I just looked through the first few entries for Ivan and realized I could probably write almost the exact same things. They are not alike physically - well except for being newborn boys, which usually are not drastically different from each other. The eyes, the face, the voice, maybe even the personality is nothing like Ivan's (although people tell me they look alike), but the behavior definitely matches. Nikola sleeps quite willingly. He prefers to be held of course, but he will doze off on his own quite a bit. He sleeps in the car and in the store and almost anywhere on the go. He likes to nurse but can go without it for more than 3 hours at times if he is particularly sleepy. He doesn't cry much, he seems very stable in his moods... I would dare say that as of now he is probably the easiest baby I've had so far. I don't know if this is some reprieve I'm getting because of him being #3 and all,- I am aware all of it could change in a matter or days... or hours-, but if there's one thing I've learned in motherhood, it's to be grateful for every moment, hour or day that is going well, because you never know what's next. This goes both ways. If things are going badly you can always tell yourself it might be totally different tomorrow, so let's not get too upset. (Not that I follow that last piece of advice.)

His brother and sister are still totally taken with him and want to look at him or touch him or play with him every chance they get.. only, Nikola is not very happy with that. Toddlers are famously busy, clumsy and curious... and so they get in his face and shake things in front of his eyes and squeeze him too much and shake the bed or seat or pillow that's underneath him and Nikola just gets this look of like "What is going on, I don't understand, things are so busy, uh uh heeeelp, OVERSTIMULATION ALERT!!!!!, Waaaaaaah!" I have to constantly remind the older kids to leave him alone, which is sort of sad, but then again.. see above: this will change in a matter of months. They are also honing their skills in waking him up. Things mysteriously "happen" and suddenly they will exclaim: "He woke up! He's looking at me!" What a happy coincidence!

I have less time to gaze at this baby than I had with any of the other ones, naturally, which I'm not thrilled about, but then again I am also a different mother this time around. Not much is new, especially since his behavior is fairly similar to that of Ivan at this stage, and so I don't need as much time in order to "get" what he needs or what is happening with him. It's also nice to be so familiar with things that I can anticipate his development and simply sit back and wait for it to happen... for this little person to emerge.

Veronika's more than accurate description of me for Mother's Day. Check out the smiley portrait!

Once I recovered from the shock though I made a decision to take this on consciously and avoid feeling like a victim. Not that having a baby is punishment in any way, but I don't need to elaborate on the enormous toll it takes on one's life. I think part of that deal with myself was envisioning exactly what it was going to take and partially what it was going to be like, which is somewhat foolish, because we all know nobody really knows what things are going to be like. Ever. But my first goal was to get through it the best way I could and not so much to be completely reasonable and even-handed. And so I was determined to do my nine months of service and then have an uncomplicated birth, a healthy baby and go on with my life, the end! The less I fussed about the pregnancy, the faster it was going to go in my mind. Surprisingly I find myself... surprised it really actually went down just like that. Since when does that happen? For things to go the way you expected, naively, in your scared little existence?

I don't know why I keep hoping I could have a baby before 41 weeks of gestation. Three babies might be enough to teach me that this is how long a Souzek/Keglevic baby takes to cook. EXACTLY 41 weeks. To the day. Remind me... if there is a next time. And so my contractions started on the eve of the first day of week 41, around 4 pm, Wednesday 7th May. (Oh, and can you believe I had thought of 5/8/08 as the perfect birth date too, only didn't really want it to happen this late, but goodness, the amount of fulfilled expectations in this event is sickening) I wasn't taking them seriously right away, because previous labors had always started with my water breaking first, but a few hours into it, there was no denying this was going to amount to something. And if it wasn't, I was going to MAKE it be labor, because you know, like I said, I had it aaaall figured out this time around...

So the contractions kept coming, but they were very manageable and not very frequent and I just went about my business. I called the midwife (from the birthing center, where I was going to deliver) around 7 and told her things were sort of happening but nothing really to get worked up about. We went to bed around 11 pm and I was still doing ok. Contractions every 7-10 minutes, sometimes even longer. I slept in between them, still waiting for my water to break, just to make sure this was it. Around 2 am though I was convinced because things had gotten more painful. The contractions were still not closer together, but they were stronger and I was going to avoid coming in five minutes before pushing this time. We called the midwife again and agreed to meet at the birthing center at 3.15 am to see if I was far enough along that they could admit me (The birthing center allows you to stay there 12 hours before and after birth, so they don't admit you until you are in active labor, meaning 5-6 cm dilation.).

The contractions picked up on the way there (uh, five minute drive...) - I think lying down was keeping them farther apart - and so when she checked me I was already 6 cm! I wouldn't say it had been painless, but speaking in labor-terms, getting to six was a breeze. We got to our room, got settled and I started walking around to keep the contractions going. One of the many reasons I love my midwife: As I was walking around I saw the birthing ball out of the corner of my eye. I really wanted to sit on it, but somehow didn't manage to ask, not sure why, maybe I was just distracted (following my motto: the less I fuss, the faster it's over...). I kept walking and five minutes later she asks me: "Do you want the birthing ball, you seem like the type...?" It was the same midwife that delivered Ivan and I remember appreciating her instincts even then. She just seems to guess what you need. I don't know if this is talent or training, but it's an amazing gift to someone in labor, who can barely remember her name in the midst of all the pain. I sat on that ball for about half an hour, until 4 am, when the contractions were really, really painful and also my water broke - which I in my laborish stupor thought was pee... only even in my best shape I cannot pee that much in a sitting, I had to admit eventually.

It was 4 am, 12 hours after the first contraction and it was time to push! I couldn't believe it. They had filled the tub for me, because I had really wanted to try a water birth this time. I got in and oh, you can't imagine the relief! I felt comfortable! I'm in the pushing stage feeling comfortable! I settled in thinking I could take this slow now and just push when I felt like it, not overwhelming myself, but apparently my body had other plans. I think I had two contractions in the tub and when the third came it was all over. I pushed a little, thinking, I'll just relax and continue with the next one, but the baby was too far down and all of a sudden I realized I had to finish this, because the pain... THE PAIN was unbearable. I'm not sure if it was different this time around or I had just forgotten more throroughly how painful the pushing part is, but THE PAIN was absolutely horrifying. I was screaming and screaming (felt a little hoarse later) until my midwife (again, perfect thing to say at the right time) reminded me how much energy I was wasting on all the screaming and I should just push because the more I pushed the faster it was going to be over. I took my last ounce of reason - actually I think it is pure survival instinct at that point and pushed and pushed some more (I believe I also simultanously yelled at her to "take it out" and also to "stop doing that") and he came out! 4.27 am, time of birth, barely half an hour after I climbed into the tub.

The boy was 9 lbs 4 ounces (4.2 kg), perfectly sized - for him. For me, perfectly too huge. I don't know what I'm doing wrong to have these big babies. I suppose it was all the eating. Then again I barely got to sit still during this pregnancy. I did not have any stitches again though, so maybe all in all, we're even.

Lincoln and I were a perfect team again. We didn't do any preparing this time around, but were just as in sync. Maybe it was the similarity to Ivan's birth that made it easier, or maybe it's just the additional years we've spent together, where so much is clear that communication flows by itself and we just do what is obvious. To the two of us, that is. I'd almost want to say I want to do it all over again tomorrow, but then there is problem of THE PAIN and I quickly change my mind.

And now allow me to gush (and drip on my keyboard). That moment! That moment of seeing and holding your child for the first time, after it came out of you just like that, will make you want to have babies indefinitely. There is just no way to describe it and it will never make a difference how often you have done it before. Even after retelling all the details and what it took for him to get here I still can't believe this stuff happens. How does it happen? I don't know. He is brand new, but also completely familiar. I am so grateful. I'm grateful for him and I'm grateful for him being the third, because I feel I am going into it with my eyes wide open, knowing all the dark parts and since I know them, they're not as scary as they used to be. I remember better when to pay attention and just enjoy the moment and the current stage. For better and for worse it will be over soon. I didn't think I needed a third chance just yet. What did I know?

(FACEBOOK people, please comment on the original site, so non-facebook-members can see it too! Thanks!)

(posted by Lincoln)

In the meantime, here, peruse the new baby's wishlist, if you'd like: Souzek Baby #3

Yes, I am cranky.

Mostly my body has given up a long time ago. Months ago, basically. I'm not sure if it was having three pregnancies in a little over five years or just bad luck gene-wise... but I don't have any muscle or skin tone left that is capable of holding up the usual 8lbs+ baby I am blessed with. I bought girdles and a support belt and after outgrowing the girdles in a few weeks I stuck with the elastic belt (which is rapidly losing the elastic part) and at this point is essential for me to be able to walk around at all. Without it, my back hurts and my abs hurt and my ligaments hurt and basically it feels as if the baby is going to fall through the bottom of my belly. A lovely, lovely feeling. I joke about my skin sag, but I have to say I'm really not looking forward to finding out how much loose skin I will end up with. I realize there's nothing I could have done, but oh.. it still sucks. You know what I mean.

Having two kids and being pregnant is a terrible combination. I figure there is no other way to have a third child, but here I am, almost done and I still don't know how it can be done. I am so exhausted and my main goals when I wake up are 1. to make it until bedtime and 2. to do the least damage to my kids in the process. I don't know if I did good on #2, I'm sure my kids will let me know with time. I did always make it until bedtime, but as inevitable as that is, there are different ways to get there and I think most of the time I missed the mark. Not that I had a choice really, but I'd lie down and realize this is 3 hours and 15 jobs too late. The next morning comes hours before I have time to really feel rested...

So this pregnancy in a way went by in a flash, in the background, on the side... but it took a much higher toll on me in every possible way. At this point, at 38 weeks, I am slowing down somewhat (the weight alone will do that to you), but I'm torn whether I should just keep busying myself in order to avoid the inevitable anxiety before birth (both of my kids were born at 41 weeks. 41!) or whether I should pretend there is nothing to do, sit down and beat the kids off of me with a stick. I predict I will be a combination of both: too busy AND anxious without sitting much. I have also gotten myself into more trouble... why, I don't know. I am insane, that's for sure. But you should see my son peeing in the potty, all proud and smart. It's irresistible. The funny thing is... the kids are both the problem and the comfort. A delightful distraction, an incredible pain.

This past week Veronika had her spring break and I was thrilled just because for five days in a row, I did not have to get myself and two kids ready and out the door in the morning before nine o'clock. Maybe that sounds sissy and whiny, but it's so hard to get my stuff together in the morning, when I'm already waking up exhausted. Still, I tried to use the extra time for fun stuff and so we went to shop for a gift for the baby. That was Veronika's idea, so they each got to pick out a rattle and we also bought some white t-shirts for the two of them to decorate and give to the baby. Then we had lunch at the mall and rode the carousel and just had a great time overall. I also bought some flower pots and seeds and Veronika got to plant them and set them out on the porch, a project she is still very excited about.

I realized how little "just fun" stuff we do during the week, but also what life could be like if I wasn't lugging around 50 lbs extra and feeling permanently cranky and out of breath. No real surprise with any of that, but nine months is a long time. To counteract some of my insane ideas of exertion, I hired that cleaning lady again, but this time to clean for me, not some future renter, and she did such a fabulous job, that I'm still in shock. It's hard for my brain to process, those two realities: "sparkly house" and "no effort on my part". How is that possible? How did it happen? It seems to go against the basic rules of life. Or is that the miracle of the exchange of services for money? It could be the latter, but then it feels so divine, it can't just be mere economic parameters...

This is where I run out of topics and post a belly photo:

Click here to see the full set!

So besides enjoying this wonderful apartment (I still love it! Today the kids were playing outside on the porch while I made lunch and then we all sat outside in the sun and ate - Ivan had also a major meltdown, but no, really, it was great! I love it that the kids can play outside by themselves, yet within my eye sight and ear shot.), I did the following since Christmas:
- searched for new apartment (called realtors, looked at apartments, got depressed)
- found apartment, convinced landlord to pick us over someone else, coughed up deposit and first month rent
- helped move everyone and everything from one place to another
- scheduled moving help that didn't end up coming, scheduled piano movers that did a great job
- wrote and rewrote what felt like 200 IKEA shopping lists
- hired cleaning lady to take care of old apartment (one of the best $120 I ever spent)
- drove to IKEA about 3 times, or was it 50?
- faced the death of second car (1998 Dodge Caravan with over 200 000 miles on it) the week before the move
- researched dead car removal options, donated car to Outreach and had it towed
- shopped for car loans
- looked, found and bought new car
- grew a fetus to the final stages, ruining abdominals and back in the process
- survived.

What can I say. I am so tired. I know I would've been tired throughout all those months either way. Two little kids and a pregnancy are more than enough to squeeze the last calorie of energy out of you. Add the above list and it's a miracle I'm still here, basically. The biggest problem is when you feel like you can't possibly go on one more minute, but miraculously your body doesn't follow suit... and so you just keep going. You can even though you know you can't, because there is no other option. On one hand I hate being in that position and it feels like when you have kids that becomes your reality to one extent or another, whether you want it or not. On the other hand, it is a new sense of strength and success. It might seem like a regular thing on the outside, or it might not even seem like anything, but it's enough for me to know how much it took to make it through some (or most) of the days. It might be a high price to pay for knowing yourself and your capabilities, but it's worth it. It's one of those things that are crucial in life, but can't be obtained on a demand-basis. I can't say I'm not scared about all the things coming up in my immediate future. Sleeplessness alone... yikes. At the same time, I find a certain satisfaction in this feeling of being in the middle of a really big hill, or a big hole... one way or another, it's a big climb and the end doesn't feel close, but on most days I feel I am doing a pretty good job staying in the fight.

A sense of purpose helps. It makes the unimportant, fussy things of life fall away more easily and you redefine your expecations in a way you didn't think was possible. And most of the time you don't feel depressed about it. Even on the days you think "Why am I even trying?" (And those are frequent. Very.), you can't afford not to and it makes a difference. You don't see it while you're digging yourself out of it, but a while later, you do.

The kids take it all, every day. At the same time, they show it all back to me. I can't take credit for their awesomeness, but I'm not ashamed to take credit for the fact that they are still here, alive and healthy and pretty decent to be around. I'm sure I'm not doing things right a lot of the time, but I'm fighting and I know it's something that will show in the end, whether they realize it or not.

That said, I really can't do this one more minute longer.

Click on the photo for more details!

And after you've thought about that for a while, you get up, make the kids breakfast, discipline them a little, clean up, run the dishwasher. While you attempt to convince them to entertain themselves you look at your watch, scan your brain for the to-do-list and check the laundry hamper.

Then you pause and look for feelings of disappointment or sadness. Nothing. Your emotional thermometer says: *shrug*. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking" you say to yourself.

The Striezel was a holiday staple in my parents' house (well, after we moved to Austria). You want to make this. It freezes very well, so I always make it ahead of time. Please appreciate all the work I took to photograph this for you, step by step (Click here to see the whole flickr set).

And then... the new place also has more space, but very usefully arranged for our lifestyle. I have been able to solve so many little organizational problems, so much so, that I am a little frightened and embarassed that such practical and mundane things like hooks and recycling bags can make me so happy! It's been a month now and I still marvel at the fact that now I have space for a separate recycling trash bin in my pantry, which will be picked up by the regular trash removal company instead of me having to sort it all in the garage and then drive it (yet another errand!) to the local recycling company. Also, I have a pantry! I don't need to go to the garage to get a new box of cereal. I have my washer and dryer by my bedroom! Yet another garage trip saved. I am caught up with laundry for the first time in months! I have enough lighting to iron in the living room. I can see the tv from the kitchen! A window by the sink! A stove with a timer! Hooks and cubbies in the entryway, so the kids can reach it and hang their own stuff. Enough room for toys! The windows in the kids' rooms low enough so they can look outside... On and on goes the list.

Maybe it is really just the sum of all these small improvements that makes me feel better... or maybe it's the freedom to be able to find satisfying solutions to problems of space and organization. I don't know. My daily work includes overcoming a lot of very mundane obstacles. It's very hard, nearly impossible to be efficient with little kids. They are the epitomy of inefficiency and "not-goal-orientedness". Getting everyone dressed, cleaned, fed and out the door at a certain time every morning without screaming your face off is like trying to organize a union with only cats as its members ( You: "Cat, realize the potential of solidarity with your sister cats and commence marching in one single row!" Cat (throws herself on the floor whining): "But I don't waaaannaaaa! Can I have candy? How about GUM? GUM!!!"). Frustration is a very mild word to describe what happens to one's psyche. Minimizing the chances of bumping into things, spilling them, knocking stuff over, not finding your keys, picking the same things off the floor repeatedly, incessantly... moves up the priority list very quickly. You don't want to bump into that unstable paper bag full of recycling cans when you are already FRUSTRATED and MAD and trying with the last ounce of self control not to let it all out on your child... You see what I mean? This is where I want to hug my new apartment. It's not a big deal in the really grand scheme of things, but it means a lot in the endless string of tiny events that shape my life right now.

Eh, the bad part? We had to move. I was 7 months pregnant. I have two toddlers. I could go into more details but I just spent a ridiculous amount of internet space gushing about an apartment, so I will spare you. Just go back and read those three things a few more times: moving and 7 months pregnant and two toddlers. Aren't you feeling tired just reading it?

(I added a few more photos of the apartment here. I will be adding more as we continue setting up...)

An explanation for all those unfamiliar with the term or its meaning. In Connecticut a snow day is basically any day it snows. Impending snowfall of more than an inch (2.5 cm) is classified as "snow storm" and is announced on TV, radio and the mayor's emergency phone notification system! (This means you get an automated phone call with a recording of the mayor advising you of the upcoming "storm" and its official rating - "Level 1 snow emergency!" You are told to move your car off the street. This is not a joke.) Subsequently all schools for that day are closed as are all government offices. Even though there are several snow days every winter there is great fear and panic among the peoples (as is appropriate behavior during an emergency) of having to possibly leave the house and make your way through snow banks that can go as far up as your ankles. Traffic collapses. But the nice part for kids (and teachers) and me is that we can stay in pajamas, pretend it's Saturday, watch TV and generally just relax. Until it's time to go outside and enjoy the snow for what it's meant for...