My Daughter, The Flower Girl

I never quite got around to posting about this, because it happened right before the little dude was born. Then I was overloaded with baby fever, then I had a real, very bad fever. So now that everything has settled down quite a bit, it's time to share some absolutely beautiful photos of my absolutely beautiful daughter. I'm partial, what can I say?!

Early in June, my little squirt (I guess she's the big squirt now) was the flower girl at my childhood best friend Taylor's wedding in Utah. Before you do the math, yes, I was eight months pregnant. I was a crazy lady. My only defense is that it was my childhood best friend's wedding! And how fitting and poignant for my daughter to be her flower girl. And how many times will she have the opportunity to be a flower girl? Still, yes, crazy lady over here.

We flew to Salt Lake (Dianna's first plane ride and it went really well!), rented a car, and found ourselves in adorable Logan, Utah. On our first day there, we went to a quick rehearsal then dinner with Taylor and her fiance's family. We found a great local zoo to spend the next day until the wedding that night. Our plan of attack was to tire out the little squirt so that she would nap just before the wedding.

As we drove to the ceremony, Dianna was in a good mood, but it was the Mr. and I who were incredibly nervous! We wanted her to do well and not cry and so on and so forth. Did she walk down the aisle? Yes, but not alone. Chris nudged her down and I coaxed her from the front with her favorite lamb and cookies. 

During the reception, Dianna walked table to table carrying on babbly conversations with everyone.

We had a good time! Taylor looked gorgeous, the venue was really charming, and the little touches were, well, touching. I really loved the little milk bottles with the paper straws. We had to call it a night early with the little lady. I didn't want to push her good mood to expiration! It was also awesome to be in a little town again. We love them and they remind Chris of Albert Lea, MN, where his dad is from and where he has fond memories of his grandparents.

Congratulations to the new Kameraths (who can now be found here on their new blog)! Thank you so much for inviting our little family to your lovely wedding.

Getting Sick, Getting Better and Going Home

I've been writing this in my head for quite a while. Two weeks ago, I nearly died. No overexagerrating. I was transported by ambulance to a hospital, was in an emergency room with nurses rushing around me. I don't remember most of it, but I'm told that I had a temperature over 106 degrees. When the Mr. came home, firemen were surrounding me trying to revive me and I struggled hysterically as they tried to get me into the ambulance.

I was septic. Septisemia is measured by levels of lactic acid. Anything under four is fine. Four and above is considered septic and needs hospitalization. I was at a level ten. When I was told this, I was still delirious. The doctor who was telling me all this had to ask if I understood what he was saying. Suddenly, amidst all the flurry of needles sticking my arms and monotonous vital beeping, I felt dense. I hadn't felt just plain stupid in a very long time. I could feel my head spinning, and a part of me felt annoyed that it was. How was I to answer?

 It took me a few seconds, but I did understand and said so. The doctor continued with more medical talk about how they had to determine how I became septic and as I listened, I thought, "We could really use House." I spent that night in the ICU where I barely slept. I was still in shock that I was there. How could I be this sick? But at 22, that's how we think. As a mom, that is also how we think. We're not invincible, though.

On day two, I was transferred to Summerlin Hospital. Overnight, I stabilized enough to move and my vitals were able to be monitored with a battery operated pack rather than be attached to countless machines.

Day three was when my catheter was removed. Enough said there.

Day four was spent hoping to be discharged, but my fever had spiked the night before. My doctor wanted 24 hours of a steady temperature. That night my fever spiked again and I cried so worried and hopelessly saddened at the thought of staying in the hospital another night. Of being away from my kids another night. God, I missed them. Then I cried some more.

On day five, I waited for my doctor to come in to tell me I was staying longer. I felt sure I was staying and felt hopeless and doomed to more heartache and pricking and hospital food. But my doctor came in and said I could go home. My fever didn't spike high enough to alarm him. I was going home.

 
I think it was my excitement that did it, but that day my blood pressure was through the roof: 180/122. Scary. So, I was given a diuretic and spent the day peeing until my resting heart rate dropped enough to make the nurses happy.

It was heaven getting home to my family. My parents and Chris had cleaned all day and had dinner ready. That dinner felt like a feast. I don't remember what we ate. Didn't matter. Being around my loved ones and back home, I think, was the greatest nourishment of all.

Baby Baby

A few things about today:

I pulled an all-nighter for the first time in a long time last night waiting for Dean to wake up. He usually wakes up twice. Once at one and then again around four. My point in staying up was so that I would only wake up once and have my sleep disturbed only once. Kinda backfired on me. I did, however, watch a lot of Jericho. I now have a better idea of what I'd do in a nuclear war, but am now lacking sleep.

Today was my first official day of P90. I've been doing the videos for the past few weeks to acclimate myself to working out again. I haven't worked out regularly since I met Chris. Compound birthing two children on top of that...yeah. I've already lost over 20 pounds since Dean was born. 50 more to go!

Finally, this Saturday is our second wedding anniversary. What can we do to make it special?