4 kids, good jobs, a loving spouse, a cozy little home and beautiful friends to fill it with. Yes, that’s what I dreamed about.

In just three months, Michael and I will be married a whole decade already. And most of our dreams have come true.

Fresh from the chapel, and so very young.

We’ve always said, that for our 10 year anniversary, we would take a spectacular trip. Making a marriage work is hard, and I think hitting milestones like 10 years should be handsomely rewarded.

Being an interior designer and lover of architecture (and red wine), I’ve always had my heart set on going to Italy for a couple week.

It will be 10 years in 3 months. I’ll be nursing a 4 month old, so my Rome and red wine will have to wait. Postponed, but not abandoned.

A romantic trip to Italy with my husband (and baby) isn’t exactly what I had in mind. (although we did take Nola to Hawaii when she was 3 months old.)

So instead of Italy, we need other ideas. Even though life has “gotten in the way”, I still want to celebrate somehow.

I’m coming to the blog for suggestions. I’m looking at a long weekend, end of May, with Michael and baby Paul. What do you think we should do?

And no, I don’t want to crash on your basement pullout sofa.

Many have asked what the hardest part of this new transition has been for me. Simply put, not being able to leave the house like we used to has been killer for me. Gage is in that 2 year old phase of wanting to be independent, but not being old enough to actually understand instructions (or let’s be honest, not wanting to obey instructions), which has translate into him refusing to hold my hand in public, and running away from me when I try to help him.

Embarrassing confession (I can barely think about this without tearing up at what could have happened): Last week while picking up Nola from preschool, he darted into the road trying to run away from me. It was one of the most horrifying moment in my motherhood career. Yes, there was a car coming. Let’s just say that I’m so glad the person in that car was paying attention. That whole “no texting while driving rule”, it’s a keeper in my book.

So between Gage being wild, and caring for a newborn, we stay home a lot.

We’re suffering from a very high dose of cabin fever.

But the thing is, I know this time is fleeting and temporary. We won’t be stuck home forever.

But then again, he won’t stay this tiny forever either. My days with a baby are numbered.

Within a blink of an eye, the get up and go-go-go busyness of everyday life will strangle us again.

I’ll be the first to admit that contentment at home can be a struggle. Staying home everyday with little ones can be both suffocating and beautiful, all at the same time.

But for today, I take a deep breath, and remind myself that what I got going on here is a gift and blessing.

Staying home with this guy (and his brother, and his 2 sisters) is a pretty good gig. Don’t you think?

No surprise, my kids end up eating turd cakes for their birthdays because of my poor planning.

Today is Valentines Day, and of course I had grand plans to make the day special. In a perfect world, I wanted to get up early and make heart pancakes. Write little love notes to stick in school lunches. Make heart shaped pizzas for dinner, and a bake cookies for an after school snack. Oh, and maybe even cap off the night off with a glass of red wine, and a romantic movie.

But then…

I didn’t get up early enough to bake a proper breakfast. And I’m not making dinner either. (But a dear friend is bringing us dinner! TOTAL WIN!)

Gage got into the M&M bag that I was saving for the cookies and destroyed it. Yes, a 2 year old can find a scissors, goober up every single piece of candy as he shoves them into his mouth, all while sitting in a pile of his own mess on the kitchen floor.

Oh, just in case you were wondering, “sexy time” won’t be happening either, only 4 weeks postpartum.

And yes, my girls are brought store bought “Barbie” valentines to school today. Homemade is just sooooo three kids ago, don’t you think?

But I refuse for today to be a total loss.

After school, I promised to paint the girls nails. My friend Kate gave me some fun light pink nail polish this weekend when she visited, and the girls are dying to use it. We will then eat dinner, and watch Wheel of Fortune together. Just like we do every night…

I will sing “Happy Valentines Day” to make them laugh, and remind them for the 1483493834 time how much I love each one of them.

Our day will be mostly the same, but kinda different. Special, but mostly everyday ordinary as usual.

I loved you yesterday, I’ll love you even more tomorrow.

just write.

I’m excited to re-join my YMCA, start the Couch to 5k program again, and even possibly take some yoga classes at this yoga studio just a block from my house.

Oh, and fitting back in to my jeans again would be super nice too.

Before I got pregnant with Paul, I was on a health kick that included mid-morning smoothies. Drinking a smoothie was an easy way for me to get energized without reaching for a Diet Chemical Coke.

Earlier this week, I saw a particular green smoothie getting pinned on Pinterest like 100o times over, and I knew I had to try it. Unfortunately, it was the biggest PinterFAIL ever. Totally nasty. So sad.

I refuse to give up. This morning, I brushed off my gag reflex, and searched Pinterest for a more tolerable green monster smoothie recipe.

Speaking of Green Monsters, have you ever cloth diapered a 1 month old and a 2 year old?

(oy, I digress…)

So today, I’m attempting another green smoothie,based off this pin, with slight adaptions.

My (slightly adapted) from the original recipe Green Monster Smoothie:

• Handful of fresh baby spinach
• diced pineapple
• 1 banana, peeled and cut up
• 1 cup Greek yogurt
• 1 kiwi
• tablespoon-ish of honey
• 1 raw egg
• Handful of ice cubes

Ok fine, who am I kidding, I majorly adapted the original recipe, and changed it completely. It’s not remotely the same drink.

Blend it till the blender smokes (what? You’re blender doesn’t smoke after 30 seconds in use?)

Make it look like this:

And then drink it down…

I mean really, one of these puppies every day will have me back in my pre-pregnancy jeans in no time. Right?

Overall, this smoothing was a PinterSCORE, opposed to a PinterFAIL. I suggest you give it a try.

Have you made anything cool off of Pinterest? Do share.

*I’m being Pinteractive thanks to my dear friend, Nanette.

But even with his stellar newborn efficiency, that’s still a whole lot of being up in the middle of the night and missed sleep.

Do you know the person who coined the term “sleep when the baby sleeps”? I really need to find that person and call them up so I can ask them to babysit Gage for me.

Many of you have asked how we’re all doing, and if anyone is taking the new transition hard, it’s Gage. I don’t blame him, he’s only two. He loves his brother fiercely, but doesn’t like me much right now. Yes, he’s in toddler retaliation mode, using all his weapons to destroy me.

Coloring on the rug with a marker.

Tipping over a freshly folded bin of laundry right in front of me as a feed Paul.

Sticking all the toothbrushes in his mouth just to spite me. (oh yes, this is the grossest)

Throwing his food on the floor.

Staging a protest and occupying the refrigerator when I refuse him any more string cheese.

Around 4am this morning, Paul decided sleeping was for the weak, and he was done with it. Which means I too have been up since 4am.

After dropping off Nola at preschool a few hours ago, I treated myself.

I’m not huge on spendy coffee drinks, but I decided a 4am wake-up call rendered it appropriate and well deserved.

I feel drunk but I’m sober, I’m young and I’m underpaid
I’m tired but I’m working, yeah
I care but I’m restless, I’m here but I’m really gone…

It’s Tuesday, how you doin’?

just write.

*I also have a fun little giveaway going on this week, would love it if you entered!

Right before Paul was born, I was asked if I would like to try out a new baby bathtub on the scene, the Blooming Bath. I of course jumped on the opportunity, because I’m admittedly one of those moms who love to try test out all of the latest and greatest baby gear.

So the Blooming Bath. How would I describe it? It’s basically a soft, form-able tub that fits into any sink creating a warm cradle to rub-a-dub-dub baby in.

Being an eternal skeptic, I had my reservations at first. And so did Paul:

What’s this silly soft thing you’re setting me in, mom? Do I look like a flower that needs watering?

And then, within a minute, we had sheer baby bliss on our hands. The kid, totally mellowed out and let it all hang loose (if you know what I mean).

Complete and utter relaxation set in quickly.

Hey dad, don’t forget to scrub my bits…

Now hide my bits for the camera, I’m a modest kind of guy…

As a mom, I thought that the tub really made Paul feel safe and secure, and he appeared to enjoy this bathing experience much more than the old plastic tub we used with his older siblings.

When we’re done using it, we easily ring out the excess water into the sink and use the handy hang tag located on the back to hang it to dry. Or, if you’re so inclined, you can just throw it into the dryer for a few minutes to bounce around.

Another cool feature about the bath is that when baby outgrows the “sink bath”, the Blooming Bath can be place in the real tub as a soft and secure spot to keeps baby’s bottom from slipping and sliding around.

The Blooming Bath costs $40, and can be purchased online.

GIVEAWAY ALERT!

Blooming Bath wants to gift one of their baths to one of you! And no worries if you’re out of the baby stage, I think this would make a fantastic shower or new baby gift. I would have LOVED to have received one of these!

To Enter: (leave a comment for each option)

1. Leave me a comment, any comment (other than “I want to win”). For instance, you could tell me how cute my baby is.

2. Tweet about this giveaway. Leave me a link to the tweet in the comments.

3. Post the giveaway to your Facebook profile.

Winner will be randomly selected and notified on Monday, February 13th 2012.

*I received a blooming bath to facilitate this review. The opinions expressed are my own.*

Four weeks ago today, this was my body:

I love this photo. Big, beautiful, and full of baby boy.

No doubt about it, I’m one of those women who “carry all out front”. I’ve been told that I’m lucky, because looking like I swallowed a basket ball is totally in style, apparently.

I’ve now carried around 4 basketballs in the past 7 years, and I’m feeling a bit physically and emotionally ravaged.

When the kids came to the hospital to meet baby Paul for the first time, the first things Nola said to me was: “Mommy, why do you still look pregnant?” I laughed it off, because in the eyes of a 4 year old, her mommy still looked pregnant.

I agree. The first few months postpartum, you do still look pregnant. Those women who wear their skinny jeans home from the hospital? They don’t exist.

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This morning, Michael and I went to run errands, which included a trip to Target. The minute we walked through the doors, we were smacked in the face by the display of teeny tiny bikinis. Although the temps are freezing here in Central Indiana, apparently, it’s time to get yourself a fresh string bikini for the beach.

I mumbled: “Now there’s something I’ll never need again”.

Jokingly, giving me a sarcastic grin, Michael says to me: “Babe, you just need to find your Swimsuit Confidence“.

But the truth of the matter is, no matter how hard I work out, I’ll never wear a two piece again. And quite frankly, it’s ok with me. It’s the least of my worries.

You see, while that beautiful maternity photo of me was taken less than a month ago, this grainy self-portrait of me was taken yesterday:

Me, 3 weeks postpartum, after my 4th pregnancy.

This is the belly of a thirty-something year old woman, who has carried 4 full term babies. This women loves rich chocolate cake, is lackadaisical when it comes to exercising, and enjoys a good beer every once and a while.

Yesterday my friend Casey posted over at babble about loving our postpartum bodies and embracing our imperfections. At her request, I begrudgingly sent her the above photo for a slideshow, but made her promise to keep my identity a secret. (hi, my name is “Jo”)

I shouldn’t be ashamed. And it’s sad that what just a few weeks ago I found beautiful, can quickly become a source of self-hatred. What pregnancy has done to my body is normal and natural. I am not a hideous and deformed creature who answers to Momma.

I’m a modest gal. And it’s true, I don’t love the way my belly looks. You will not fine me frolicking in the sun wearing a teeny tiny anything.

But I love my babies, and I wouldn’t trade my four kids for all the rock hard abs on Miami Beach.

(my belly, it’s squishy-ness makes a fantastic resting place.

I used to have a beautiful body, but now I have beautiful children. (thanks, better in bulk, it’s so true)

Since I’m a bucket list kind of girl, anytime I get a chance to do something out of the ordinary, I pounce on it.

Michael and I planned all last week that on Saturday we would take the kids downtown to visit the Super Bowl Village, and see the sights and lights.

*above image by Casey.

We plotted and planned. The kids were napped early and their bellies filled. We bundled everyone up in their warmest winter gear. Michael printed off a map of downtown, and we knew exactly where we wanted to go, and what we wanted to see. It was our “game time”.

Piper and Nola were excited, as were Michael and I. WE WERE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL! (ok, not really going to the Super Bowl, but when you’re seven years old, it’s about as good as it’s going to get).

But I forgot about one small detail. A detail that weighs about 8 pounds.

I have a two week old little baby.

And I’m horribly sleep deprived.

And I also have a two year old (amongst my 4 and 7 year old).

As we walked towards downtown, the miscalculation of my abilities hit me harder than the subzero windchill blowing in my face.

Me to Michael: “This feels overwhelming”.

Michael to Me: “We don’t have to do this, let’s not kill ourselves”.

Suddenly, the thought of walking around with 4 small children (one who was only 14 days old, strapped to my chest in a moby wrap), in freezing temperatures, with thousands of other crazy football fans, in the dark of the night, panicked me. Why did I think this would be fun? What was I thinking?

And just like that, we stop the stroller, turn the crew around, and head back to the car.

Piper, my seven year old, immediately starts to cry. We had obviously been hyping up the event all day about how cool it was going to be, and now we were heading home empty handed.

“Hey Piper, what if on the way home we pick up ice cream. And then when we get home, we watch a movie? We’ll even let you stay up past your bedtime.”

And that’s all it took. A Super(Bowl) of ice cream, in the flavor of her choice.

She was sold, and the evening was totally redeemed. Who needs the Super Bowl when you have ice cream in a stale green cone and a movie streamed off Netflix?

Friends, we’re a cumbersome and awkward group right now. Life at our house is moving slowly, and that’s not at all a bad thing. They say if you can parent 3 kids, adding a 4th is no big deal. I’m not buying into that advice just yet.

I’m scattered, I’m messy, and my act is nowhere near together like it should be. But you guys, days with a newborn you can’t get back. I’m enjoying each and every mundane moment of my life right now, even the disheveled and dirty parts.

Eating ice cream while snuggling my newborn? So much better than dumb football festivities (or so I’m convincing myself). And anyway, there’s always a next time the Super Bowl is hosted just a few miles from my house. Right?

******************

I’m super excited to be partnering with Hallmark this year for its “Life Is A Special Occasion” campaign. It’s truly my honor to be able to tell you stories about my everyday special moments, and having them sponsored by Hallmark is like hot fudge on my vanilla sundae.

This past week, I started reading it again. I don’t know what prompted me to pick it up, but I’ve been reading a chapter or two every night as I take a bath (while I soak in a postpartum herb concoction my friend Sarah whipped up for me). And yes, I take the book into the tub with me. It’s a paperback, and I love to live on the edge like that.

The title of the book comes from when the authors brother (as a young 10 year old child), had waited until the very last minute to complete a huge book report on birds for his school homework. The authors dad, (obviously a very wise man), tells his son not to look at the big picture, but to take it just bird by bird.

Just one piece of the puzzle at a time, as to not get overwhelmed.

I’m currently tackling my days, and even nights living “bird by bird”. Working on getting through the moment in front of me, and that’s all that is required of me.

Nurse Paul. Read a story to Nola. Sit down and eat dinner with my family.

Reminding myself that I have a 10 day old son, and newborn days are days I can never get back.

Just one thing at a time, living and getting through that moment.

Now that I’m home with four kids under roof, the hugeness of managing everyone’s different needs can be completely overwhelming, if I let them be.

How on earth will there be enough of me to go around?

All I can do is take it day by day, hour by hour, child by child.

*image by casey.

The story of how Paul came into the world:

2:00 pm: My due date was the 10th, and I had a routine 40 week doctors appointment schedule for the afternoon of the 12th. Since I was 2 days post due date, we had an ultrasound to check my fluid levels, and take some quick measurements of the baby, just to make sure his little living space was still a comfortable and habitable place to be. The ultrasound went fine, and they estimated the baby to be around 8 pounds.

3:00 pm: I met with my doctor. We decided that we wouldn’t schedule an induction, but would wait it out another week, hoping that I would go into labor on my own. She checked my cervix, which was disappointingly only dilated to 1.

3:30 pm: After meeting with the doctor, since I was mildly contracting on my own, she ordered a non-stress test, just to make sure that the baby wasn’t in any distress as my body contracted. I completed the test, waited to be unhooked from the machine, and expected to be sent on my way.

That’s not what happened.

Instead of the NST technician coming back into the room to unhook me, it was my doctor. She said I had a “suspicious” contraction that sent my sons heart rate dipping dangerously. She wanted to make sure everything was “ok” so she was sending us up to Labor & Delivery for a more extensive test. She also told Michael and I (thank God Michael was there with me this whole time), that if the test proved that the baby was in distress, I would be induce immediately.

I.FREAKED.OUT.

4:00 pm: When we got to Labor & Delivery, they administered the non-stress test with a little more gusto than they did in the doctors office. I was shocked when they told me they would be hooking me up to a very low dose of pitocin, to trick my body into thinking it was in labor. They needed to do this so I would have a few “good” contractions so they could accurately watch how the baby was reacting. In the back of my mind, even though I didn’t verbally express myself, I knew this was the beginning of the end.

The contractions started coming hard and fast, and oh boy, they were good. On my pain scale, I would rate them at around a “5″, meaning I could not talk through them, and would have to carefully concentrate. At one point, I realized I was glazed over and staring at The Simpsons on TV. That’s how I knew I had entered my own world of preparing for labor. I hate that show.

6:30 pm: The baby and I  “pass” the NST, and we are told we can head on home. Since I was contracting pretty hard through the whole test, and I’ve been known to have pretty fast labors, I asked the doctor if she could check me before I left. I didn’t want to leave the hospital if I had made a significant cervical change in a short amount of time. Getting home only to have the baby on the kitchen floor wasn’t something I was interested in experiencing.

Disappointingly, after all that hard contracting, I was only dilated now to a 2. The nurse said that pitocin has a pretty short half life, and the medication should easily be out of my system within the hour, meaning, contractions would stop completely.

7:00 pm: We get home, and the contractions are nowhere near stopping. In fact, they’re getting harder and faster by the minute. I decided I need to eat something, get my mind of the pain, and relax. I take a bath and eat some pizza rolls. I know, nice dinner choice.

8:30 pm:  Contractions are painful and coming every 3.5 minutes. We call a OB doctor friend of ours and ask him for a bit of advice. He says that the pitocin should definitely be out of my system by now, and that if I’m still contracting, it’s likely the “real deal”.

We both get really nervous, and decide that we should get stuff together and head to the hospital. My very dear friend Katie comes over to sleep on our sofa, as we have already tucked the kids in bed for the night.

I call my trusty doula, Charity.

I call Casey my photographer and friend extraordinaire.

We load up and head to the hospital.

9:30 pm: We make it to the hospital and am ushered back into the same room I emerged from only 2 hours prior. I’m given another cervical check, and yes, within the past two hours, I’ve dilated from a 2 to a 5 -1/2. I’m encouraged by the quick progress, as a long unmediated birth is what my literal nightmares are made out of.

We’re taken down the hall to and admitted into Room 4208, the same room as where I birthed Nola. (we think)

10 pm: The contractions are pretty intense, and I’m exclusively managing them by standing up and leaning against the wall for support. I take deep breaths, hum (or more like moan) through the pain until it releases it’s grip. The main thing I concentrate on during contractions is staying relaxed, primarily in the hips legs, and ladyparts area, as I know that “clenching up” will only slow the process and make dilation take even longer.

11 pm: This is where my recollection starts to get fuzzy, as the pain really becomes intense. I continue in a pattern of extremely painful contractions, coming around every 5-6 minutes. When I’m not contracting, I’m perfectly fine, almost forgetting I’m even in labor.

Having been in labor since around 4pm, I had a ridiculous mental goal of having the baby before midnight. Because really, who wants to have a baby on Friday the 13th? Not this girl.

But of course, the baby and my body had their own agenda.

12 midnight: I’m checked by a nurse and I’m dilated to 7-1/2, which is not very encouraging, having only dilated 2 centimeter over the course of almost 3 hard hours. With this news, my doula and I hit the halls for a leisurely midnight stroll. We circle the floor a few times, even detouring to the nursery for a few minutes to look at all the new babies for a bit of inspiration.

1:00 am: The contractions become increasingly unbearable, yet ironically slow down to 6-8 minutes apart. Between the contractions, all I feel like doing is giving up, crawling into the bed and falling fast asleep. I’m tired, and I can tell everyone in the room is getting fatigued as well.

I try contracting on a birthing ball, which I completely hate. Sitting down, even on a ball, feels insanely restrictive and horrible.

I get on my knees and lean on the back of the bed. I love this position, as I can collapse onto the mattress and rest between contractions. The contractions are intense, and I’m starting to feel defeated as I know delivery is still quite a ways off.

2:00 am: The nurse comes in to check me again. I’m still at a 7.5 centimeter, even after intense laboring over the course of the last 2 hours. It’s a crushing blow, as I feel like all that work was for nothing. The doctor decides that now would be a good time to break my water. I’m scared, but I agree.

I’m scared because in the back of my mind, I know that once my water breaks, there is a real chance that I’ll want to start pushing immediately.

My intuition was spot on.

The doctor breaks my water, I stand up to work through another contraction, and instantly know this baby is coming. Like coming NOW.

In a “bossygirl” voice I forgot I even had, I let everyone in the room know about the developing situation. I’m typically a pretty polite gal, but at that point in my game, all pleasantries had left the building.

I manage to get myself back in bed. (because that’s the way they like you to deliver the baby at my hospital, which I think is kinda dumb)

The room is busy getting everything ready for delivery.

I tell them primal scream at everyone that I’m pushing. Because really, whether or not I wanted to, my body was pushing.

I remember the feeling of being completely out of control, looking at my doula, and telling her “I can’t do this”.

I remember a nurse saying in all the commotion and excitement “his head is out, look down at your baby!”

2:38 am: One in one more mini-push, Paul was born.

Michael cut the cord. And cried. (he always cries)

I held him for a few minutes until the nurses took him to the warmer to get a better look at him.

Paul had come through the birth canal so fast that he had a fair amount of fluid in his lungs, so I wasn’t able to nurse him right away.

But within just a short few moments, we were back together.

This is the story on how Paul was born.

************************************

*All these amazing birth photos were taken by Casey, who stayed by my side through the whole night. Seriously, she has magic talent to make anyone look pretty darn great, even while giving birth in the middle of the night. Crazy eyes and primal screams to boot. I owe her a lifetime of favors.