this time around.

On November 17, I was at a “Friendsgiving” lunch with dear friends. I felt totally fine, but I happened to glance down at my feet, and they were very swollen. Swelling was not normal for me, and with my high blood pressure, I knew that I probably needed to keep a close eye on things. When I got home, I had Luke check my blood pressure, and it was running high. We checked it a few times over the course of an hour, and it kept getting higher. When it reached about 175/100, we knew we needed to go to the hospital and see what was going on. 

This is not a good sign, just FYI.

When we arrived at the hospital, neither one of us were planning on staying longer than a couple hours. We didn’t even bring our bags. I think we thought I would get some IV medicine and be sent home. However, when my blood pressure reached nearly 200/100, we were given the news that we weren’t quite ready for — we were going to be induced that night. 

This created quite a panic in me. I found myself extremely emotional. All of a sudden, I felt very worried and my mind was racing. Was she big enough? Were her lungs developed enough? Would she be OK? Would I be OK? I thought of the other kids and how I didn’t get to spend quality time with them that day. I wanted one more special day and night with Leo as my baby, and now we wouldn’t have that chance. 

Once I was able to calm down, Luke ran home to tuck the kids in bed and get our bags. During that time, they started me on magnesium. Anyone who has experienced IV magnesium knows how terrible it is. Instantly, I was overheating and sweating profusely. The room temperature was set on 55 degrees, and it still felt too hot. Magnesium is supposed to prevent seizures when you have high blood pressure. It also relaxes your whole body, which means you can’t get out of bed. Because you can’t get out of bed, you are catheterized (the worst). Also, to avoid blood clots in your legs, you have to wear the sequential compression sleeves (SCD) around your calves. With the blood pressure cuff on my arm and the SCD machine on my legs, I felt shackled to the bed. This was certainly not the way I had envisioned my labor experience. 

Me, trying to put on a brave face as we began the induction process.

When Luke returned, they started pitocin. I hadn’t had pitocin since I was in labor with Noelle, and I just remember screaming for the epidural 5 minutes after it was administered. I hadn’t yet made up my mind about an epidural this time. I always try to take it one contraction at a time and see how I feel. I do have a history of very quick labors, so I can’t wait too long or an epidural simply won’t be an option. I was worried that having pitocin was going to force me into getting an epidural, but I decided to see how things went before making a decision. 

Because the magnesium relaxes your muscles and the pitocin contracts them, the two medicines work against each other. I progressed a little slower than normal, but the contractions also didn’t really hurt that bad. When I would have a contraction, I actually prayed the Hail Mary, which timed out perfectly. As soon as the prayer was done, the contraction was over, and I felt very calm. At about 1:00 in the morning, I turned on some of my favorite music and let it play on repeat, and I slept for about 3 hours. 

At about 4:30 in the morning, my doctor came in and checked the progress. I was dilated to 4 cm, which is extremely slow for me. In fact, I have never even gone to the hospital at less than 7 cm for any of my other deliveries. We decided to go ahead and break my water to see if that would speed things along. With Leo and Shiloh, they were born literally minutes after my water was broken, so I knew it would definitely get things going. 

Here’s where the fun begins. My water was broken a little before 5:00 a.m. I was 4 cm dilated. Annie’s official time of birth was 5:09 a.m. 

You do the math. 

Yes, I went from 4 to 10 cm and birthed a child in about 9 minutes. The contractions became extremely intense within seconds of my water breaking. I tried to keep my cool and breathe through them, but I knew this was some next level stuff. To my knowledge, I was still at 4 cm, so I was worried about enduring hours of this pain. Also, keep in mind I was literally strapped to a bed and not allowed to stand, walk, sit on a bouncy ball, or really change position at all. This was not good for pain management. I told Luke I needed an epidural, but then shortly after, I felt a wave of nausea. I knew from reading about childbirth that sometimes when you feel like you are going to throw up, that means the baby is getting ready to be born. I told Luke to get my doctor because I was ready to have the baby. He didn’t quite believe me, but he got her to come in the room anyway. 

Sure enough, it was time to go, and within minutes (probably seconds), Annie Kate was born. 

The NICU team was in the room for her delivery because they knew she might need some assistance. It is equal parts reassuring and scary when you have several extra nurses and medical staff within arm’s reach in a delivery. I knew why they were there, and that was comforting, but it also reminded me that we could have a baby who might not be able to breathe very well or who might need a medical intervention. 

When Annie was laid on my belly after she was born, she didn’t make a sound. I could tell that her color looked good, but I longed to hear that cry. She was in a little bit of shock from the quick delivery. They were rubbing her down and stimulating her, but she wasn’t really responding much. The NICU team began suctioning out the extra fluid and gunk from her mouth, and finally after what felt like an hour (but was probably just a few minutes), I heard her make some noises. 

They held her up so I could see her, and I was overwhelmed by her beauty and by how tiny she was. Our smallest baby before Annie was Shiloh who weighed 6 pounds, 5 ounces. Annie weighed nearly a whole pound less than that. She was so dainty and sweet, and I couldn’t wait to hold her. 

I was allowed to hold Annie for a few minutes before they took her to the NICU for further evaluation. She looked so much like her big sister, Charlotte, complete with light brown, almost blonde hair. This made me so excited because Charlotte had been praying for a sister who “looked like her” since she is our only blonde child. 

Luke went to be with Annie while I began the recovery process. I was still going to be on magnesium for 24 hours following Annie’s birth, which made me sad because the best part of not having an epidural is the way you can just get up and “return to normal” immediately following delivery. I was still catheterized and not allowed to stand or walk, which was frustrating because I wanted to literally run to the NICU to be with my baby.

Initially, we didn’t realize how long Annie would be in the NICU. We thought maybe she would be there for a few hours, or maybe even 1-2 days, but we were told she would at least be there until she reached 36 weeks gestation, which was 4 days away at that point. In my mind, I was thinking that 36 weeks would be the magic number, and she would go home on that day, but unfortunately, I was wrong. 

All in all, Annie spent 9 full days in the NICU and was released when she was 10 days old. I am going to write about her time in the NICU soon. Nine days is not long in the grand scheme of things, but those 9 days might turn out to be the most transformative days of my life. 

Annie is our 5th child (4th baby girl), and we are just as enamored by her and this newborn stage as we have been with each of our older children. It just can never, and will never, get old… the snuggles, the new baby smell, the sounds newborns make, the way you are their entire world, and the way they are yours.

We are so thankful to experience this miracle again.

We are on the final countdown before our new baby girl arrives. In just a couple short weeks, everything will be so different around here. 

We’ve done this before. We’ve welcomed home four babies already — navigating that delicate shift from “Baby of the Family” to “Big Sister.”

And now it’s Big Brother’s turn.

For the past two and a half years, we have enjoyed our time with Leo as the youngest child. He has been the most wonderful little guy. 

I, especially, have had the pleasure of spending lots of quality time with Leo over the past couple of years. Leo is the first child of ours who hasn’t experienced me working outside the home in any capacity. This has created a lot of opportunities for us to be together — and even though I occasionally miss and long for a “purpose” other than motherhood, I know that this time I have spent with him has been invaluable and good for both of our souls.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little anxious about how Leo will adapt to a new baby in the family. When I hold other people’s babies, he isn’t a huge fan, so it will be interesting to see if he has the same reaction when his baby sister is born. 

Over the past few weeks, I have been really trying to soak him up… to drink him in… to observe his features and mannerisms… to record the sound of his voice in my mind. I know that once the new baby arrives, the time will pass in a blur. Days and nights will mesh together, fatigue and hormones will create a messy mix of emotions, and I will likely have to transfer the care of the older kids to their dad and any other willing helpers. 

Still, Leo will need me…and still, I will be there… but still, it will be different.

It’s an odd feeling — this feeling of overwhelming excitement as we prepare to bring new life into this world mixed with this feeling of overwhelming sadness that things will never again be the same. 

So for now, I am doing my best to appreciate the small moments with Leo. The way he wants to “duggle” (snuggle) in my bed. The way he wants to share his food with me by forcefully shoving bites in my mouth. The way he says “thank you, Mama” and “I love you, Mama” unprompted. 

The way he enjoys looking out his bedroom window at all the nature outside. The way he insists on wearing his underwear over the top of his diaper. The way his toenails are always dirty, no matter how many times he takes bath. The way he can’t go anywhere or do anything without his paci and his bunny. 

Leo, it’s been a true gift to spend nearly every one of your days with you since you were born…giving you so much of my undivided attention and love. As we prepare to welcome your baby sister to our family, please know that my mother’s love for my children can never be divided, only multiplied.

Five years ago today– actually, five years ago this morning before 7 am, we added our third baby girl to the family. 

Shiloh Frances is now “a whole hand” old.

There’s something about a kid who turns five. Somehow, it just seems so much older than four. Maybe it’s because she’s that much closer to going to Kindergarten. Or maybe it’s because she can now say (nearly) all of her words correctly without a cute little lisp or mispronunciation. Or maybe it’s because she does more on her own than she does with my help.

Regardless, it just seems like she’s growing up too quickly. 

I would be lying if I said I didn’t carry with me some “third child guilt.” Shiloh is the third girl in a row. Immediately following her is our baby boy, Leo, who gets a lot of attention because, well, he’s a boy. He’s my boy. 

Shiloh gets all the hand-me-downs. It’s rare if something she wears is new or purchased specially for her. She’s too little to be big and too big to be little. She desperately wants to be on the level of her older sisters, but at the same time, she still wants to be my baby. 

Caught in between, she is about to be the true middle of the family– the third born of five children. 

I think about if she and our newest, youngest baby girl will be able to closely bond despite their five year age gap. I hope and pray that Shiloh doesn’t feel replaced or upstaged by the baby or overshadowed and eclipsed by the older two. 

I have these worries, but then I take one look at that feisty little package, and I remember who I am talking about. 

This kid is so unique…so spunky…so herself. She will make her own way. She will be just fine, no matter what.

A whole hand old today.

And her whole hand still fits in my whole hand — which means she’s still the baby girl for a little while longer.

July 6th.

July 6th was the last time I sat down to write. 

And before then, it was March 26th.

It’s not for lack of feelings, or lack of words, or lack of motivation, or lack of desire. 

It’s for lack of faith in myself. 

You see, writing is important to me, and I know it is important to me because every time I want to do it, the enemy tells me not to. That’s how you know what you’re doing is good – good for you or good for others or both. The enemy doesn’t want good and will try to stop you every. single. time. 

But today, I am powering through, because today is a special day. Today, my Charlotte is 7 years old.

This child – so unique in our family, not only in her looks but in her personality. It is truly amazing when you have 4, soon to be 5 children, all born from the same parents, and they can all have such individuality. 

On the surface, Charlotte is quiet. She doesn’t fight for attention. She finds her own way of receiving it, whether it be sneaking in extra snuggles by repeatedly coming out of her bedroom at night, or mysteriously hopping onto the counter while I prepare dinner, or somehow always negotiating an extra story, even when the parents are exhausted and half asleep already.

She just has a way. 

She’s unassuming, but she’s brilliant. She has an affinity for math and numbers. She likes to make lists. She likes to know “how many days until.” 

She’s dainty, but she’s strong. It’s hard to imagine that the little fairy legs she has now were once disguised in pudgy leg rolls. She likes to run, and she’s fast. 

She’s polite, but she’s funny. She has a quirky sense of humor. She speaks in funny voices and keeps us all laughing. 

She’s soon going to be the 2nd born of 5, which doesn’t exactly make her “the middle,” but it seems she will always have that title. It’s fitting though — all the good stuff in life you can find in the middle. The cream in the Oreo. The PB&J in the sandwich. The pages in the book. 

Today may be Charlotte’s birthday, but God gives us the gift of life each morning we wake up. 

It feels like my birthday, too.