Every day is an adventure with these four… 🧑🏼👧🏼🧒🏼👶🏼

Today-

In the car

Kid #1 -ouch!!! Maxie is scratching me and pinching me really bad

Kid #2- just punch him!

Kid #1- I want to, but I can’t!!! (Desperate voice) I wish he wasn’t a baaaby!!! 😂😂😂

#NoBabiesWereHurtInThisCar #BigSistersHowever…

Before the mall

-please try to behave, be nice to each other and listen to mama

Kid #1- I will mama

Kid #2- I will too mama

Kid#3- I will three mama

Satisfied mama!

Kid #3- eh mama can I change my answer

Mama-? What do you mean?

Kid #3- I thought about what you said and all of that will be really hard for me, so I can’t make any promises, but I guess I could try! …

At Tiffany’s (putting my Mother’s Day gift charm on my bracelet)

Guard-wow mam (🙄) you have the most well behaved kids I’ve ever seen!!!

What he didn’t know was-I “threatened” them that the police would come and take them if them didn’t behave 😳(meaning stand completely still and completely quiet, never leaving my side! My oldest even asked if he was allowed to breathe and blink 😂🙄😂)

At bath time;

Sister to lil brother

-yes girls have two butts, a back butt and a front butt 😳

But boys only have a back butt and a front bun 🤣🤣🤣😅😳😳😳

Throwback: Bare bottom pictures

The man in radiology is seriously good looking, good thing I’m wearing the ugliest hospital gown ever sown, and the biggest, sheerest granny panties ever (did I mention they are see through and include an adult sized diaper…?).

Not that it matters of course, since I’m happily married but come on, could I have looked more like a mess?

My mom follows me in the stark white room with weird looking machines and monitors, carrying my valentine’s day Louis Vuitton purse (yes, I do love my husband) and the white hospital bag with my clothes.

They tell her to go outside and I feel so bad for her having to go through this with me, it’s way past 8 pm (probably closer to 9) and even though food is now the furthest thing from my mind, I realized she hasn’t eaten (or used the bathroom for that matter) for hours.

The guy rolling me here asks if I can stand up (of course he wants this underground hospital journey to be over, take the wheelchair back and end his shift) and walk over to an odd looking futuristic screen.

My feet barely carry me as I wobblingly walk over to the screen, knees shaking, head spinning. The ridiculously hot man takes over asking me to stay close to the screen with my legs and arms spread far apart, hands up, palms facing the screen.

I have to stand still in that pose with my chin up but all I want to do is look down in embarrassment because I don’t have any hand left to cover my bare bottom peeking out underneath the huge see through panties where the gown splits open…and of course this man is right behind me helping positioning me just right.

How come I have time to worry about this you might wonder, well it sure as h*ll beats letting the fear in right now…

He leaves the room to push a button several times (much like at the dentist but somehow I’m more comfortable taking snapshots of my teeth…even though come to think of it I always gag on that thing they put in your mouth before taking those pictures).

He is telling me to breathe normally versus taking deep breaths, it appears that he is checking out my lungs (I’m hoping that is the only thing he is checking out or the poor man will have nightmares tonight…let’s just say my body has seen better days).

In true hospital policy spirit, he tells me absolutely nothing as another hospital aid magically shows up with the wheelchair and my mom meets us outside the door, where she has been forced to wait. She asks me what went on in the room but I’m not even sure I know.

As we wait for yet another huge metal elevator, the new wheelchair guy is telling us that we are on our way to get an ultrasound (of course he can’t really answer questions on of what and why, he is just here to take us from point A to B) so instead we ask him about the truth in elevating legs to prevent swelling.

See, the nurse who released me and my humongous heffa lump (he was called that right, the huge “elephant looking creature” from Winnie the pooh…?) feet told me that was a myth, this guy is on our side however and tells us that elevation is common practice to prevent swelling.

 

The girl performing the ultrasound is really nice, she is actually willing to talk me through it and my mom gets to stay in the room (too bad they have no chair for her though…she looks tired, I can’t say I blame her, it has been a looong day and I wish we could just go home, go to sleep and forget that this day never happened).

The nice girl is putting the cold gel on my stomach (doesn’t feel right somehow to call it a belly anymore when it’s just not cute and round holding a baby but just big, deflated and flabby) and it feels like déjà vu but a major thing is missing- the grainy picture on the screen is no longer the baby but what is left in my uterus…

It’s weird and frightening, is there something left? Something that SHOULDN’T be there? Did the doctor leave something behind?

Last time I did an ultra sound, my baby was in there and I was beside myself with worry, at least she is out now and she is okay!

I’m still worried about how sick I am however. I’m sicker than I have ever felt in my entire life, and it doesn’t help when the ultrasound technician apologetically asks me if its ok if she shoves a huge thing up inside me to take a better look because she DOES see something in there…

 

Happy Mother’s Day 💜

Happy Mother’s Day fellow mamas~ stay at home moms and working moms, breastfeeding moms and formula feeding moms (“ANY kind of delivery”moms), Pinterest moms and amazon prime moms, moms of babies, toddlers, preschoolers, school aged kids, teenagers and adult children~moms of all ages, ethnicities and cultures! You are doing great~ keep being YOU and rock this motherhood thing!!!!❤️♥️💜🧡💛💚💙❤️#ALoveThatLastsForever #Motherhood #MamasDay #MomsDayEveryDay #WeBirthTinyHumans

Throwback Thursday: How many nurses does it take to set an IV?

Yes, that right, diving back IN…

The pain is almost unbearable and I can’t believe the nurses promised me the doctor wouldn’t check me (well, actually I can…).

Luckily he is quick and very compassionate, unfortunately he lets us know that left over placenta is his best guess and it will most likely require surgery (wait WHAT…).

Tears well up and fall down my feverish hot face and I can’t even look at my mom.

I feel scared and vulnerable but I’m really happy that my mom is right here.

Since my fever is so high and the fear of the infection spreading is even higher, the doctor orders the strongest antibiotics there are to be on the safe side since they are not sure what I have.

My mom who brought her brain asks if this will affect my breast milk (the main food source for my tiny infant) and the doctor tells us that I shouldn’t feed her my milk just in case the strong medicine will be transferred to her (pump and dump it is, which seems sad since I don’t get that much to begin with).

The nice and very feminine doctor gestures with his hands (small, with long fingers and surprisingly gentle, except when he had them inside me; hello invasion of privacy!) to the nurses that time is of the essence and an IV needs to be started right away!

Oh, here we go again; we are playing “how long does it take (and how many nurses) to put the IV needle in my arm”. My mom looks on in shocked astonishment, they seriously have five of them come and go…

I know I have been told that my veins are hard to find, but come on!! from the completely butchered arm leading to infection while on bed rest, to the extremely swollen one during labor due to the nurse’s inability to correctly set up an IV and now this…

Different nurses keep poking me, some go as far as sticking the needle in – only to retract it again, the fact that I’m used to this doesn’t make it okay.

I can see my mom’s eyes widen in total surprise at the time it takes them to do this, what do they really learn in nursing school nowadays? This is not a rant against nurses (well, sorry it kinda is but not against all nurses) I know that most nurses are amazing, skillful, compassionate people that are often just underpaid, underappreciated and mistreated, trust me I met some of them (and I even know some great nurses personally and have some in my extended family) and I am extremely grateful to them and their work, I’m just not certain that some of them are present  in this hospital room right now (or maybe my veins are just extremely difficult; next to impossible to find and I am the worst patient ever)…

When it’s all done after what felt like hours (it’s not like I’m sick or anything and extremely uncomfortable)  the nurses do apologize for sticking the needle in the worst place possible, my hand, the front part that naturally bends (well now it naturally doesn’t) and for it taking so long.

Next, things are moving pretty fast, a young good looking guy pulls up to the door with a wheel chair (hey, that’s my ride) and the nurse helps me sit down with my IV and my blankets (which I could do without but take only to cover my ugly hospital gown open to my enormous see through underwear and ginormous pad in the back!). She hands my mom a big white “my belongings” hospital bag with my “street clothes” as she phrases it (funny those were the everyday normal clothes I had been so excited to wear only hours before…well this morning…bye bye pink angel hoodie and black leggings…).

A new adventure starts; we now get to tour the hospital but only the parts that no human has ever seen before it seems like.

My poor mom finds it hard to keep up on this surreal journey of winding corridors, sliding doors, enormous elevators and empty basements.

I actually feel delirious and as I’m having multiple out of body experiences, I know I’m rambling and even laughing inappropriately and out of context at one point, and am also slightly aware of my mom’s concerned looks and the guy half sprinting with the wheelchair through the never ending, isolating, sterile smelling corridors in the undergrounds of this big hospital.

My mom, never one to beat around the bush tells me to stop being odd and start acting like myself (not a suggestion, more like an order) as she is struggling to keep up with the running wheel chair guy through the ups, downs, bends and allies.

The surroundings are eerie and we don’t see anybody until we come to the ER, which in contrast is bustling with energy and scared, harried, running, worried, stressed out people, we make a stop only to continue our journey again.

Next stop; radiology.

 

 

 

When everything changes…

I will never forget that doctors’ appointment as long as I live…

Afterwards I analyze every single moment, especially the moment when it turns from a “casual” follow up appointment with a specialist, to something very serious…

I remember the doctor’s facial expressions, his nice smiley face turning grim and somber. I remember just how the light, from the sun outside hits the ceiling, creating prismas of colors in the hospital room (is it getting smaller in here?). The smells, the sounds in a distance…

I remember the words that come out of the doctor’s mouth, how he says them in a way as to NOT scare us, but it is WHAT the words mean that DO…and how they carry fear and severity of a whole other level.

This is where I tune out the outside world (including my own kids whining and screaming) and how his words don’t seem real, like he is talking to someone else, about someone else.

That sounds selfish, but at that moment I can’t quite comprehend that he is talking about MY son.

The feeling of confusion is overwhelming and it’s overpowering me…

I look around at my little kids, these kids that we created and who solely depend on us to keep them safe, happy and yes healthy…

I’m in a hazed state of not comprehending what I am being told.

After the appointment I had told my husband to meet us outside of the doctor’s office. He still doesn’t know, poor man, I am even tempted to not tell him. I just want so desperately for things to be normal, STAY normal…

I hate seeing my husband’s reaction. His utter shock and anguish. He loves this kid more than anything, his firstborn, his boy, his little clone.

He loves all his kids of course, but there is something special about your firstborn, and this father and son have always had this incredible bond.

I don’t want to see the father of my kids sad, or upset, or worried. I don’t want to worry him like how I am worrying right now, probably more than I have in my entire life (and trust me, I’m a worrier).

I don’t want to ruin his day (his week, his month, his year…his…)

But, I had to tell him and we have to face this…

I clung to the doctor’s last words to me as the nurse gave my kiddos some more stickers, before we left the office: “this is bad but even if we don’t know exactly how bad yet, it is NOT the worst” …

NOT the worst, NOT the worst, NOT the worst…

How do people do this?

Seriously how do people do this, when its kids, and when it’s bad…?

How do parents do this? And how do they do this when it is the worst?

I remind myself that it is not “the worst” and since it is not the worst, I can do this! We can do this! We can do this as a family and we will!!!

Then we go to dinner at the most family friendly restaurant in the area (because we all have to eat, and kids have no idea, and life goes on etc etc.).

We are forced to get out of our minds and thoughts, time and time again to face the chaos that is a baby, a toddler, a preschooler and a 7 year old-who has no idea what he is about to face.

We eat, we spill, we apologize to people left and right about our messy, loud kids and we yell ourselves to be overheard, just to tell the kids to be quiet.

We even smile here and there…

And then we all have the promised ice cream…together as a family!

From Antartica to a Sauna …

I’m not sure why this keeps happening but the nurse refuses to tell me what is wrong (well maybe don’t swear after checking my vitals then)…

I’m pretty sure it’s bad because she looks so surprised as well as concerned. So far I have managed to be annoyed with all of their questions and mad at the situation but I simply do not have the strength anymore, I have given up.

I realize I am very sick and I will have to be re-admitted.

I realize that I have to answer the questions to get the best possible care and I am just ready for some relief from these shakes, the stiffness, the nausea and vomiting, the head spinning, pounding head ache and tender stomach.

I turn to my mom with a weak smile and I think this worries her more than the angry me. She immediately takes over demanding to know my vitals.

This works because my mom can be quite intimidating when she wants to be and the nurse tells us quietly that it doesn’t look good and that we have to get me some strong antibiotics as soon as possible as well as some fever reducers.

My blood pressure is off the roof and my temperature is 105.4, (again always confusing with the Fahrenheit to Celsius but I know enough to know it is high). My mom slowly nods her head, we are both used to my high fevers but the nurse seems rattled, she springs in to action, paging doctors and nurses to help her come in to set up an IV with strong antibiotics for infection.

I just still really want to know what is wrong with me (have you guys heard this request before?) and why?

I finally get those amazing warm blankets (sweet relief and no time to reflect over their ugly off white color and uncomfortable stiffness-the only stiffness I worry about is my neck’s).

It takes me about twenty minutes to finally somewhat relax enough to lean back. I haven’t forgotten that I really have to pee but I have been way too weak to even request to use the bathroom, let alone felt strong enough to try out my legs (I think the shakes made it impossible to do much of anything) but as soon as I’m about to ask to get up, guess what… I feel… warm.

No, not warm, correction HOT (no, not my looks, I probably look worse than ever- a mess-and no, not a hot mess either, this is not slang for something else people; this is the real deal).

Sure, I have had fevers before (a lot of them, high fevers and plenty of practice) so I know about the whole cold/hot thing but this is intense and something I have never experienced before.

I guess “be careful what you wish for” is in order because I now get that sauna I so desperately wanted. I feel crazy hot as I throw off the heated, ugly (now I see it) blankets and would have kept going (with the rest of my clothes) had the nurse not stopped me with a knowing smile telling me the fever reducers must be working and did I want to use the bathroom to change into the gown and underwear (sexy time) now? YES! Bathroom please (maybe I could splash cold water on myself in there…after peeing like a liter of course).

I get off the bed in a hurry but it is actually scary how weak my legs are, the nurse half carries me as I lean heavily on her. She has to literally put me on the toilet (embarrassing, but what else is new?).

It hurts to pee and my stomach is very sore, the blood has also completely soaked through my big pad. I get the gown and the giant panties in addition to the ginormous pad (well hello old friends) and I actually need help getting undressed and dressed (bye bye modesty).

When I’m changed and have left a urine sample that looks totally terrifying I feel slightly better (no cold water for me as that idea makes me shiver even though I am burning up) I now get to sink back unto the pillow, return my husband’s frantic calls and squeeze my mom’s hand, but then the doctor comes in the room. They ask me if I have met this doctor before (why, yes I believe that I have meet EVERY single OBGYN doctor in the whole entire hospital…(if not world…) but I really liked this one (and I do believe his exaggerated flamboyant gestures suggests something) he seems very gentle and nice and to the point.

My mom sighs in relief too as the doctor takes charge and actually talks to us suggesting that maybe some placenta was left inside me (oh that darn placenta) after pressing on my stomach (ouch) and checking my breasts (did mom want to leave the room? Nop, pretty sure she has seen worse than my milk filled mom boobs…sorry lots of TMI people, and we Swedes are simply not as prude as some people…)

But guess what he wants to examine next…

 

 

 

In the midst of chaos…

I bring all four kids to the specialist my oldest is sent to, including my fussy 8 months old, my (extremely) terrible two:er, and my stubborn preschooler.

It’s after school and late afternoon. It been a long day and we are all hungry and cranky. My patience is running thin and I am frankly more focused on breaking up sibling fights and soothing the baby, who was brutally awakened from his nap when he was put in the stroller, than what the doctor is saying. 

It’s October and the kids can’t wait for Halloween, but for them two short weeks seem like an eternity.

My two middle kids are loud and arguing over some “spooky” stickers the receptionist gave them as we came into the doctor’s office.

It’s hot and the baby is crying. I feel like I can’t keep the kids calm and concentrate on this appointment for my oldest if I pick him up. 

Buuut…he is crying…loudly.

I pick the baby up and promise ice cream to the kid that will just keep (shut…) quiet. 

My two year old who doesn’t care about anything, least of all ice cream, threats (treats?) or promises, gets even louder (if that’s possible). The nurse gives me a nervous smile and slips out of the room.

The doctor however is very nice, it’s like I first notice as he tells me I’m very brave and that he has three himself (and that sure felt like a lot, especially when they were little like mine). I smile and nod and apologize while cursing inside, why can’t my kids just behave for once? 

The doctor examines big brother who sits up in a big black leather chair (possibly plastic) and the doctor grins and talks to my son in a very reassuring way, treating him like you would a fellow adult, not a kid, and I think my son appreciates that (and so do I). 

Then all of a sudden, in the midst of me raising my voice in an attempt to sound “scary” ,to no avail of course “that’s IT, no dessert…ever”, the doctor’s good mood seems to disappear. 

I barely notice of course since my sole purpose at the moment is getting my kiddos (and myself) our of here in one piece (and as quickly as possible).

“Did you hear me?” He asks and I barely do over the baby’s wailing. 

I need to take your son in the other room and examine him under the microscope…

“Oh, eh?! Okay-go ahead!”, I’m ashamed for even thinking; great that gives me a few minutes to discipline the kids.

“Okay if we just stay here, kids and stroller and all?”…

“Actually, mom, you better come with us”

The worst day of my life …

As they roll him in, my heart almost stops…

I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. My perfect, beautiful, smart, witty, wild, energetic, slightly crazy (did I mention perfect) and sweet firstborn.

He is frightened and nervous and teary eyed, and I don’t blame him. He is old enough now to realize what is going on.

We have been waiting and dreading this day for so long.

It was mid-October when we found out, right before all the Halloween festivities…

It could have been worse of course, it could have been SO much worse…

But even if it is not the worst, this is BAD and the single hardest, most difficult thing I’ve ever been through. My heart bleeds for my son and I soo wish I could take it all on. Why did this not happen to me?

Give it to me, please just give it to me instead.

But of course that is impossible.

This is IT, this is D day-and all I can do is hope and pray that the surgeons will be successful, literally having our son’s life in their hands….

First he got really, really sick. It was summer and (unbelievably) hot but he was on the couch cold and shivering, skinny and pale. Not himself, no energy, sleeping away the days, not even interested in TV and his beloved video games.

At 104 F (40 C) for more than 3 days we (daddy since I was on bedrest after surgery) took him to the doctor who ran ALL the tests, but the fever would not stop rising…

We went back to doctors who were concerned but nothing too alarming (or life threatening-you should see what he was tested for..) was confirmed.

But the multitude of symptoms accompanied the fever had us go back to the doctor yet again…

There was talk about taking him to a hospital in LA by helicopter but luckily the test they took for that suspected illness was negative, so was Mono and pneumonia, while other bacterial infections did come back positive.

We thought that was it and the antibiotics would cure him but he just wouldn’t get well.

We’ve never seen our first born so sick…

Your mind goes to scary places…

Two strong doses of antibiotics for a total of twenty days. He finally slowly got better, thank God, but one symptom, even though better, stubbornly remained.

In the Fall, when it hadn’t resolved (and he kept complaining) we called the doctor back. Our regular pediatrician was out on vacation so he got schedule with another doctor.

Our son was back at school but pale and still complaining the afternoon I took him to his appointment.

Since the new doctor didn’t like what she saw, we were sent to a specialist the very next day…

Finally, Finally HOME!!!!

It’s so wonderful to be back home again, (breathing the fresh air outside of the hospital while waiting for my husband to get the car feels great), watching my son’s eyes light up as I walk through the door feels amazing. I have missed him so much and my dog, my house, my home, our routines, our life.

My son takes me by the hand and leads me on a tour of the house. This brings tears to my eyes, have I really been gone that long? And he is showing me all his toys, naming them one by one. He has grown up so much. He is talking a lot and he has grown taller. My mom is also relieved to see me home (and I think she is excited about the prospect of getting out of the house with me tomorrow, she has been alone with an almost 3 year old for 4 weeks after all).

I can’t wait to sleep in a real bed, but my own bed will have to wait since I’m not allowed to walk stairs quite yet. My mom has made the pink guest room downstairs pretty and clean for me and I really appreciate that.

First things first though, spending some real quality time with my littlest man. We read books and talk and play outside. We watch the Swedish cartoon “Alfons” and pretend to be trains and I am the coolest parent in the world until Dada comes home that is.

These two, the main boys in my life have grown even closer over the weeks and my son idolizes his father. It is rather sweet and completely understandable since I have been away for so long.

My son is my little bestie, my sidekick, we use to hang out all day, every day and I can’t help by feeling a tiny sting of jealousy and a little hurt but also guilt for being gone for so long. I just left one afternoon and didn’t come back for weeks. That is hard for a 2 year old to process. I know that I had to go but I also know that that is impossible for my young son to comprehend.

That night I try to go to bed early, I am beyond exhausted and excited about the prospect of not sleeping in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown and with nurses checking on me constantly, but I stay up a bit, talking to my mom.

I’m so glad that she is here; when you are the most vulnerable all you want is your mother!!!

We talk about all that we have been through, our tiny little girl still in the NICU, all our fears and that it can only get better from here on out. The feeling of gliding in between cold, crisp, clean sheets in my own house with my family close by knowing that I am finally home safe and sound, snuggling in getting comfortable is indescribable.

In the middle of the night though, I wake up with the shakes. I shake uncontrollably and no matter what I do I can’t get warm. I am way too weak to get out of bed to find more blankets and I feel like my legs wouldn’t carry me. I collect what feels like my last strengths to pull the covers tightly around my body and pull the blanket on the end of the bed on top of me. It is so damn cold and I can’t quite understand why, I feel delusional and it’s hard to think clearly. Although freezing (I don’t think I have ever felt this cold before, not even outside on the coldest, snowiest winter day) I am also extremely tired and it almost feels like I am passing out, gliding into a dreamless state of mind where it is bone chilly, dark and scary. Before I slip into the black nothingness though, I have time to feel frightened “what is happening to me?”

In the morning I feel much better, giddy even about being home, knowing that I get to share breakfast with my loved ones and then see my brand new love at the hospital, but first some shopping.

The nightly shakes and tremors mostly forgotten, but not entirely since I do mention them to my mom (hesitating for a moment thinking that everything might not be okay after all) I shrug the fear away and dive into my day.

I pump milk with the hospital grade pump the lactation expert taught me how to use and that we rented before leaving the hospital, jumping in to some normal clothes (yay, only downer is I still look about 5-6 months pregnant) and scoping up and kissing my giggling son (“mama stop it) I start planning the day with mom and my husband.

But the day doesn’t exactly turn out according to plan…

 

 

 

 

 

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