On Wednesday, April 18th, 2012 I posted on Facebook that despite some backache and cramping I probably wasn’t having the baby that day so I was going to catch up on some Mad Men episodes. I went to bed way too late, especially considering I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. And at 12:30 a.m. on Thursday, April 19th, I woke up with an obvious contraction.

I instinctually got onto the floor in all fours, almost Child’s Pose, and breathed through the contraction. Damn, I thought, I hope I’ll have a while inbetween contractions because I really need some more sleep. I crawled back into bed, closed my eyes, began to drift off…BAM! 8 minutes later I’m on the floor again.

I was convinced this was going to last many-a hour as my labor with Liam had been 16 hours. I mean, even if it was shorter it would be like 10 hours, right? So, I was annoyed. I breathed through contractions every 8-ish minutes, on the floor, and grumbled in my head how of course I wasn’t going to get more sleep even though this was going to last forever. I didn’t wake up Husband, or my mom who was sleeping down the hall in the guest room. I figured this was manageable by myself and everyone else should get some rest, even if I couldn’t.

At 1:30 I must have gotten a little more noisy in my breathing techniques on floor because Husband woke up. He must have looked over at my side of the bed, saw I wasn’t there, and looked for where the low moaning was coming from. He chuckled when he saw me on the floor, simply because he wasn’t expecting me to be there, on all fours.

“DO NOT LAUGH.” I growled in Satan-Contraction voice.

“Sorry! I’m sorry.” He asked me some reasonable questions about my contractions to which I mostly ignored because I was in the middle of a contraction.

Husband began timing contractions and announced after a few that they were about 5 minutes apart. Wasn’t that when we were supposed to call the midwives? I was still convinced that this was going to last so much longer and didn’t want to rush off to the hospital and “inconvenience” my midwife in the middle of the night for nothing. I brushed off the call question.

My phone buzzed. My mom was texting me from the guest room. How are you. She could hear me from down the hallway. And yet, Liam, who is known for waking up during the night, slept on. I wanted to text back something smart alecky, like, I’m fine, how are you? but kept the sass in check and reported contraction length.

My mom came down to our room. “Your contractions are less than 5 minutes, Katie. You need to call the midwives.”

Are you suuurre?? I still debated through contractions that seemed to be more like 2-3 minutes apart now. I wanted to take a shower because I hadn’t had a chance to shower the day before and I refused to give birth without showering. My mom went in my bathroom to start the shower, giving me my phone and ordering me to call the midwives. Since it’s the middle of the night, you get an answering service who pages the midwife on duty, who calls you back.

Jen, the midwife on duty that night, called me back immediately. Jen had been the first of two midwives helping to deliver Liam, so I was happy to hear a extra-special, familiar voice. She asked me questions about my contractions, and later told me she knew I was in active labor just by my voice, but didn’t mention that on the phone. Instead, she asked how far I was from the hospital. 15-20 minutes, I told her. “You should head there now, and I will be there waiting for you,” Jen told me. “I was going to take a quick shower,” I lied to her, thinking about how I needed to shave my legs and definitely blow-dry my hair. She gently told me to take a quick shower and get to the hospital.

The next 40ish minutes were a blur. It was difficult to take a “quick” shower because I had to pause every 2 minutes to have a contraction. Husband was running around packing the car, my mom was calling our list of friends available to come stay with Liam in the middle of the night. (Our first two calls ended up being unavailable and my mom was getting nervous, but our third friend got to the house in record speed.) Liam slept on.

As soon as I had sufficiently showered and, yes, blow-dried my hair, my Husband and mother gently, but pointedly, herded me into the car. The car ride from Hell ensued. Looking back, I was probably in transitional stage then. I was leaned over the back seat, screaming my low-guttural baritone into a pillow while every tiny bump in the road seemed to invoke a contraction. The whole 15 minutes felt like a continuous contraction. The bad ones.

We pulled up to Mercy Hospital and a security guard came to escort us up to the 2nd floor. He had to hold the elevator door open for the time it took me to have another contraction in the elevator and couldn’t walk out. I made it to the front desk, where they had all of the paperwork ready for me to sign, and then when we were walking the short distance down the hall to my room I had to stop for another contraction, leaning against the wall.

I hardly realized who was around me, but I know that Roger was with me and my mom was bringing our bags in from the car, so she wasn’t back with us yet. There was at least one nurse that I remember.

I was ushered into my room and I immediately bent over for another contraction, forearms and head leaning on the bed. At Mercy Hospital’s Birthplace the rooms are all private labor, delivery & recovery rooms (LDR). I remember taking my pants off, you know…for technical reasons. The nurses were trying to fasten the fetal monitor around my belly while I was leaning over the bed, but to no avail, and suddenly it seemed like the contractions were continuous; I couldn’t stop long enough for them to hook me up to the monitor, no matter how annoyed the nurse seemed to be about that. (I remember this particular, older nurse from Liam’s birth. Crotchety old thing. Every other nurse at Mercy has a phenomenal bedside manner.) As fast and impromptu as everything was happening, suddenly Jen was at my side. My mom was there and at some point my sister showed up too. Jen was asking me to lay on the bed so that she could check my cervix and see how dilated I was. I couldn’t lay down. Every time I attempted to climb into the bed and lay down I would have a contraction, and the only position my body wanted to be in for a contraction was leaning onto something or on all fours. Laying down was impossible.

I looked at Jen at the end of a contraction and said, “I feel like I need to push.” “That’s okay, go ahead,” she replied calmly. What? Really?? I just got here, it can NOT be time for me to push! I should have at least ten more hours to go! But my body knew differently this time…so I pushed while standing and leaning on the bed.

I’ll try to be as delicate as I can for this part, but the truth of birthing a child is that it presses against your colon when it starts to move down and out. This is why you poop when you give birth. When I started to push I was horrified to think that this was about to happen on the floor in front of everyone.

“I want to go on the toilet!” I pleaded, and my mom and Jen helped me hobble to the toilet. As I pushed through a couple of contractions on the toilet I worried that I was going to push the baby out, right into the poop. Just as this thought crossed my mind Jen told me that I needed to decide where I was going to have the baby; in the bed, in the shower…just not in the toilet. Phew, we were on the same page with that one.

I decided I wanted to try the bed. The beds in the birthplace are all fancy and move around like a Transformer to serve whatever birthing purposes you wish. With Liam’s birth I had been sitting in the bed, the top part up like a chair back,the bottom of the bed moves away and my legs were being held up by various family members (they kept rotating because I had pushed for almost 3 hours with Liam). This had worked that first time, and I hadn’t torn, so it seemed like a good option to begin with. And I really thought “to begin with” because pushing no longer meant, go ahead and push out the baby, it meant push for an agonizing 3 hours and then get your baby, so I wasn’t committed to being in one location or position the whole time.

I was helped to the bed where I started to climb up from the end. I began to contract again and stopped, bending over in agony. I could hear Husband telling me that I was doing such a good job. This one was bad. I tried to breathe with the low, guttural baritone that helps your body contract. For the first time I wasn’t able to really control the tone and it came out as an unproductive scream. My mom was firmly instructing me to use my breath well, not to scream. I turned my head toward her and sobbed that I couldn’t do it anymore. (Let’s play a game and start counting contractions at the bed now. That was ONE contraction.)

“Katie, you can, you are almost done!” (sure, sure, they’ll say anything to get you through this, won’t they…) “Listen to me. Let’s say ‘I can do it.’” My mom started the Old Faithful mantra and I choked on my breath, slowing it down to join her through the next contraction that was beginning. I finished that contraction with a low guttural yell. (That was TWO contractions.)

I was still on the end of the bed, unable to climb all the way in. I was trying, but was mostly on all fours, dangling off the end of the bed. Voices behind me were exclaiming that the head was there.

“Katie,” Jen spoke up, “I’d like you to breathe really deep through your next contraction instead making a sound.”

As the next contraction came on I drew my knees up almost froggy-style, opening my pelvis even more. I breathed so deeply over and over, barely listening as voices were crying out that the head was out and the baby was looking at them. They were encouraging me and excited and seemed to think this was it. This was it. It was almost done. My baby was almost all here. I finished that contraction with the deepest breaths I could pull from as far into my energy as possible…and out slid the rest of my baby. (THAT, my friends, was THREE contractions.)

I was sort of on all fours, sort of in a froggy/child’s pose on the bed, attached to my baby that I couldn’t see behind me. Everyone in the room was crying and gasping and exclaiming, but not telling me what gender she was, so that I could see when I held her. I tried to turn over so that I could hold my baby, but was confused which way to go as the umbilical cord was in the way and I was falling off the bed if I moved too far in either direction. Arms were trying to help me up and to keep from falling off as my baby girl was handed to me.

8 pounds, 2 ounces. 21.5 inches long, and dark hair, more sparse than Liam’s impressive mohawk. It was 4:31 a.m. Exactly 4 hours from when I woke up with that first real contraction. Probably 15 minutes of pushing. The whole thing was a QUARTER of the time it took with Liam’s birth.

Some people told me that their facebook timeline had two of my status updates in a row; one saying I was going to watch Mad Men since I wasn’t having a baby, and the other announcing the birth of my baby girl.

Nora Adeline was named the next day. Nora was a name I liked, and happens to be a great-aunt’s name on my mother’s side. Adeline was my great-aunt’s name on my dad’s side. It wasn’t that I got to do all of the naming; I never knew Great-Aunt Nora, my mom told me about her after. For the middle name we put a family name from my side and a family name from Husband’s side on paper and drew the winner. The thing I found interesting though, is that I unintentially have named my son and daughter William and Nora, brother and sister; and my grandfather and his sister were William and Nora.

Nora Adeline

I feel guilty dropping Liam off at school when I’m home. I know I need to take care of myself too, but I am also aware that one of the hardest parts of having a new baby will be missing my Liam. Knowing this, I am reluctant not to spend every last possible second with him, whiny and mischeivous or not.

This day was a compromise for me. I had an appointment in the afternoon, so I told myself that Liam and I would have a special morning and then I’d bring him to school in time to play a little and nap. The special morning I had planned was a pancake breakfast (check!) and then a walk somewhere cool or near water as the day was heating up.

The walk didn’t happen as I had hoped. It has just become impossible to move at a pace fast enough to herd a toddler like Liam. Absolutely impossible. And it’s like a sprinting race in track, the further you start out in back the harder it is to come up from behind to win. And it’s not always Liam being a mischeivous monkey, sometimes it’s just me going upstairs and not remembering everything I went up for, causing my pregnant behind to waddle back up those stairs again…and again. But other times it’s me getting his clothes from his bedroom dresser and then walking into the master bathroom and finding my son has shimmied up onto the toilet, then used the toilet roll handle on the side of the sink to step up and into the sink. Where he has turned on the faucet full blast and stomped his feet around, spraying water across the entire bathroom and drenching himself. I’m fairly certain that’s not a Safety First situation at all.

After dirtying towels to dry the bathroom (grumble, grumble, laundry, grumble…) I realized that it was once again WAY TOO QUIET. Liam had been placed downstairs to play in his toyroom. Sometimes, sometimes, him being quiet in the playroom is actually him stacking blocks or playing with puzzle pieces. Most often, it means he’s no longer in the playroom and there’s another, more imminent, reason for this silence.

I started down the stairs and called, “Liam?” To which I hear the reply, “Oh, HI, Mommy!” and see his little head pop up from within the pack and play which had been infantized (set up with changing table gear, sun shade, and higher sleeping pad). This wasn’t the first time he had climbed from the couch next to the pack and play and into the new baby’s sleeper. Even though I had known it was confusing for him since he had been using that pack and play to sleep in when we travelled, I had tried to explain that the new baby was going to sleep in there and get their diaper changed there.

Taken aback by the cuteness of his “Oh, HI, Mommy,” and the gopher-like popping up from the crib, I paused on the step, processing what to say. He beat me to the punch.

“I Baby! I sleep!” He pronounced proudly, laying back down in the crib. He showed me how he was clearly a perfect candidate for this new contraption. Oh gosh, how could I argue with that?

I finished my stair trek and crossed over to the pack and play, where Liam was peering up and telling me again, “I Baby! I sleep!”

“Liam…sweetie…I’m afraid you’re too big for this crib. You are too heavy and you might break this.” He let me pick him up and seemed to accept this.

Until about 5 minutes later. We talked about how his new baby doll could sleep in the pack and play because the baby wasn’t too heavy. He found his doll in the stroller, hugged it, patted it’s back and when I turned my attention to packing him a lunch in the kitchen I found him joining his baby doll in the pack and play again. So adorable I had to take pictures, all the while contradicting myself by explaining he’d have to get out because he was too heavy. Really, though, the pack and play is going to have to be moved in a new location as that is the best solution with dealing with a toddler you can’t reason with. New location must not have any climbing apparatus within a five foot radius.

Liam loving his baby doll

Trying to give Baby a magnet to hold

Way too easy

"I Baby, I sleep!"

The sun is shining and it’s in the 70s, in April, in Maine. Wheeee!! Since I’m not actively giving birth or holed up with a newborn, Liam and I were able to spend a couple of hours of our morning at the beach with our buddies. Liam is 1/3 of a 3 Musketeers group of boys, Wyee, Nona, and Mamoe. That translates from toddler talk into Wyatt, Noah and Liam. {shrugs} You have to ask Wyee about the Mamoe part, I have no idea where that came from.

So, on any given day it is fairly difficult to get out of the house with a toddler. 40 weeks pregnant, amplify that by about a million. Plus, I’m not unconvinced that Liam’s behavior this morning is directly related to me giving birth at any moment. He woke up at 4:45 a.m. Like wide awake. “Mama! Mama!” Husband tried to get him back to sleep and that didn’t work. That ALWAYS works. So, I went in and rocked a wide awake kiddo until 5:30 when I finally gave up and brought him to bed and let him play with the iPad and crawl all over us for an hour or so.

Then, shockingly, he was cranky all morning.

Mama: Do you want toasties for breakfast?

Liam: Noooooo!!!! NOOOOOO TOASTIES!!!

Mama: Ok. No toasties…

Liam: {interrupting} TOASTIES!! {points wildly at toaster and jumps up and down} Me! Me! Me! TOASTIES!!!

This pretty much went on with any verbal interaction. You want to come upstairs with Mama? No. Ok. Meltdown ensues at the bottom of the stairs as soon as I reach the top. Ok, you know how to walk up the stairs, Liam, come on up! No! Me! Me! Liam! Up! Which translates to, You need to get your pregnant ass down the stairs and pick me up and carry me all the way back up to where you are now, Lady.

Oh, AND, he had two disgusting poops. Like something-is-wrong-with-this-kid-what-did-he-EAT??? kind of poops. Back to back. In his cloth diapers.

I wasn’t sure if he was feeling some birth energy and reacting to it, or if he was trying to send me into labor. I’ve been repeating my new mommy mantra a lot though, Practice Patience. A wonderful mom I know through my Mothering Sons class at Birth Roots explained that she asks her 4 year old son to practice patience when he gets frustrated, yet she will often tell him that she is “losing her patience” when she gets frustrated. She realized it’s not fair to ask him to practice patience and she gets to lose hers. So now she tries to remind herself to practice patience as well.

We finally got out the door for our beach adventure. I swung into Starbucks on the way and Liam couldn’t help but ease my mood by cheering, “Mommy, cotchie (coffee), YAHOOO!” Right on, Kid, right on.

That joyous cheer must have been the energy turn-around that I needed because the rest of our morning was fun and fairly fancy-free. We were headed to a small beach with extremely limited parking. We got one of the last three spots! Liam had a blast with his buddies, I got to socialize with my friends, I didn’t go into labor on the beach, and Liam was able to transition back into the car with no difficulty when we were done. AND, he fell asleep on the way home and I was still able to transfer him from the car into his crib, where he is napping now. Leaving me the ability to shower and blog for a few minutes! Perhaps this practicing patience stuff has something to it.

Beach day with Liam

Liam saying hello to Nona & Nona's Mommy

Birthday Boy, Wyee & Wyee's Mommy

I’m officially on maternity leave beginning today! {Deeeep breath in….aaand ooouut.} I have two last, smallish assignments to finish for my grad class and then I will allow myself to have this baby. I mean, that’s the way it works, isn’t it?

In the spirit of maternity leave, and taking a few moments to collect myself before my life changes in unmeasurable ways once again, I have decided the blog has been neglected long enough. I hereby reinstate said blog by giving you a pregnancy comparison.

While pregnant with Liam I went in for a pre-birth waxing appointment at a local spa-type joint. I don’t mind telling you that with Liam I had gained around 50 lbs. This pregnancy I’m at around 30 as of last week’s weight check. So, I had waddled into my appointment ready to let someone else take care of the problem that had easily been ignored due to the old saying, “what you can’t see can’t hurt you.” However, as I was about to bare all to the entourage at Liam’s birth I decided to give my vanity a little attention. I was probably somewhere around 39-40 weeks, and unfortunately, as Liam ended up being born at 42 weeks I can’t say that things remained as kempt. But then again, I’m not sure.

Lo and behold, when I get to my appointment, I know the girl who’s waxing me. I almost cancelled on the spot. Your waxing gal should have no other relationship in your life except to painfully rip the unwanted hair from places on your body that generally see no sunshine. You love your waxist (yes, I made up that term of endearment), but you see her only in the confines of the small spa room because usually when your leg is in that position and someone is paying such thorough attention to you it is pitch dark. Not only will this acquaintance be the one performing this completely humiliating act, but I am a ginormous, beached whale on the table. Oh my god, I die.

I had chosen an LA wax. For those of you unfamiliar, or needing a refresher, there are generally 3 types of “bikini” waxes. The Brazilian leaves you bare, the LA leaves a landing strip, and a regular bikini wax is your basic hair removal to inward of where your bikini would be. The LA would be a typical choice for me.

My acquaintance/waxist was actually very sweet and professional. But I learned a valuable lesson that day. After the fact. Hormones, particularly those that are pumping through your body when your are pregnant or premenstrual, create a horrifically sensitive latter day area. It is recommended that if you can avoid waxing during such times, you should. I learned this valuable lesson during my experience. And, yes, I did in fact return this pregnancy. Damn you, Vanity. It was so painful, and such a long experience, due to the amount of hair removal I had requested, that I had to practice my labor breathing and ended up drenching my shirt and the towel under me from sweat.

Today, I decided to book a regular bikini wax. I wasn’t naive enough to think that it wouldn’t be painful, I was just hoping that the amount of time it took would be fractional. Who, I ask you, is waiting for me at the front desk? That’s right, my acquaintance/waxist. Of all the times I had been back in for eyebrow waxing and a couple of other bikini waxes, I hadn’t had the embarassing pleasure of my acquaintance’s company again. Until I show up at 39 weeks pregnant, that is. And I’m sure the pleasure is all hers.

Once again, she is absolutely sweet and professional, and even though it is terribly painful, I was so right in booking the regular bikini wax. Much less labor-intensive and truly less painful places getting gripped by hot wax and paper.

If I can possibly help you leave this blog post with something other than a new perspective of me, it is the following two pieces of advice: 1)Keep your friends close and your waxist closer. 2)Check your vanity and go with the pregnant “regular” bikini wax. I promise you, with everything that’s going on in birth no one is going to remember how your nethers were coiffed. I know this because I asked my mom.

Today is not a special day, like your birthday or an anniversary of the first time I felt you kick. Sometimes it takes an unimportant day to make you appreciate those special times even more. I never want to be the kind of person who only tells the people I love such a thing on Valentine’s Day. I would rather see a surprised smile of a friend receiving a gift from me when it’s not their birthday. And what made this ordinary, long, tiresome day so special, Liam, was me getting hugged by you before you went to sleep.

It’s not often that I don’t see you for 12 hours. And this may only have been the 2nd or 3rd time that I wasn’t able to pick you up after school myself. But today I had to go to my grad class directly after work. Do not pass Go, do not hug your baby after school. When I pulled into the garage at 7:20 I was hopeful that you might still be awake, but didn’t want to interrupt your daddy’s hard work of helping you relax to sleep. But, boy did I want to hold you and hug you.

When I snuck up the stairs and saw only darkness from under your door I knew I’d have to wait until tomorrow…until I heard, “Mama. Mama.” (This was actually your daddy, letting me know it was okay to come in and interrupt.)

When you saw me you smiled so big your eyes squinted closed and you dropped Wubba from your teeth’s firm grasp. I knelt down in front of you while you sat in your daddy’s lap on the rocking chair. I hugged you and kissed your cheeks all over, telling you how much I missed you today and how much I wanted a hug from you. You leaned forward and put your arms around me, patting my back as I rubbed yours. You pulled away, grabbing my face in your hands and pulling me in for kisses.

I’m so lucky to have you and your hugs and kisses, my Liam. Seeing your happy face before you went to sleep made up for all of the exhaustion of the day.

Love,

Mommy

The next morning Daddy was playing with him in our bed; chasing, tickling, gently butting heads as those males do. Liam was laying on his back, reaching up for Daddy’s face and said, “Daaddeee, I wuuuvv oooo.” Ohhhh my heavens let the tears rain down. I don’t know how my husband didn’t sob his way to work that morning.

Of course, on a roll, and empowered with his new-found powerful sentence, Liam also told the secretary at the diabetes center that he loved her. What can I say? He’s friendly.

This is one of those motherhood moments that I have been waiting for. I know my little boy loves me. He kisses me and hugs me with arms tight around my neck like a baby chimp. He cares for me when I fall. But hearing him say I love you is a pool of golden happiness that hugs my heart.

This is also his first time stringing three words together. Even two words is not something he does often. (And when he told Daddy he loved him that was four!) I believe that he’s hitting some really cool developmental milestones right now and that’s why he’s having restless sleep during the night. One of his other noticeable achievements this week is jumping with both feet off of the ground. He’s been trying unsuccessfully to do this for months, especially when he’s grooving his magical dance moves to music, and this week he managed it! Now he prefers a lot of hopping about while dancing.

After all that my Liam is and all he can do, you mean that there’s MORE??

I am pretty bummed about the kibosh on all of the delicious baking I’ve been doing, but in the long run I feel healthier this pregnancy and I think the baby will be smaller. I’ve discussed this with one of the midwives and she agrees that the baby will probably be smaller, although I shouldn’t hope for a 6 pounder. She said to think about a 9 pounder or  maybe somewhere in the 8s. Sounds delightful to me!

I’ve also had to prick my finger and take my blood sugar levels 4 times a day. The first time I was left to my own device with this it probably took 10 blood strips and pricking every single finger on my person, sometimes twice. I had to learn a few tricks, like warming up my hands and literally pushing up the blood from the bottom of my finger to the tip, where I had pricked myself.

The manageable part is that there is a certain number of carbs you need to stay within every day and how you split them up per meal/snack is up to you and perhaps your diabetes nutritionist. I have to stay within about 180 grams of carbs per day. Most of my meals are about 30 g of carbs, most of my snacks are about 15 g.

The bizarre part about gestational diabetes is that after you give birth no one has diabetes. It disappears. However, you stick to this diet because your placenta isn’t able to process the insulin from the carbs you eat which results in wearing it out. This is where possible complications come in at the end of the pregnancy. If the placenta is worn out and isn’t working correctly at the end of your pregnancy then it’s possible to need an induction. As I will be avoiding all medical interventions again this is something I’m really hoping we will not come to. Yet, that means that I may need to cross my fingers for the baby to come a little early or on time. Early doesn’t really work with my maternity leave and graduate class schedule, so I’d prefer a healthy, natural birth right on schedule…please?

For those a little more curious about gestational diabetes, I also learned that if the mother doesn’t control her diet and limit the carb intake then the baby can go into shock after birth because it is suddenly cut off from the constant supply of sugar charging through the placenta. So, even though the diabetes nutritionist showed me that I could sneak in a bit of sweet dessert every now and then, as long as it’s within my carb intake, I’m trying to be mindful.

Mindful without completely making myself miserable. So, tonight I made one of my favorite treats so that I could add a little pep to boring day of proteins and vegetables. (Actually, I was told that research also shows that women who cut out ALL carbs during pregnancy are likely to have babies with birth defects! So, don’t go all Atkins or South Beach if you have GD.) I have a recipe for homemade protein bars using Arbonne’s chocolate protein shake powder. Arbonne is a company I’ve been a consultant with for years. They’re a vegan, botanically-based, Swiss formulated beauty/health/wellness company. So, the protein powder is vegan and botanically-based as well. It’s as natural of a protein powder that you can find.

The bars taste exactly like those delicious chocolate no-bake cookies that you maybe haven’t eaten since your childhood. However, these ingredients are nothing like those ingredients. I’m going to give you the recipe, and if you use another kind of chocolate protein powder I do not guarantee what they will taste like as I’ve never tried another brand. The Arbonne brand makes a delicious treat, though. (If you click on any of the “Arbonne” links it will take you to my Arbonne website, where you can order some of this delicious protein shake!)

Normally I follow this recipe and spread it into the recommended 9×13 pan and then cut it into bars. Tonight I thought I’d use my cookie scoop and mini muffin tins with mini muffin papers instead. I thought this might keep me more disciplined with eating one measured bar at a time as my cutting has sometimes been erratic in the past and several bars can swiftly be consumed at once. The serving size is probably still the same (each scoop is probably about 1 Tbsp, and I was able to make 24, and the recipe says that you can cut 24 bars from the 9×13 pan) but the separation of the individual deliciousness if what is exciting me. And they look cute this way.

Here’s a printable PDF of the recipe: Protein Shake Mix Bar Recipe

Just What Every Body Needs

Protein Shake Mix Bar recipe

ingredients:

• 2 cups organic peanut butter • 1 3⁄4 cups honey or agave nectar • 2 1⁄4 cups arbonne essentialsTM Protein shake Mix powder* • 3 cups rolled oats

instructions:

1. Mix peanut butter and honey in a microwaveable bowl.

2. heat for 60–90 seconds. Mix well.

3. add Protein shake Mix powder and mix well.

4. add rolled oats and mix gently.

5. spread in a 9×13 pan. 6. Refrigerate 1 hour. 7. Cut into 24 squares.

*Consultants recommend using 1⁄2 chocolate and 1⁄2 vanilla.

2011R01 01 | ©2011 Arbonne International, LLC All Rights Reserved. | arbonne.com

Here’s some pics of the ingredients and my cutesy individual treats:

All of the ingredients

As you can probably tell, I chose Whole Foods’ 365 brand for everything else besides the Arbonne protein powder.

24 little pieces of heaven

About to go chill in the fridge

I’m used to reading Nutrition Fact labels and can easily check the carbs per serving size of anything I eat, but with a homemade recipe I had to add it all up. I have no idea if I did this right for the bars, but by my calculations, each individual protein ball should have about 34-35 grams of carbs. This is a little higher than what I would call a snack, but I do have my last “meal” of the day as being a snack-type item, but more carb-y. This would be perfect. I may have completely done the math wrong, as well…so don’t write that down in stone.

***I DID do the math wrong!! And in my favor too! I’m surprised no one commented and called me out on it from the pictures. I didn’t make 24 individual balls, I made 48! I had two trays of 24. So each protein ball is half of what I originally thought, making them around 17 grams of carbs each–totally reasonable for a snack. Hooray for late night math mistakes!

And, please, grant me the willpower to eat only one.

The sweetness does not stop here, my friends, although it does take a slight turn for the worse first. After rearranging a few fridge items I went back out the door to our garage to get my forgotten purse and cell phone from the car. I left the door open as Liam was following me and just wanted to watch to see where I was going. On the way down the stairs my ankle rolled and I fell a few steps to a landing section. I did not fall on my baby belly, mostly caught myself by my hands and was able to roll to my side as I clutched my ankle and cried out.

Liam was severely traumatized. He let out several high-pitched screams in between crying hysterically and pointing down at me. I could do nothing for him because I was half a flight of stairs away, crying and moaning out in pain too. I heard the running footsteps of Husband within the house and he was very quickly able to assess damage (Did you fall on the baby? No. Ankle? It feels broken, I heard a snapping sound. OK, I will be right back I’m going to pick up Liam.) He tried to calm Liam and tried to pick up/assist his 7 month pregnant wife back up the stairs, helping me onto the armchair and raising my leg onto the ottoman, grabbing towels and bags of ice.

Liam was still terrified despite my giving him a hug before getting into the house and trying to calmly tell him that Mommy was hurt but it was going to be okay. He climbed up to sit with me and snuggled in closely between my body and the arm of the chair. He watched intently as the ice packs were administered to my foot/ankle. I explained it was ice and would help Mommy feel better. I told him it was coooolllddd. He pulled the blanket down from the back of the chair and draped it across me. He kept leaning in and kissing me on the lips. He brushed his hand across my eyes and cheeks to wipe away my tears (which really only made me cry harder). And then he would crinkle his eyes and laugh and smile at me, willing me to do the same by peeking out at me to make sure I was smiling too. He stayed with me on the chair for over half an hour, attempting to entertain me with different iPad apps. He really cheered me up by accidentally opening Photo Booth and allowing me to take a few funky pictures of the two of us on the chair.

For your curiosity’s sake I will end the post by telling you that I’m pretty sure there’s no significant damage to my ankle. I don’t know what the snapping noise/feeling was, but after icing the ankle all swelling went down and there was no bruising. It’s sore, but I’m able to put pressure on it and walk. Also feeling lots of movement (or at least hiccups) from the baby. No need to go to the ER, Thank GOD. What a nightmare that would have been. 7 months pregnant, with an “active” 21 month old, lots of stairs in my house, working full-time and being on crutches. I don’t think so.

I was a lucky gal, to be cared for by those boys tonight. And the caring, helpful, protective heart of my son was such a new treasure to see in his personality. My heart just drowns and dies in the love and cuteness.

Stretchy Pic from Photo Booth

My angel/lion boy

Rainbow Mommy & Liam

So, I bet you’re never going to guess where I found the main part of this recipe. Pinterest, you say? Ok, you guessed right. If you’re on pinterest, feel free to check out my “Yum” board for this and other recipes I’ve found. Specifically, though, the pin led me to Better Home & Gardens’ website and a list of their 20 Helathy Dinner Recipes for Under $3. I honestly don’t know how they made this meal for under $3. It wasn’t too expensive, but it was not under $3. My pork loin alone was $6.92. But I buy meat that’s as natural and unprocessed as possible so maybe if you buy meat jacked up with preservatives and hormones you can save a couple bucks. Now, on that appetizing note, here’s what we ate:

The pork medallions and cranberry chutney were so simple. For the chutney, you dump the ingredients into a small saucepan (cranberries, apple juice, brown sugar, rosemary, salt, pepper…), bring to a boil and then let simmer for about 5 minutes.

I added homemade roasted sweet potatoes as a side for our meal, which I put into the oven just before starting the chutney. I only used 1 large sweet potato for Husband and myself. There was even a few left for Liam to try, but we constantly end up eating after he goes to bed. Tonight especially, as we were watching the end of the Patriots championship game! Anyhooo… Sweet, Sweet Potatoes:

1 (or more) sweet potato, cut up into cubes. I eyeball around 1- 1 1/2 inces pieces.

agave nectar

olive oil

salt/pepper

paprika

Put potato cubes into small bowl. Squirt agave nectar on until you feel they are sufficiently coated. I went slightly overboard tonight, but they just came out extra sweet, almost a little candied on some. I tossed the potato with a little olive oil too. Then I tossed in some salt, pepper and paprika. I always put paprika on my potatoes! And I always eyeball the seasonings. Sorry, see, this is why I don’t actually have a cooking blog.

Roast the potatoes on aluminum foil-covered sheet at 425 degrees. I start at 20 minutes, add another 5 if they’re not crispy enough, and if they’re still not crispy enough for me at 25 minutes I broil for a minute or 2. Tonight I took them out at 25 minutes.

While the sweet potatoes were roasting and the chutney finishing its quick simmer, I prepared the pork. I had my pork loin that I had justified as small enough for my family and followed the recipe, cutting it into 1 inch thick circles. I pounded them a couple of times to get similar consistency and then seasoned them with salt and pepper. The recipe called for pork seasoning and I hadn’t gone to the trouble to look for any, but I did have “poultry seasoning” on my spice rack, so I sparingly sprinkled that over as well. I also sent a little prayer up to the kitchen gods that I wasn’t completely ruining the pork with my naive cooking confidence.

You throw the pork medallions into a skillet. Let them cook a few minutes on each side. Voila!! You had taken the chutney off the burner and set aside, your potatoes are just about to come out of the oven, and your meat is done!

For our vegetable, I was going to make a roasted broccoli recipe that I will probably share later, but I had some spinach that needed to be used up. I am absolutely famous [in my house] for the Lazy Woman’s Salad. I take about 2-3 ingredients, throw them on top of each other, and call it a salad. Tonight I put a pile of raw spinach on the plate (because I prefer raw veggies, otherwise I would suggest throwing the leaves quickly in your still-hot pork pan to wilt them a little with all of the browned pork flavor), and put a dollop of the chutney on top. Simple, quick, easy…all words I like to cook by.

Here, my friends, is the finished product:

Pretty, n’est pas? And tasty. Husband’s favorite part was the Sweet, Sweet Potatoes.

The little boy getting his hair cut at that time was occupying a fire truck seat. One of the seats in Trimmings is a fire truck and another is a yellow taxi car. The kiddie-stylists (?) had the great idea to turn the vehicles toward each other so that the boys could distract each other while getting their hair cut, so we were waiting for the first patron to be finished.

Wyatt had a couple of cuts under his belt, and his mom was ready with a bag of tricks. Liam naively agreed to be put into the yellow cab seat. But as soon as the cape came around his shoulders he popped the wubba (more on wubba next post) out of his mouth, shrugged and wiggled his shoulders, crying out, “Noooooo! Noooo!”

The sweet gal with the scissors was quick and wiley. She danced around Liam’s head with the silver shears singing through the air as I pointed out the mirror, the game on my iphone, Wyatt (who was also wiggling and telling his stylist “All done! All done!”), anything to distract him and keep him from acquiring a bald spot from a sudden movement.

Liam (and wubba) are wary of what's going on

Liam wishing the cab would get the hell outta there

"Wy-ee" says, "Leave these curls alone!"

No, I didn’t cry. Inadvertently, while distracting Liam I distracted myself. I had requested a trim. Don’t lose the curls, cut the bangs enough so he can see, don’t leave him with a mullet. I think she did a great job, but as all ladies know, the true test comes after the stylists work is washed out. We shall see.

Look at the certificate and his little curls we get to put in his Special Box!

Meanwhile, I met a mama who has a 12 month old and was visibly surprised to hear that I hadn’t cut Liam’s hair as of Friday evening. I know if their hair doesn’t curl up or lay off to the side, like Liam’s did, it’s a necessary early occurance. Any other mamas out there held out on the first cut, or did you give in sooner than we did?