A Running Collection

Week one with Hannah. There is really little to say as she is doing all the things that one week old babies will do. Eat, sleep, poop, spit up, scream when she is hungry, grunt when she is satisfied, and coo while she sleeps. Her eyes are bright and look around for the itty bit of time she is awake. She can manage sitting in a siblings lap for a few minutes before deciding it isn’t quite as comfy as she would like. The laundry went from small hills to giant mountains. Overnight. Lots of meals are coming. And our dear friend, said that when they had a baby they found some plates at the store made of paper. We found some! We are so thankful for meals and notes and flowers keeping us fed and the house smelling divine and looking bright! And how is it possible that if a newborn is sleeping between 16 and 20 hours of the day that I am so exhausted from the 4 to 8 hours she is awake? It is hard work keeping up with a sleeping infant!

Hannah Moriah Boggs joined us on December 30 at 12:37. It was a beautiful, simple, easy birth. I was over ready and ready to induce and afraid to induce. An hour before we were to call and make sure we could come in for an induction, labor started. It didn’t take long from there. George walked and talked me through contractions up and down the hill in front of our house. We decided to rest a minute and walk again. And then it was time to head to the hospital. We were in a room at 9. Walked laps around the nurses station a couple of time and by noon, we were ready. Our fourth surprise. And what a surprise. Hannah was suddenly here. A girl! We didn’t count on it. We didn’t even consider it and here she was with dark black hair. She was 9 lbs 6 oz and 21 inches long. She is strong and sweet. Her eyes shine and stare. She. It is such a surprise I have to practice saying “she”. The children are beside themselves. They too have waited and waited and finally...

The contractions started at two. They just kept coming. Not strong, but there. We counted and hoped and they progressed enough that we started to think about how in the world we would pull off Christmas morning if we were at the hospital having a baby. It didn't look right. The contractions stopped. Our baby would not be coming on Christmas. We had Christmas morning. Always so sweet. Dizzy with exhaustion, we tagged teamed naps and enjoyed the glorious sunshine after heavy cloudy rainy days and resumed waiting. We kept waiting. We had our traditional gingerbread house destruction, played soccer, went for walks, read the Hobbit. We waited.  Baby would have to come soon, but I was wearing out of the wait and the children were coming up with all sorts of creative ways to pass the time. It wasn't what I figured it would be. Another baby days past that magical due date that isn't magical at all.

Seven inches of rain for turning seven. Piles of water. Puddles knee high. Water everywhere. Friends came and splashed in puddles and wadded in sloppy mud and played sopping wet soccer followed by hot tea at the table with piles of popcorn and sandwiches. Smiles always from George Wilder. Being seven was wet and wonderful. He wanted a skate board for his birthday. He tried it in the garage, but real riding would have to wait on the rain to pass. He wanted shrimp and to try an oyster so George did a fabulous low country boil and the guy at the fish market sent home a few oysters for the birthday boy. He said it just sort of tasted like the ocean but that one was just enough. We had chocolate-peanut butter birthday cake and key lime ice cream with more friends. George Wilder has been waiting on seven. He slipped right into it just fine. He has mounds of energy but can curl up with a book and read for hours. He loves to sing and make music with his daddy...