Back in August, when we first found out that we were expecting a third baby, I went to one of those very very early checkups.  The ultrasound in those early weeks shows a little white dot (the baby) and a little flash (the heartbeat.) 
Every time I had had one of those early ultrasounds in the past, it was so exciting - the confirmation that nothing had changed except this millimeters-long bundle of cells that suddenly, miraculously, had a life of its own, both independent of me and completely dependent on me. 
And that that little flashing bundle meant that, before I knew it, everything would change once again.

I settled down in the chair, excited for the rush of seeing the flash-flash-flash on the screen.  The ultrasound began. 
I waited for the plane of view to land on the little embryo. 

Moments passed.  We saw a sac.  

Moments more passed.  Nothing showed up in the sac. 

After a minute or two, the technician put a hand on my shoulder.  She said, "I'm sorry, ma'am.  It looks like there's no baby." 

An empty sac.  A pregnancy with no baby.  Hopes risen up and then dashed.  A mention of speaking with the doctor about removing the sac, the failed pregnancy, so we could start again.  A follow-up appointment next week.

Over the next few days, I did what any reasonable person would do - I scoured the internet.  I read story after story of families with the same situation.  Most of them ended sadly - there really was no baby.  But every so often it turned out that the diagnosis had been wrong, and there was indeed a growing, healthy baby that somehow doctor or ultrasound had missed. 
That week, I made God a promise - if we found out there was indeed a baby there, that my case had somehow been misdiagnosed, I would give the baby a name that told the story of the wonders God can perform.

A tear-filled week later, I was back in the ultrasound room, for a final confirmation that there was no baby.   I didn't want to go. I didn't want to see the same devastating blankness on the screen.  I didn't want to be reminded, in real time, that I had become attached to nothing.

I settled down again.  Waited for the image to show on the screen. 
Saw the sac. 
Prepared, again, to see nothing. 
Steeled myself. 

Heard the technician say, "....and there's the baby."  

I started to hyperventilate.  

WHAT?!?!?  The BABY!?!?! But there is no baby!  

"Why couldn't we see it last week?"  I managed to sputter.  "I don't know...." the tech said...."you should have been able to...."

Today, thank God, we have a beautiful, healthy baby girl named Nesyah, which means "miracle of God."  Her nickname, "Nesi," can be translated, "my miracle" - her very existence is my own personal reminder of the very real presence of miracles in our everyday lives.

Jewish tradition is that every person's name should have a story.  Names, from the Bible through to today, not only tell the story of where we come from, but guide us towards what we will become.  A name is a blessing - an articulation of the hopes and dreams that our parents have for us that give us the inspiration and strength to be better people. 

Our blessing for Nesyah is that her name will remind her that miracles are possible, miracles are everywhere, and that her role in this world is to prove that by being a blessing to others.

Big Brother Love

Both of the boys are fascinated with their baby sister after her second full day at home.
This morning Asher laid in bed cuddling with her for about 5 minutes. (awwww...)
She started fussing and I picked her up.
He sat straight up and held out both arms to hug her.
 My heart melted - I couldn't resist.  I handed her over.

This is what ensued.

More like an enthusiastic bicep curl.

Or a choke hold. But a loving choke hold.

Gotta start somewhere, right?

First Meeting

"Each friend represents a world in us,
a world possibly not born until they arrive,
and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."

~ Anais Nin

This Girl

From the very beginning of her story,
to her arrival here yesterday,

this girl, hours old, is a miracle.

In the 39 weeks that I carried her
and mere 36 hours since she has been born
her existence, and the story of her life (so far),
has richly grown the gratitude in my heart
intensified my sense of awe
and deepened my belief in the power of The Source of Life.

You will hear the whole story when, Gd willing, she recieves a name on April 29th.
For now, some scenes from her first hours on Earth:

After a causing Ima to hyperventilate with fear

scaring the BeJeezus out of everyone 

having a little bit of a difficult time with labor contractions, arriving on the scene by emergency C-section:

Meeting Ima (who only looked so calm because her face was numb from the anesthesia):


Bringing our incredible doula, Caroline, back into our lives:


Weighing in at exactly the same size as her big brother Asher at birth (minus the screaming):


Looking quite a bit like Rami:


Eskimo kissing a smitten Abba:


A rare moment sitting with Ima without yelling at her to EAT!  NOW!!!

Welcome to this world, sweet girl.  

We've been waiting for you, and we're so very grateful that you're here.

"What to Feed Your Child Every Day": A Lesson in Futility

I love Parents magazine.

No, really.  I do. 

I think it's fun to flip through it to see just which article will make me want to throw it against a wall this month.

Anyway.

This month they published a very helpful spread explaining what you should be feeding your little darling every day. 

You know, so they won't turn into sugar-crazed goblins, sociopaths, or, Gd forbid, average academic performers.

See how helpful this is?
 Especially the examples of the gorgeous dishes you're supposed to use to serve your little ones?

I made lunch for the boys today, keeping in mind this oh-so-helpful advice.  Let's take a look at which healthy, delicious, and appropriately-apportioned foods I chose for my darlings:


Now, let's see what they did with them:


Well, I suppose Parents magazine told me to feed my children these foods. 
Guess it's up to me to figure out how to get the boys to actually eat them.

(Thanks for another down-to-earth, non-preachy article, Parents!

Can't wait for you to make me feel guilty and inadequate in June's issue, too.)

Bedtime Shema

When Asher was an only, I used to hold and rock him during bedtime prayers.

Now that we sing prayers all together in the big boy room, 

we've had the boys tuck up in their own beds to sing their bedtime Shema.
Our custom had been for me to sit by Ashi's bedside and rub his back while I sing.

Rami would just lay in his own crib and listen. 

A couple of weeks ago, I started to scoot over to Rami's side of the room 

and stretch one of my fingers through the bars.

He always touches one of his tiny fingertips to mine, 

and, most of the time, giggles. 

A lot.

Oh, how I love these boys. 

Last-Minute Errand

Asher:  "Oh!  Ima?  Excuse me."
Ima:  "Yes, Asher?" 
 

Asher: "I forgot."
Ima:  "What did you forget?"
 

Asher:  "I want to go get a chocolate donut. At the donut store!"
Ima:  "Okay, Asher.  Let's go."*



Asher:  "Oh, okay.  Thanks, Ima."
Ima:  "You're welcome, baby."



*Sometimes, when your little boy asks to go to "the donut store," it's good to just say, "Okay," load everyone in the car, and go.  Not always, but sometimes.

Welcome Letter

Dear Abba and Ima,

Welcome to the terrible twos.

(I know that you think you've dealt with the "terrible twos" before.

But, having grown up with my big brother for nearly 17 months,

I can tell you that his easy compliance 
with concepts like "time-out" and "being polite"

mean that what you called "the terrible twos" was really just a bit of challenging behavior.)

That is, compared to what I'm about to dish out.

Prepare yourselves!

for unsolicited yelling,

wild mood swings, 

and temper tantrums that escalate from 0-60 in .7 seconds.

If all goes according to plan, by 2012 or so, I will have redeemed myself with some carefully-timed episodes of pure sweetness.

And remember - 
every time you keep your cool,

respond lovingly but firmly, 

and discipline me gently but consistently,

you're doing a great job.

Kisses,
Ram Ram

Rami's Favorite Passover Breakfast Recipe

Ingredients:
1 pc plain matzah
2 tbsp cream cheese
2 tbsp jelly
Fruity Pebbles to taste
Strawberries*

Have your Abba and Ima spread the matzah first with cream cheese, then with jelly. 
Then (and this is important!)
lick the jelly off the matzah,
making as big of a mess as possible. 

Then apply the Fruity Pebbles to the cream cheese to taste. 
(Don't forget to save a handful of cereal for side noshing.)


*We'll be ignoring the fresh strawberries completely, but it makes your Ima feel better if you have the option of eating them.  Also, while she's concentrating on cutting them up, you can probably get a pretty good jelly smear across your face, your shirt, or even in your hair.

Chag Sameach!

Who, Me?

Who, me?

Neglect my blog for TWO MONTHS?*

Oh, you're talking about me throwing 

all of our Passover "dishes" all over the floor?

Yeah, I'm doing that.  

And I'm not sorry.

*I, Leigh Ann, am responsible for that. And I am sorry. Project 365, the third trimester, and other craziness has been pulling me away from blogging for awhile. But I've already put together a new blog for when the chickpea arrives (www.2boychiksand1meidele.blogspot.com) and another, different blog is in the works - I'll share that address when it goes live.  Thanks for still following us after months on hiatus, whoever is out there!