A moment when time stood still!

It is now 4:14 a.m. the morning of October 29th. I sit in a dimly lit hospital room at the end of a cot on which Eli is sound asleep. Five feet away is Amanda in the hospital bed, also asleep, as we all await the arrival of their baby girl. It should be soon now. 

In the background, the monitors beep, tracking the baby's heart rate and Amanda's blood pressure. On the bright screen is the dotted line, with hills and valleys that mark her contractions. 

I arrived early yesterday morning. The two of them had been here overnight, so Amanda could receive some pre-induction medicine. That was enough to fuel early contractions that grew in intensity minute by minute. At 10:50 a.m., the nurse started a Pitocin drip, and labor was underway.

I have never witnessed childbirth, other than the five times I had the starring role. It was an honor to be asked to accompany Amanda and Eli through the process of bringing their little girl into the world; I am forever grateful to them for choosing to share this intimate experience with me.

Amanda handled labor like a boss. We held each other tight as she breathed through those contractions, one after the other, Eli by her side. A few times she told me "I can't," and I told her "Yes, you can!" and she did. She wanted to wait as long as she could before requesting an epidural, but at some point, we all knew it was time. The skilled anesthesiologist arrived and carefully placed the epidural, which left Amanda pain free. Thank you, modern medicine.

I've heard people say "It was the moment when time stood still." I get that now. The rest of the day somehow went by, but we barely noticed. Eli and I took turns running upstairs to the cafeteria for food, but otherwise, just sat with Amanda, watching the monitors and waiting. Then it was 11:00 p.m. And then 2:30 a.m. And now 5:00 a.m. Where did all those hours go? 

A few minutes ago, Amanda put on her makeup and then let me use it as well, so we'll both look decent for pictures when Baby arrives. It reminded me of when my grandma was in the cardiac ICU following a heart attack. The second I walked through the doors, she declared: "Tannie! Go home and get my makeup. Gracious, there are doctors and nurses walking around here. I need to fix my face!" Yes, Grandma. We girls need our makeup.

It's now 5:10 a.m. and (hopefully) very close to delivery time. Baby girl's head is turned face up. While I delivered all five of my babies "sunny side up," it's harder for sure. Pushing takes longer. The nurse just helped Amanda switch positions, hoping it will motivate Baby to turn her little head down. Come on, Baby, you got this.

She should be here soon. Stay tuned...

Jane Eliza Webster was born at 10:23 a.m., Friday, October 29th. Witnessing a birth is one of those rare life experiences that mark you, change you, help define who you are. I am a writer right down to my bones, yet I struggle to find language to describe it. When they say childbirth is a miracle, they are not kidding, and they definitely call it "labor" for a reason. It's hard work. So hard. Amanda was incredible. It's like she went into the zone, and she was beyond determined. It took a long time, so long, and she had to be so tired, but nothing could dissuade her.

At one point, Baby didn't like all the action, and her little heart rate dropped too low. The nurse called an "OB Stat code," and suddenly a dozen people were in the room, all dressed in scrubs, ready to help with whatever was needed. It was so scary! I was terrified. Thankfully, Baby's heart rate stabilized and remained good from that point on, but the team stayed with us anyway all the way through the delivery. When it was all over, I just felt gratefully reassured that there was a plan in place, one that included all those dedicated professionals ready to deal with any circumstance.

We spent the remainder of the day just chilling and getting acquainted with Baby Jane. Current COVID restrictions prevented anyone else from visiting, so it was just the four of us. Amanda and Jane are quickly becoming pros at nursing, and when Jane's sad, she calms right down to the sound of her daddy's voice as he sings Bo Burnham's "All Eyes on Me" to her. It kinda melts my heart. 

We had hoped to go home first thing this morning (Sunday), but a slight jaundice hiccup kept us there a few hours longer. Jane handled the bilirubin light therapy like a champ, and I am happy to report that everyone is now home. 

Eli and Amanda are crushing parenthood already. Congrats to both of them, and welcome to the world, Jane Eliza!

 

Update:

It's now Tuesday afternoon, and Jane Eliza is a whole four days old. I'm waiting to make this post public until her parents get a chance to post about her birth on social media. They're both pretty busy these days falling more head-over-heels in love with her by the second. Meanwhile, Jane has been slowly meeting a few others in our family. Shulamith was the most excited; it about killed her that she wasn't allowed to visit Jane in the hospital, but she was waiting with open arms the night we all came home. She loves babies as much as I do. 

Yesterday, Jane met Shulamith's four-year-old son Theodore for the first time. Shulamith was changing Jane's diaper, and Theodore was just a bit confused: "Where is her penis?" he wanted to know. 

So I'll just leave y'all with that right there.

All the (birthday) things!

 

It was a birthday week to be sure. It began last Sunday, when (wait for it.....), I got to both speak in Sacrament Meeting AND teach a Sunday School class. It was not the very best Sunday I've ever had, but close. Once a few years ago, in the Union Park 6th Ward, I had the most glorious Sunday in the history of ever; I got to speak in Sacrament Meeting, teach Gospel Doctrine (the absolute best calling in the ward), and teach Relief Society. I realize that for some, a Sunday like this wouldn't be appealing, but for me, well, it doesn't get any better. A week ago in the brand new Bluffdale 16th ward, I didn't get to teach Gospel Doctrine, but I did get to lead a Temple Prep class for a nice couple preparing to enter the temple and be sealed as a family. It was fun and made Sunday the perfect start to my celebration week.

It was fall break for Shulamith's kids, so we tried to do something special with them each day. Monday we went swimming. Tuesday we visited the witches at Gardner Village. Wednesday, my actual birthday, we went to KidsTopia. Okay, not my idea of a fabulous birthday destination; however, it offers nice tables and chairs, Diet Coke, and internet. I happen to be buried in essays at the moment, so I worked there for a solid two hours while Shulamith read, and her kids played. Besides, we couldn't celebrate with the family that day anyway for two reasons:

1. COVID. Have I mentioned how much I hate this stupid virus? Poor Eli and Amanda, who are fully vaccinated, had breakthrough cases. Should I mention that she is 39 weeks pregnant? I felt so bad for them. And helpless! All I could do was drop by food and supplies on their doorstep each day, and pray. They were nervous, of course, with the baby so near to earth, so Eli set up a mini-hospital. They had a Pulse O2 oxygen monitor, a blood pressure cuff, a fever thermometer, and a Doppler heartbeat monitor to track the little baby's heart rate. Unable to visit their doctor because they were COVID positive, these tools at least gave them some peace of mind. And as much as I hate this virus, I am equally thankful for science and a miracle vaccine that kept them from getting far sicker than they were. 

2. Isaiah was out of town. After a long COVID hiatus, he is once again traveling for Cvent, handling onsite events. He was in Chicago last week over my birthday and heads to Dallas/Ft. Worth in a few days. He's delighted to be back "on the road (in the air?) again."

Thursday Shulamith scheduled medical/dental appointments all day for her kids, so Friday we took them to a pumpkin patch for their final day of Fall Break. And we postponed my family birthday celebration to the weekend, when Eli and Amanda were officially out of quarantine, and Isaiah was back home between trips. Only Gerald missed out, because he still doesn't eat inside restaurants.

We went to Olive Garden in Provo, the only way to include Seth, who works there several nights a week while he's going to school. He is absolutely the cutest server, and I'm not even biased; he really is! You should definitely go there and see him. We ate way too much alfredo, breadsticks, salad, chicken parmesan, and fried calamari (Swen's new favorite)! Then we shared a dessert of fried Italian doughnuts with raspberry, chocolate, and caramel dipping sauces. Eli made me a cake and everyone sang, and it was all just delightful.

I've always said birthday celebrations should be at least a week long, and it's true. I'm so grateful for my sweet little family. I love them beyond words.

Forget the rest.

Shulamith's nine-year-old son Swen is in 4th grade. His teacher has a sign on the door to their classroom that reads: "Do your best, and forget the rest." They even sing a song at the end of each day about doing their best and forgetting the rest.

This is all most annoying to Swen, who is quick to point out that Ms. Despain doesn't even follow her own sign. "I do my best," he explains, "but she never lets me forget the rest. She makes me take home all the work I don't get done in class and do it at home. I already did my best, and I'm ready to forget the rest, but no, she won't let me." 

Hilarious as this sounds, it's even funnier to hear Swen tell it, with so much logic and obvious frustration with this teacher, who doesn't even believe her own dumb sign.

As I write this post, I am full on exhausted, so much so that I won't post it publicly until one of my prized proofreaders checks it out. Jay? Eli? Let me be clear here that I am not a person who takes any pride in being busy. Not at all. I cherish my precious down time; Shulamith and I often remark that we love our boring lives. They're awesome.

These past couple weeks have been far from boring and way too busy. Unlike Swen, an anxious perfectionist like me would never forget the rest. Never. I actually never forget anything. My crazy good memory is both a blessing and a curse. Given the choice, I wouldn't trade it, but it does have its challenges.

Recently, though, I've had to put some things on hold in order to do the urgent things right in front of me. I don't like that feeling at all; it challenges every fiber of my being not to be 100% on top of all things at all times. Forget the rest? Makes me anxious just saying the words.

Several unrelated circumstances have caused this unwelcome degree of busyness. First, I'm teaching six (!) classes this semester. Why would I do such a thing, you may be wondering. It was never my plan, but you see, the music to the adjunct dance is always guesswork. Enrollment always drives class offerings, which makes perfect sense; they're not going to pay teachers to teach classes that have few or no students. And because students like to wait until the last possible second to register for classes, administrators can never be sure how many sections of classes they will need.

It's frustrating for everyone. All administrators can do is their best to predict how many classes to schedule; then they offer those classes to us adjuncts and hope it all works out. Then they forget the rest. When offers come, we have to decide what to accept, knowing full well that in the end, some of our classes may not make. Shulamith has had classes canceled due to low enrollment only days before the start of the semester. Again, the music of the adjunct dance.

When you add the struggle of dealing with two schools, for me, each new semester feels like the proverbial perfect storm. This fall I was offered three classes at UVU and three at SLCC. I never imagined they all would make. One at UVU is at 7:00 a.m. and had only three students registered when I received my offer. "No way students are gonna come to English class at 7:00 a.m." I thought. "Not a chance." One SLCC class is online, and I didn't think that one would make either because students are super tired of online delivery. They want a class in a classroom with a teacher they can see and talk to in person. 

Desiring to teach four classes, I accepted all six. And yep, all six made. "Are you freakin' kidding me? All six!" How am I gonna teach six writing classes?" At this moment, I'm still not sure how I'm gonna do that. We're finishing up Week #7, and ever since the first set of essays came in from both schools the same weekend, and I made the mistake of counting them (84!), I've felt buried. Buried in papers. Buried in emails. Buried in life.

In addition, I decided this would be a great semester to sign up for the institute class I've been wanting to take, devoted to seminary teaching in the Church Educational System. The class meets weekly at the institute building up at the U., a 45-minute drive from my wilderness house in Bluffdale. This week, our assignments include creating and teaching two 90-minute lessons to seminary students around the valley. Okay, this is SO much fun, but also so much prep work! Section 111 of the D&C, which is part of "Come Follow Me" this week and also the focus of the seminary lesson, mentions how much the Lord loves us despite our follies, and how he will bless us right through them. Let's hope! Because choosing to teach six writing classes AND take this labor-intensive institute class would most certainly be classified as a "folly."

One lovely reprieve this past week was a quick visit from my brother Tom and his friend Yvonne. They were on a road trip to a 3-day music festival in Memphis in Tom's self-refurbished travel van named Leo. It was pure delight to eat lunch with them and visit for a few hours. I even tried a bite of Yvonne's sushi roll, my first ever! I hadn't seen anyone from my family since well before COVID; I am so grateful they made time to stop.

Anyway, I'm on overwhelm. At this moment I'm lying in bed eating See's candy and sipping Diet Coke, after returning from my 7:00 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. classes in Orem. I stayed up way too late last night reading, because I desperately needed some "me" time. Definitely paying for it today. And (obviously), I'm blogging! Those of you who pay attention to such things might notice that I generally write a minimum of four posts per month (or one per week). This past September I wrote only two. That makes me sad. 

After this tiny rest, I'll need to put on my big girl panties and tackle the remaining 31 essays of the original 84, because another set just came in Sunday night. Then Eli is coming over to prep both our seminary lessons for tomorrow. 

Do your best, and forget the rest. I'm trying, Swen. Really I am.