…#2 came along. Although she is equally as precious and comparably lovable, shopping was a menace, my quiet time diminished and being on time became nearly impossible.  And now, there are 3.  My house is a mess, the laundry is piled high, my bathroom shower is growing a fungus, and being on time is now a thing of the past.  Sleep doesn’t exist, insanity is familiar, and stress is now the norm.

Many women choose not to have children because of the exact reasons I wrote above.  I mean, lets face it, getting a shower in to your day with children is a modern day miracle.  But regardless of my expensive makeup being thrown into the toilet, or my nice Nordstroms’ shirt being pooped upon, it’s all too worth it.  We’ve got 3 times the giggles, 3 times the snuggles, and 3 times the joy.  And I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. 

False alarm.

Three days later, it happened again.  Back labor, pains, and five minute consecutive contractions.  So we did it…again…

False alarm.

We packed up our stuff.  Again.  Came home to our confused children at 4am.  Again.  And I sat on my bed with eyes wide open confused, baffled, and highly unmotivated to do anything but watch paint dry.

The next day was day 16 before our child was supposedly due.  It was a significant day purely for the fact that both my other girls put me into labor on exactly the 16th day before due date.  Thus, my determination set in.  My body was done, my brain was fried, and our insanity was at risk.

So what did I do?

Everything.  Swift walks around the house, lunges, squats, bounces on a ball, pressure on the appropriate spot on my feet, spicy Mexican food for lunch AND alas, a phone call to a friend that I believe put a nail in it.

CASTOR OIL.  What is it?  Who knows.  I just know that it’s an old wives tale that has helped put some ladies in labor.  Either that or curse them for hours by paralyzing their bodies and irritating their bowels so bad that they must be submissive to the toilet.  Either way, I didn’t care.  Two tablespoons…down the hatch.

I dropped the girls off at a dear friends’ home and just sat by my husband and waited.  Then waited more.  Then totally waited.  And nothing.  Not even a trip to the bathroom.  Sheesh.  So we headed home, went to our friends to pick up our children and of course, downed another couple tablespoons of Castor Oil.  The stars were aligning…I could feel it.

Ten o’ clock pm came, and my body was reacting.  Oh dear.  Now what.  Back labor, then peace.  Back labor, then peace.  Worse back labor, then less peace.  Horrible back labor, then horrible back labor.  Here we go again….

To the hospital!!!  I didn’t care if the nurses wanted to laugh at me.  After all, we pretty much knew them all by name anyways.  I put on the gown, sat on the bed with my husband texting on the phone the excitement of the possibilities of this being the real thing.  In walks the nurse and the rubber gloves…and….no…what?….ugh….shoot me.  My cervix was only at a 3!

“Nurse Amanda, I can’t go home tonight!  (Not because my pride is shot,) but seriously?  If I go home, I will have this baby on my living room couch.”  I looked at her pathetically.  I somewhat begged and ultimately pleaded for something to be done.  Sweet nurse Amanda saw my pathetic-ness.  Lets go get you in the bath and see if anything changes.

One hour later…

The nurse, the rubber gloves…and…no, what?…ugh…shoot me.  My cervix had HARDLY changed!  Pathetic look after pathetic look, she read me, and to this day, I will never forget this sweet nurse.  She admitted me…and thankfully so.

Once I was admitted, and once Philip and I did a dance of celebratory excitement, they rolled us into the Labor and Delivery.  Bring on the contractions!  Bring on the pain!  I was so pumped to be admitted that I welcomed anything that came my way.  I just closed my eyes…and took it all in.

The contractions were bad.  Didn’t care.  In fact, I grabbed the camera and took pictures during some of the worst ones.  Here came the epidural, and life was good.  So I told Philip to go grab himself some food.  After all, the nurse thought this baby wasn’t going to come until around 8am.  But suddenly….

I told him to STOP!!!  “Philip, nurse, the baby is coming out NOW!”  The nurse ran over and saw that the water had broke, and that I went from a 4 to a 10 in a matter of one hour.

“Uh, somebody needs to call the doctor!”  The nurse yelled.  “This baby is coming now!”  She shuffled around, put on some rubber gloves and told me in a nervous but calm voice, “Don’t worry, Melissa, I’m prepared to deliver this child.”

I laughed, no, I’m pretty sure I cackled.  But then I had to stop, because the laughing was pushing out my child.  This baby was coming out whether the doc was there or not.

“Melissa!  You’ve got to stop pushing!”  uttered the nurse.

“Uh, nurse…I ain’t pushing.  This baby is doing it’s own thing.”

Just then, the doctor walked in with muffled hair and sleep voice.  This doc seriously just rolled out of bed and drove here in a matter of seconds.

“All right, Melissa.  Lets deliver a baby!”

The doctor sat down, I took a breath, pushed once…and the doctor sat down just in time to be there to catch her.

5:05 am

7lbs 13 oz.

20.3 inches long

15 days early.

Hello my sweet baby girl.

So…what did we name her?

NAOMI LAELLE NIU

Naomi = pleasant, peaceful, and a phenomenal Biblical women of strength

Laelle = from the name “Lael” in the Bible meaning “belonging to God”.

We struggled for days.  Nothing really stuck.  But the clues were right in front of us the whole time.  Months ago, my sister Rachel texted me the idea of Naomi Niu.   We were introduced by a photographer via an interview for [FRAMED] that a saint named Mother Naomi in Africa saved and adopted thousands of African children.  And a couple nights before our baby girl was born, our ridiculously cool waiter at Chili’s told us about his precious daughter Naomi.  And most importantly, months ago, Philip had a dream of two little girls….Naomi and Cosette.

She is hairy, precious, and already has stolen our heart.  And I’m pretty sure she’s going to grow up hating Castor Oil.