100 word birth stories

The ever-thoughtful and thought-provoking Bluebirdmama recently put out a call for birth stories in 100 words or less. Since my own birth stories are decidedly un-short, I welcomed the challenge. Here are the girls' stories:


Glynis

Wake at 5am. OMG I’m peeing my bed! No control.
5:30am cramping. OMG and I’m constipated, too?! 

Nope…disbelief.

Call the midwife. “Not even 36 weeks! Not good,” but I know: we’re fine.
Labouring around the house, shower, resting, working.

This is what we do.

Midwife arrives: time to go NOW.
Doula, midwife, husband, me in the room, laughing between contractions. So excited:

I’m going to meet my baby!!

1:40pm: Now pushing on my feet, on my knees, on the bed. Happening quickly. Everyone hollering, “Slow down!” Oops: burning and pop! Relief. Head, now body. She’s here.

Love.







Scarlet

7pm:  hint of contractions. Slowly, things beginning. Powerful.
Body working, mind excited, sure: another early baby.
Cuddling Glynis. Belly henna. Laughing.

Then: not good. It’s all wrong.
Terrible stomach pain. Calling the midwife.
Kneeling on the floor. Praying. Pleading.

“This is not how I die.”

1am: call doula, call Mom, wake Glynis. No homebirth: rush to hospital.
Midwife waiting. Bloodwork. Monitors: baby is fine, body still working hard.

Severe pre-eclampsia and HELLP.

Break waters.
Acupressure.  Swaying... s w a y i n g …

So sick. But strong.

I AM going to do this.

6:45am...7am...

Sleep. Bear down. Sleep. Then p u s h …

…through fear, tissue.

7:13am

 Lift…

“You're real!"

today

Today I have

* a big girl keen to make friends at the library
* a daughter so excited by books we stayed an extra half hour after Storytime to read more books
* a growing baby who sat by herself for two minutes before flopping to the side

* a Big Sister who delights in her baby
* a Little Sister who rolled over by herself for the first time

And I have

* friends who share my passions
* a strong vote of confidence from our minister, whom I respect and admire

A good day.

the things we do, part II

You likely haven't noticed from the pictures I've posted, but Bubby has a pink face. Or more accurately, circles of pink around her eyes. And all over her scalp. And she's had some hives on there, too. It's not something a parent likes to see on her baby. After a little deliberation - including several days of thinking we were cursed with a sunlight allergy - I concluded it was likely a food sensitivity. So for the past 6 weeks I've been gradually eliminating foods from my diet. First wheat, then dairy, then eggs and now soy and, thankfully, we're now seeing a real improvement: it would seem soy is a major offender. Ever tried to eliminate all soy from your diet while living in North America? Yep, it's an eye-opener.

So I'm eating differently now. Some dishes are right out - like, say, a delicious tofu stir fry in a tamari-based sauce and virtually every prepared food out there - while others just need a little adapting. This evening, as I watched Peanut happily munching away on some oven-baked chicken fingers I realized that I really wanted some, too. But bread crumbs, wheat flour, butter, milk and egg wash are all out, so cleverness was called for.







Some crushed gluten-free cereal - corn flakes and puffed rice - a little buckwheat and arrowroot flours and some various seasonings and we were in business. But how to make it stick without eggs or milk? Honey-water! 2tbsp of warm water and at least 1tbsp of honey well mixed together, toss the chicken pieces in the solution and then into the crumb mixture. Bake on an oiled pan at 375*F, turning once.

They were delicious. Even if they hadn't been, though, this is what we do, isn't it? As I told my mother a few weeks ago, I don't care if my own health ends up suffering: I'll gladly sacrifice my own health on the altar of my child's well-being. So far my dietary restrictions haven't had a deleterious effect on my health, just occasionally on my mood and hopefully, with enough inventiveness, that won't be the case too often either.

the things we do

What do you do when you need to carry your baby six blocks? You wrap her up.




And what do you when your toddler pulls up lame a block into the walk? Well, you wrap her up, too.

This was the best photo I could get of our little five block tandem-wearing adventure. Sadly, it doesn't do justice to the insanity of the situation. A 5'2" woman wearing more than one third her body weight, with three year old feet dangling around her knees and a four month old head bobbing around near her chin, carting a shoulder bag full of cloth diapers and a tote bag with a plastic potty is a truly ridiculous sight.

The things we do for our kids, eh?

the urban family

We live downtown. I mean, right downtown. And we love it. Part of what we love about it is our proximity to all the little happenings in the city. Evenings notwithstanding, our city streets are lively and active and there are things to see and do on almost any given day or week.

This past weekend the Glebe held a little street event. So we decided to head down for a little urban family fun.

The best part of the event in the Glebe was not the activities planned for small children but a skateboarding competition. Peanut, you see, adores skateboarding. She sees it pretty routinely in a local park and thinks it is just awesome. So we checked it out.






She loved it. Also, there were balloons.



Bubby was less interested in the skateboarding and focussed more on licking the wrap I was wearing her in and just generally being adorable.




Good times.

a common era

**I left this as a comment today on our church blog where members of the congregation reflect on that Sunday's worship service.**


At the end of August, a friend posted on Facebook asking for people's reflections on how the world has changed in the past ten years. As I thought about it over the next days, and after reading another link that he posted, I was struck by the contrasts that we've seen since then: moments of hatred and violence thrown into sharp relief by expressions of love and grace. Those instances of love and grace, those moments of universality and commonality are how I choose to define these days. That view doesn't exclude the hatred and violence nor ignore it, but I refuse to believe that these Years of Our Lord will be defined by evil.

During the minister's sermon he noted that academic institutions are moving toward less Eurocentric names for the two primary eras of history, using the term "Common Era" instead of Anno Domini. What occurred to me as he spoke about this was that using this new term for our current age does not deny or ignore the Good News.

This is a common era, one in which all belong to the universal brotherhood of a world of salvation. These are the days in which salvation is at hand for every person should they so choose and accept it. As Paul writes, there is now neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female. We are made one in Christ, the Christ who breaks all barriers, even the barriers we ourselves have built which separate us from God.

And now here we are in a post-9/11 world and while some choose to see only division, we have seen people come together. We have seen the love and grace of Jesus Christ extended from Muslim to Christian and back again.

This is a common era, and I thank God for it.

expectation

I always thought that the use of the term "expecting" for pregnancy was odd. What are we "expecting"? Expecting a child to be born? Well, obviously. Expecting there to be a child? But the child is already in there: he or she just needs to come out. And just as the child is there, the woman carrying that child is already a mother, already loves like a mother, already worries like a mother, and the father does likewise. Shouldn't these "expecting" parents instead simply be "waiting"?

But there's another side to the word "expecting". It isn't a guarantee. Nothing is certain: nothing.

Midwifery clients in Ontario are generally given copies of the contents of their files after their post-partum care concludes. The top sheet of paper is the primary sheet of the chart with things like the mother's health history and dates relevant to the pregnancy. At the bottom of the sheet is a list of topics to be discussed at the monthly appointments. As the pregnancy progresses, one by one that list of topics is completed and checked off. When I was expecting Bubby, my midwife and I were talking during one of our appointments. I was struggling with hypertension and she was worried that I would be terribly upset if my health demanded that we abandon our planned home birth for a hospital birth. She wanted to talk about my expectations. As we talked, I told her,

"To be quite honest with you, I don't even entirely expect to get a baby at the end of this. I'm keenly aware that sometimes you just...don't." 

And in that room, while Peanut coloured at a little table under a big, happy green leaf, with glorious sunshine beaming in the window, bathing the room, we talked about stillbirth. We talked about neonatal death. We talked about mothers we've known, both in person and online, who have lost babies not early in a pregnancy but late, so late that it is unfathomable, so late that a happy outcome seemed a sure thing. We talked about mothers who have held their baby after a normal birth, awash in the glow of everything going right, who days or even just hours later held that baby as that tiny life slipped from this world.

And we wept. We wept for those mothers and fathers who had something so very precious so fleetingly. We wept as we smiled while talking about the immeasurable value of a photograph of a father holding his child, precious and perfect and entirely still in his arms. The eternal gift of a moment, of just one moment, and the image of that moment frozen, cherished forever.

There is no line-item for stillbirth and death on that page in my chart. It isn't one of the mandatory topics of discussion. But we must talk about this. We cannot live blindly, ignoring the very truth and reality that mortality is universal: it does not only belong to the old. It walks hand-in-hand with birth. The great fragility of life is part of what throws life's beauty into such relief to be celebrated.We do a great disservice to families when we speak as though everything were certain.  We needn't dwell on such terrible pain, but likewise we must acknowledge its possibility.

It's a pain I do not know and have not the gall to suppose that I can imagine. While I was expecting Peanut I felt great surety when I reached 32 weeks. "Now I am safe," I thought. "Now I can be certain that everything will be fine." But with Bubby I was not so naive. Better do I now know that nothing is certain. Nothing is safe. As I laboured with Peanut I was never concerned for her safety, so sure was I that everything would always be fine. But as I laboured with Bubby, aware that my own body was failing, I had occasion to wonder after her health. Was she safe? Was she well? What would happen? Birth is as safe as life gets...and life can be painfully uncertain.

I am struck today by the absolute appropriateness of the term "expecting". When one is pregnant one expects to have a child to hold and kiss and love and nurse and raise into being a strong and beautiful person. But we do not know. We make the best choices that we can, we best our odds for success and health and happiness...and the rest we give up to God.





Because we cannot know for certain. We have only the expectation of joy. 

examination

I have a handful of posts drafted, saved and unfinished that are waiting to be posted, but until I have time to do that, I wanted to share something new that I'm doing. I've recently become the Ottawa Breastfeeding Examiner. I write articles related to breastfeeding with an eye to local news. So if you are local and see or hear something you think should be given attention, let me know and I'll get on it!

perfect

I am alone with Bubby in the living room. Jon, having read Peanut to sleep in the bedroom has fallen asleep himself. When I'm alone with Bubby I indulge in telling her all the silly, tender things I might normally only think. As I looked at her as I held her in my arms this evening, I was struck by her realness. Her perfectness. She's here.

And I lifted her up and kissed her scrumptious round cheeks and said,

"I grew you. Did you know? I grew you...and now here you are."





I never cease to be amazed by the absolute perfection of my children. I'm sure every mother feels this way.





 I am both empowered and utterly, totally humbled by the mere fact of their existence.

reminders

I struggle with remembering to do what I ought or to have the best frame of mind. I need constant reminding. I'm trying to think of ways to keep myself focussed and this is one idea I've implemented: short passages of scripture chalked on the wall. We've had 1 Corinthians 13 already, and now we've moved on to 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18.

owning a day

I'm making an effort to own each day.  All last week, Jon was been home on vacation and we spent the whole week together. There was a dinner at the pub up the street, a ride on the Ottawa River in a motor boat, visits with some grandparents, trips to the park, and lots of daytime walks followed by naps with Daddy. It wasn't perfect, of course: few things ever are. There was some frustration while we were picking out new glasses for me on Friday and there are almost daily moments of intense three-ness. But in the midst of any frustration or tantrums or meltdowns, there is goodness. There is love.

There is beautiful simplicity in a typical morning.







We don't need to seek out beauty in our lives: it's always there, even in very bad circumstances, and it is glorious and wonderful. We simply need to open our eyes to it and allow life to be what it is.

a day at the park

Daddy's vacation means some alone-time with Mommy in the middle of a weekday afternoon.



"Where are we going, Mommy?"
Up...
...up...
...almost there...
...and she's off and running!



Small child, tall buildings.


The ride home

dreaming our dreams

I am uncomfortable voicing dreams. I'm also uncomfortable voicing prayers. There is something so deeply personal, so intimate about sharing them. I don't know precisely why I feel this way, but I sincerely doubt that I am in the minority: we - at least we in North America - aren't exactly encouraged to bare our souls and share our deepest, tenderest feelings. And dreams and prayers really are tender. They are one of our most sensitive, most vulnerable places in our heart. I always feel that I risk mockery or embarrassment if I'm voicing my dreams. But dreaming is important and prayer is an integral part of my life. Maybe it's some quirk of my personality, maybe it's the way I was raised: growing up in the Presbyterian church, a practice where prayer is generally conducted silently, seated, heads bowed and eyes closed, expressing intimate thoughts and concerns wasn't generally done. Whatever the reason, I need to get over this.

Last week, as I was thinking about this season of change I seem to be in and about where it may take me, I came to an unfortunate and almost shameful realization: I was even uncomfortable voicing my dreams and ambitions and prayers to my own husband. How can we move forward together as a family, though, if we aren't sharing our dreams with one another? My reflection really came to a head after reading this post on Saturday. I was particularly struck by this section:

Just a few days ago while on a walk I realized something. We live in a home in the Pacific Northwest, tucked away in the trees, a block away from a bay where we canoe and kayak… and every morning, we take Cedar to the side of the house to pick raspberries for breakfast.“Honey!” I said…“It really happened for us. We are living that dream.” Of course there were a few jokes tossed around because Boho Boy cannot whisper a word without humor interlaced.  Like its raspberries instead of blackberries and Washington instead of British Columbia…but it is so close, non?  It gives us chills.  The power of speaking our dreams out loud.  The power of manifesting.  The power of vision boards.  The power of prayer.  The power of meditation.  All of it.  Just gives me chills.  And I am living proof that the dream may not turn out exactly how we envisioned (I am not talking raspberries here, but adoption rather than conception) but if we stay close to our desires.  If we whisper them or shout them or write them down or release them…if we BELIEVE them…we find ourselves one day looking around and realizing we are in it.

So that afternoon as we took our annual Scottish pilgrimage (careful with the volume if you click that link) I took advantage of our drive - and the girls' quiet contentedness - to begin the conversation. It's definitely a conversation that needs to be ongoing. Goals change, dreams alter and our prayers and desire reflect where we are in our lives and what we are living. Some would argue that The Recruiter and I should have had long, deep, detailed conversations about all our dreams and goals before getting married, but ultimately, we just wanted to be married to each other, regardless of anything else. In the time since we were engaged and first married, my own ambitions have changed dramatically at least four times. My priorities have shifted as well, becoming more and more focussed on living a life of faith.  Whatever I might have said back at the age of 23 is far from what I'm dreaming and praying about today.

It isn't enough to have one chat about dreams: it has to be a continuing dialogue in order for it to be reflective. Talking about our dreams hardly accomplishes them, but the immediate effect of just voicing those dreams, speaking our prayers, is truly tangible. I feel like our family is stronger today than possibly ever before - and we were doing pretty well, I like to think! It felt so wonderful to speak those visions to each other, to wonder out loud about what we might accomplish or what we might become.

So we're going to be dreaming together, openly. Whether we ultimately realize those dreams, whether our goals change entirely, what is important is the looking forward, working towards something. Speaking our dreams is our first step toward living more intentionally, more thoughtfully, with purpose.

puzzling it out

I've got a lot going on in my head right now. I'm in an interesting season, I think, one full of re-evaluation. I'm puzzling out myself, my life, our life as a family, my faith, my place in the world, my place in the church...it's a lot, and it's heavy, and on any given day I usually have about a minute and a half to actually be still and be quiet and just think. I'm finding myself standing at the sink in the bathroom, lost in my thoughts, while I'm supposed to be getting ready for bed.

I want to see this as a season of new possibilities and a healthy re-imagining, but mostly I'm finding it intimidating. We're not routinely encouraged to wipe the slate clean and start from scratch. I think, though, that that may be what I need to do. I may just need to radically re-imagine myself. And it's freaking me out!

back up

There is a moral to this post and it is this: back up your harddrive.

A week ago Sunday, The Recruiter tried to turn on the laptop but instead got error messages: "operating system not found"; "cable disconnected". Curious...and rather concerning. Just over a week went by before we were able to get my brother-in-law over to see if he could sort out the trouble. After some trial and error and the insertion of various discs, he deduced the problem: our harddrive is dead.

Our harddrive with every picture of Peanut on it.  Our harddrive with every picture of Bubby on it. Our harddrive with hours of downloaded music on it. Inaccessible, possibly permanently.

We're currently operating without a harddrive using a boot disc my BIL left with us so at least we're able to access the internet until we hook ourselves up with a new and functional harddrive. We're trying to stay hopeful that a recovery service can retrieve the files on the drive, but I'm trying to be realistic. They may find nothing. After I accidentally destroyed our last laptop, and then again after the fire, The Recruiter and I talked about getting a back up system started but failed to do so. I am absolutely sick at the thought of what we may have lost as a result of our forgetfulness.

So there won't be any new photos on the blog until we have a harddrive again and can load images from the camera. You'll just have to trust that the girls remain adorable.

Now go back up all your files!

friday evening, flaked out

A little dread-love and my very sleepy baby.

asparagus season

It's the beginning of farmer's market season in Ottawa, so we took a little family walk to the Byward Market last Friday to get some locally grown veggies. We got rhubarb and made these muffins - delicious! - and three big bundles of asparagus. Some of the spears went into savoury onion and asparagus muffins, and the rest were eaten alongside some mahi mahi.

Summer Asparagus Salad

2 bundles fresh asparagus, washed and trimmed
1tsp dijon mustard
2tsp orange juice
1 clove garlic, pressed (or 1/2tsp garlic powder if you are incredibly lazy, as I was)
2tsp brown sugar or honey
EVOO
dash of salt
large bowl of ice water

1. Place mustard, orange juice, garlic and sugar or honey in a small bowl and whisk together. Slowly drizzle in EVOO, whisking constantly until the dressing has entirely emulsified and become thicker and slightly creamy. Taste. Add salt if necessary.
2. In a medium pot of boiling water, blanche asparagus for approximately 2 minutes. Immediately plunge asparagus into bowl of ice water.
3. With asparagus still cooling, plate rest of meal. Place cooled asparagus on plate and spoon dressing over top.

I didn't think to take a picture, so here's a picture of Bubby from yesterday afternoon:



Aparagus?? ASPARAGUS??!!

Her story

I plan to have a more succinct version here shortly, but until then, here is the - very long! - story of Bubby's birth.

Monday's child

Is fair of face.




Er, fair of face.




Happy birthday to my rapidly growing girl. Three years of joy and the unexpected. Three years of excitement and fun. And now you are a big sister, and a loving, caring, considerate one at that. You never cease to amaze us.




Happy birthday, Peanut!!

And here we are

Born at 7:13 am May 3rd, after less than 3 hours of active labour (there's a pretty involved story: just wait for it).  Our homebirth became a hospital birth for cause, hence the story, but all went very well.  17 hours shy of 37 weeks in the belly, and a healthy 6lb 4oz at birth.

Scarlet Elizabeth Ruth, heretofore known as...

Bubby.

carrying on

Still here, still pregnant. Not sure for how much longer, but for now, we're ok.

Since I'm unlikely to be pregnant for a lot longer, here's another picture of the bump, as it looked last night.





I swear, I had just cleaned the mirror before this picture.  I have no idea why it actually looks worse than before.

I actually look smaller because baby has dropped rather significantly.  Can't get much lower until I'm actually in labour, though, so it'll be interesting to see if or how the shape changes as the next days pass.

I'm still eating fun food.  Check my breakfast from this morning:






Plain organic yogurt, chopped nuts (I usually use walnuts because I prefer them, but there's an e.coli scare on walnuts in Canada at the moment, so here I used pecans), currants and a drizzle of Canadian maple syrup.  If the bowl looks big, it's because it is big: that's an asian noodle bowl.  I really like this for breakfast.

And we're still having fun. Peanut's been doing puzzles.  Here she is, having proudly finished putting together her pig.






I'm going to keep gestating for a few more days, doing some deep self hypnosis to relax and keep the bp in check, and try to get everything else ready in between.  Have a great weekend!

Tempting fate? Yeah, I think so.

Dude.  I have got to learn.

I spent hours and hours crawling around on the floor painting that bed. It looks great. I'm thrilled. All is well, right?

We-e-ell.  I had an appointment with our midwife yesterday morning.  I took out the new car seat for the baby.  I got it pseudo-installed (not safe to be used, but safe in the sense that it won't hurtle around in the cabin of the car) despite the pouring rain.  Peanut and I got to the midwifery office on time, nay, early.  Our midwife and I had a great chat: we're ready, all we need to do now is wait and see when this baby will decide to be born. All is well.

Then we do the clinical stuff, checking my blood pressure, measuring fundal height and auscultation.  Blood pressure is first and...yeesh. 140/94.  Ho. ly. crap.  My midwife looks at me: "How are you feeling?"

I feel fine. Seriously. I feel fine. A little foot and ankle swelling, but I'm 36 weeks pregnant so whatever, right? We wait a few minutes while I do some deep, slow breaths.  We try again.  I can't remember the number but it wasn't any better (actually, I think it was worse because now I'm flipping out about high bp).

Here's where it's really good to be as informed as I am.  My midwife knows that I'm studying to be a doula, that I read research and educational blogs by different midwives and that I really care about prenatal health.  So when she said what she said next, I had a sinking feeling in my chest, but I didn't actually freak out or fall apart:

"At this point I need to recommend you go to the hospital for blood work and if it comes back concerning, we need to talk about inducing."

Oy.

A far cry from the peaceful, Peanut-inclusive water homebirth that we had planned. But we weren't there yet: we just needed to be careful.

A non-stress test, much phoning of various family members to find someone to hang out with Peanut, a trip back to the apartment to get her settled and a little lunch and to get a hospital bag (I felt much better knowing that if things turned out crazy and we ended up birthing right then, we'd have everything we wanted and needed) as well as pick up The Recruiter, and then off to the hospital.  And then the waiting.  I think we waited for at least two hours just to have my blood drawn.  It was insane.  But the nurse was very nice and knew my midwife personally and didn't throw a fit when my bp was shockingly high again in triage.

And then more waiting, this time for the lab results to see if there was anything hinky going on with my liver (a sign of pre-eclampsia).  And more waiting.  And then I realized I was absolutely starving and sent The Recruiter to find some food.  Which we devoured.  And then waited some more.  Finally we got to speak to a doctor and get my lab results.  The labs were all clear - phew! - but she wanted another NST and to do an u/s on my leg because I have asymmetrical edema.  Oy again.

After just over four and a half hours in the hospital we learned that...I have very high blood pressure at the moment.  Which we knew. And that baby and I are otherwise totally fine. Which we were already pretty certain about. We also confirmed that a) the hospital isn't the most evil place on Earth and that b) we would really, really rather not birth there.  We also learned that I'm having contractions which are surprisingly strong but I'm not noticing.  Everyone said I shouldn't pay it any mind since I'm not noticing them, but I'm reminded that I slept through early labour with Peanut and only woke up when active labour began, so I'm not  making any assumptions either way.  And I've dropped: this kid is now sitting lower and way heavier.

But I'm still pregnant!  So hooray for that.  36 weeks 2 days, which puts me at least two days further along than I got with Peanut.  Hopefully I can make it to May.

our new bed: part II(a)*

I promised, didn't I?  I declared that I would have the bed painted before this baby was born.  And lo and behold:





I'm not sure which is crazier: building a king sized bed when you're six and a half to seven months pregnant or waiting until you're over eight months pregnant, practically term and potentially going into labour at any minute to paint it. I'm really not certain.  But it's done!**  And I'm still pregnant and still not imminently birthing, so all is good.

*I called this Part II(a) because it obviously doesn't yet have the baskets for the storage cubbies and the mattress is still our old queen size.

**It's not exactly completely done.  I had to prop the mattress up on the far side of the bed with only about six inches between the bed and the mattress so I couldn't paint that side.***

***And that side of the bed may sort of kind of a little bit still need all the trim applied.  Maybe.  Kinda sorta.

I did it

Despite my lack of planning.





Despite my entirely disastrous-looking sewing room.





Despite my lack of time.

I got it finished.





And she loves it.

There was a lot of dancing in her dress this morning, twirling in her gathered skirt, holding it out to enjoy it.  And The Recruiter and I were particularly glad to have her beautifully decked out without resorting to pink.  Don't get me wrong: I like pink a lot, but why not embrace chartreuse and turquoise with beautiful rich brown?

The details:

• fabrics: a chartreuse tree-print quilting cotton and a brown with turquoise polka dot quilting cotton
• made from The Party Dress tutorial with the following adaptations:
  - I skipped the sash
  - instead of the contrast band at the hem, I knife pleated the polka-dot print fabric and top-stitched it to a 2" deep hem around the skirt

I also sewed a matching fascinator, because who doesn't love a fascinator, right? Here's how:

1. Cut out approximately 20 circles (I used the chartreuse cotton used for the dress). I used a shot glass for a toddler-sized headband. I used all the same fabric, but complimentary or contrasting fabrics, or using various sizes of circles would be cool, too.
   
2. Using your circle fabric, cut out two ovals approximately 5 inches long. Sew them, right sides together, along the two long edges, leaving the ends open. Notch, turn, tuck in the open ends and press.
   
3. Take an elastic headband (I used one from the drugstore, but using a piece of heavy round elastic from the fabric store would be just the same) and cut it. Insert it into one end of the fabric oval base and stitch back and forth to anchor it well. Wrap it around the head that will be wearing it, trim the elastic to length and repeat on the other end of the oval.
   
4. Take your circles and make five stacks. Make sure the circles aren’t perfectly lined up as you stack them: you want to see the circles poking out from beneath one another. Stitch your stacks to the oval base using a mid-width zigzag set to a length of almost zero (you’re creating satin stitch dots in the centre of each circle). Arrange the stacks so that they crowd one another and won’t lay flat: this creates a flowery, three-dimensional effect. Add the stacks one at a time, arranging them in such a way that they cover as much – or all – of the oval as possible.
   

Getting there

It's Good Friday, so we've already been to church (where the readings were moving, the music made me cry - as per usual - and Peanut had a fit halfway through the first hymn) and had lunch and now The Recruiter and Peanut are hanging out together while I finish my lunch and start getting stuff done.

Like this.  I really want to have a new Easter dress for Peanut for Sunday morning.  I have a sizeable fabric stash, so even though the stores are all closed today, I have no issue putting together enough fabric for a 3T dress for her.  Since before Christmas, when I first saw this tute on One Pretty Thing, I've wanted to make it for her.  Do you remember this?




I posted that very picture waaaay back in the spring of 2008 and very little has become of that fabric since then. I made a few little applique's for a tunic dress for Peanut back at Christmas using the green fabric, as well as my little birds, and the brown with polka dots turned into the cover for a dirty diaper bag and a teeny newborn dress for a friend's little girl, but there are still metres left of both.  So here we go: an Easter dress with nary a pink or purple anything in sight.  Awesome!

In other news, yesterday I looked like this:




You can't tell, but I was actually feeling fairly well crippled in that picture.  I woke up feeling particularly motivated and spent the entire day sorting through boxes of mostly crap and trashing stuff, boxing things for donation, doing laundry and tidying and vaccuuming the apartment.  By 3:30 I realized that I had totally overdone it and my back was killing me, but I still had to make the place liveable, so I continued on. Ouch. Despite overtaxing myself, though, I'm feeling good and feeling fairly confident that I'm going to make it to term this time.  Come on, May 1st!!  Actually, May 2nd: we're having belly pictures taken on May 1st. Better yet, May 8th: my Blessingway is on the 7th.  So here's hoping!

And about that dress, the one I need to start right now if it's going to be finished for Sunday morning?  Have a look at my sewing room as it looks at this very minute:




I'd better get to work.