We may live in the desert of the SouthWest, but we still have pumpkin patches!  Okay, so this pumpkin patch was in a parking lot across from a casino, but our girls still had fun (the big one at least).

Lillyan has been blessed to find a fantastic best friend who is the same age and the same “maturity”, if you will.  Ryleigh and Lillyan are inseparable.

I tried to get some nice Sister photos with the pumpkins, but Emilia was quite uncooperative.  I gave up and decided that we will always remember that this is what our life was like at this point in time.  Emilia screaming.  The rest of us dealing with it.

Isn’t she just a sweetheart?

Continued from MTHFR and a Healthy Baby: My Pregnancy Story

Week 38 / Day 3

Tuesday morning: We have another ultrasound scheduled at the perinatologist’s, and both Daddy and Lillyan are on hand for this one.  The sonographer starts measuring and figuring and comparing charts from the last ultrasound and checking blood flow to the baby’s lungs and brain … and calls the doctor in.  She is concerned that our baby girl is growth restricted and my fluid levels are too low (both known complications of an MTHFR pregnancy).

My perinatologist takes a look at the ultrasound himself, and then heads out of the room to call my obstetrician.  I’m working hard not to freak out in front of my three-year-old, who keeps jabbering away about seeing her little sister.  At this point, we don’t know what any of this means, but I’m afraid …

The doctor sends us into the fetal monitoring room and then pokes his head back in to ask where we were planning to deliver.  That doesn’t sound good to me.

I send Lillyan out to get our favorite nurse, Miss Paula, so we can talk to her about what is going on.  She is a calming influence, talks us through what the ultrasound means, and what she thinks the doctor is going to recommend.  She tells me this:  “If you were my daughter, I would send you to have this baby today.  At this point, she will be safer out than in.”

The doctor comes in again to say that, indeed, we are going to be having this baby today.  She hasn’t grown much at all in the last four weeks, and my fluid levels are dangerously low.  He reminds us that this is why we have been monitoring her all along, so that if this very thing were to happen, we can save her.  That helps.

Please allow me to digress here for just a bit …

For those of you who don’t already know our family, we are a bit fanatical about all-natural, organic, whole living.  Our oldest daughter has never met a chemical that her body didn’t hate.  Combine those life-style choices with the obsessive amount of research that I am prone to do about any given topic affecting our family, and you get a mother who is not at all excited about having labor induced artificially.  In fact, next to the health of my baby, being induced was my greatest concern.

We nervously head home from the doctor’s office because we have a few hours before we’re supposed to check in at the hospital.  I immediately start trying to convince the daughter in my womb that it’s actually her idea to come out today.  I use my breast pump for 20 minutes (that’s how we got labor started with Lillyan), and then I call an acupuncturist while I drink a big super-food protein smoothie.

I’ve never tried acupuncture before, but it’s a well-known method of labor induction in Asia.  I convince my husband by showing him several scientific studies backing up claims that it works.  When I get to the office of this kind, globally-minded doctor of Chinese medicine, I notice a whole wall of baby announcements and photos.  She says it’s her “fairy godmother wall” – she induced labor for all of those babies.  I feel better.  (The photo of her with a giant panda sitting on her lap makes me smile, as well.)

The kind doctor asks me some questions, then pokes several needles all over my body, and I lie still on a table listening to the sounds of nature from her little boombox.  I try hard to relax – but the nasty thoughts of an impending Pitocin drip make that difficult.

One hour after I return home from the acupuncturist, the first real contraction hits.  After the first couple of contractions, my husband starts tracking them on an iphone app.  I take a shower and fix an organic chicken pasta dinner for the three of us.  On the way to the hospital, we drop Lillyan off at friends’ house to stay the night.

By the time we get to the hospital at 7:30 pm, my contractions are four to five minutes apart and lasting about 90 seconds.  Nurse Rose takes us to our nice birthing room, and I get hooked up to the monitors and start a bag of IV fluids.  Nurse Rose is another answer to prayer.

The more naturally-minded hospital where I was hoping to deliver recently closed their labor and delivery ward, and so we had to deliver at the much busier, knock-’em-out-drag-’em-out hospital instead.  Rose was a nurse at the place where they are much more familiar with drug-free childbirth (and she is an Air Force mom).  She reads my birthplan (approved by my doctor but potentially scoffed by most nurses) and jumps onboard with both feet.

The monitor confirms that, sure enough, I’m in labor.  To help soften and ripen my cervix, Rose gives me Cervidil at 9 pm.

My own incredible Mother (two natural childbirths herself) arrives on a flight at 10:30 pm.  Friends bring her straight to the hospital.  She sits up with me all night long, chatting between contractions, which are much too uncomfortable to be able to get any sleep.  At 3:30 am, Nurse Rose removes the Cervidil because she and the doctor are afraid it’s the reason my contractions are coming one on top of the other without breaks in between.

The contractions slow down a bit after that, and our baby girl starts to have a few heart rate decelerations.  Nurse Rose warns me about what the doctor might suggest, and I discourage her from mentioning any of those options (stripping membranes, breaking my water, etc.).

My OB knows I want to do this as naturally as possible, but he also knows it’s his responsibility to protect our baby.  He thinks it’s time to get this moving along.

At 5 am, the dreaded IV bag of Pitocin shows up.  My good friend calls it Satan’s Drug.  I know lots of natural mommas, but none personally who have made it through Pitocin contractions without an epidural.  I have the advice of a friend’s sister to do my best to stay ahead of each contraction, because they come faster than the natural ones.

Nurse Rose starts the drip at a 2 mu/min and the contractions start to pick up again.  At this point though, I’m relaxing in the recliner, reading my Bible on my iPhone in between each one.  Nurse Rose comes in a half and hour later and ups the Pitocin to 4 mu/min.

Thirty minutes after that, Nurse Rose asks me how my pain is.  I tell her I’m doing fine.  Totally handling it.  She says “We can fix that!” and jacks the Pitocin up to a 6.  (This is the opposite of anything they warn you about in the natural childbirth books, where nurses and doctors are suggesting pain-management and asking you to lay flat on your back in a hospital bed.)

At this point, my husband gets more involved in his Bradley Method (husband-coached childbirth) role, and I move back to the birthing ball that was my best friend during those overnight rough ones.  Nurse Rose comes in and reaches for the IV pump again.  I stop her.  I tell Rose these are getting serious – no need to turn it up anymore.  She turns it up to 8 mu/min anyway.

The main idea of the Bradley Method is to relax your entire body through each contraction, letting your uterus use all your energy to do the work of getting your baby out.  Easier said than done, but it can be accomplished with practice and good coaching.  My man and my mom are talking me through each contraction at this point, reminding me to relax each part of my body as they see tension.

At 7:30 am, it’s time for Nurse Bianca to replace our dear Rose.  Rose has Bianca check me.  She says if I’m complete, she wants to stay to see our baby girl be born.  I have to get in the hospital bed for the first time in several hours.  Nurse Bianca reports that I’m only at four or five centimeters.  Nurse Rose tries to be encouraging, “Oh – you’ll have this baby by noon!”  Feeling like I know my own body and what’s going on, I shoot back, “Noon?? How about 8 o’clock?!?!”  All the nurses laugh and leave the room (but at least they finally turn my Pitocin back down a bit first).

I get back on the birthing ball (which is just an inflatable exercise ball we brought from home).  My husband is behind me putting pressure on my lower back during each contraction, while my mom sits in front of me holding my hands, making sure I keep them relaxed and not clenched against the pain.

Now these are some for real contractions.  I have no way to compare them to anyone else’s, but the pain is certainly worse than it was during my oldest daughter’s birth.  We call the nurses several times to let them know they should page my doctor.  I feel like no one is taking us seriously enough.

My biggest challenge is staying ahead of each contraction.  When I can get totally relaxed before the next one hits, I can manage the pain and keep my body relaxed.  When the next contraction comes before the last one ends, I get behind and question whether I can even do this.  (Not that I have a choice now, but everyone is kind enough to not point that out.)

In between contractions at about 7:45 am, my water breaks while I’m sitting on the birthing ball.  For me, it’s another sign that it’s almost time to meet our little girl.  Another contraction later and I feel like I really need to stand up, but there is so much adrenaline flowing through my body that I’m tingling from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.  Standing up isn’t going to happen.

At 7:50 am, my husband’s parents arrive (they drove in from Colorado the night before).  He jumps up to hug his mom and to advise his dad against coming in.  Another contraction hits and when I lean back on the ball, there is no one to support me.  I have no choice but to lean forward and stand up against my mom.  That was all it took.

I announce to everyone that I am going to push.  Everyone tries to tell me not to push.  Anyone who has ever personally experienced natural childbirth knows that the most ridiculous idea in the whole world is NOT pushing when your body is telling you to push.  Can’t be done.

They say I have to get into the bed, but I have to spin around to get untangled from the tubes and cords.  I need to push again, and again they all tell me to wait because the doctor will be there soon.  The phone rings.  It’s the doctor.  He hears the nurse telling me not to push.  Again, not happening.  I inform everyone that we are NOT waiting for the doctor.

On the next push, the nurse gets very serious.  She orders me to get in control.  She says I CANNOT push.  The cord is wrapped tightly around our baby’s neck.  For her sake, I have to wait.  That was finally reason enough to not push.  Nurse Bianca clamps and clips the umbilical cord, gives me permission for one more push, and Emilia Luceille is born at 7:58 am.  Born, but very blue.

The nurses rush her to the warmer.  My mom and mother-in-law cling to each other nervously, my husband is at the baby’s side, and I feel very alone in the hospital bed, anxious to see and hear my baby.

It’s awfully quiet.

After what was probably less than one minute but seems like an eternity, Emilia screams out.  I immediately praise God.  Then I ask someone to please come back and hold my hand.

They do a little more work getting Emilia all pinked-up and hurry to bring her back to me.  Her eyes are wide open and she looks overwhelmed.  And she looks exactly like her Daddy.  And she wants to eat.

I don’t want to say that I can’t believe, after all these months of concern, that she is out and healthy and perfect, because I can believe.  We serve a big God who can do miracles for tiny babies.  It is awesome to behold.

Only a few minutes later, Lillyan arrives to meet her new baby sister.  When she climbs up on the bed next to me and and Emilia hears Lillyan’s distinctive voice, the baby lights up. She stares and stares at Lillyan, with a look on her face that says, “I’ve been imagining what you look like for so long!  I’m so happy to finally SEE you!”

Emilia Luceille is tiny for a baby born at 38 and a half weeks:  5 pounds, 6.7 ounces and 18.5 inches long.  After that night of labor, I was at least glad to know the doctor was right in sending me for an induction.  She was growth restricted and it was time to come out.

Emilia passes all her newborn tests with flying colors, and our whole family is home to sleep in our own beds that night (except Emilia, who isn’t really interested in her own bed yet – she wants to spend some more time cuddled against anyone who loves her).

We have more appointments with the pediatrician and the pediatric cardiologist in her first week, and they all reassure us that she and her heart are perfect, feisty and strong.

I look at Emilia everyday and am reminded of a God so powerful that He can heal inside my womb, while being so gentle that He holds and protects my tiny daughter in His arms.

Psalm 139

⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

After a healthy, although not easy, pregnancy in 2006 that resulted in a perfect, vigorous now almost-four-year-old, getting (and staying) pregnant in 2009 posed a new challenge for our family.  We experienced a tough, sad, trying loss of a baby to miscarriage in September.  Because of the histories of both of our mothers and my age, my doctor opted to go ahead with a miscarriage panel of bloodwork (22 vials of blood) to “check things out”.  We will be ever grateful that he made that choice.

The bloodwork results showed that I am Compound Heterozygous for Methylenetetrahydrofolate Reductase (MTHFR), which is a blood-clotting disorder caused by a gene mutation.  It is a rare disorder, but a major factor in miscarriage and stillbirth.  I immediately began taking a super-dose of folic acid and a baby aspirin a day, and we went back to trying to get pregnant again.  And so the story of this pregnancy begins:

Week 3

Wednesday morning, January 6, 2009: negative pregnancy test.  Again.  Trying not to give up hope this week because it’s still four days early.  Rough week because my dear Grandma is in the hospital and her leukemia is getting worse.  I decide to go home with my three-year-old Lillyan to help out with her care.

Thursday morning: POSITIVE pregnancy test.  Excited to tell my family, who could all use some good news.  Thursday afternoon:  I get an appointment with the best perinatologist in town, who happened to study under one of the leading researchers in the treatment of my disorder.  The ultrasound tech says she’s never done an ultrasound this early, but that everything is looking good.

Friday morning: Lillyan and I fly to Kansas to be with my Grandma.  I’m certainly feeling pregnant at this point, including the vomiting and tiredness.  My Grandma has a great weekend at my parents house visiting with all the grandkids.  Monday morning: Grandma begins to go downhill quickly because of bleeding in her brain, and by Friday afternoon she has gone home to be with Jesus.  Before she died, I told her I was pregnant and that we would name a baby girl after her.  She was beyond happy.

Saturday: I start spotting and stop vomiting several times a day.  The bleeding is light at first, but continues to get worse, just like when we lost our baby four months before.

Week 4

Monday:  After a full day on my feet for the funeral, the bleeding has become quite heavy, and I feel sure this baby is not okay.

Tuesday morning: Lillyan spends the day with my Mother-in-law while my Mom takes me to the emergency room in Wichita.  We spend all day there, getting a bag of IV fluids, waiting forever to be seen by a doctor, and finally having a nerve-wracking ultrasound.  The sonographer does lots of checking and examining, but isn’t allowed to give us any information.  We wait another agonizing hour and a half.  The tech does give us a ray of hope when she says “that was a good way to end my day”.

Tuesday afternoon: The doctor comes in.  He says we have a healthy baby in there who is the right size and is growing, but I do have a Subchorionic Hematoma.  He says to see my doctor as soon as I get home.  Obviously, I get on the computer and find out that means I have a blood clot in my uterus – a known complication of MTHFR.  It/they can be harmless or dangerous.  There’s no way to know.

Week 6

We wait anxiously for the next perinatologist appointment, which comes at 6 weeks and 3 days.  Right away, the sonographer finds our baby’s heartbeat, and we sigh in relief.  The bleeding hasn’t completely stopped, and the doctor says I have several clots in my uterus.  The good news is that they are in the chorionic sac and not sharing the amniotic sac with the baby.  However, we can’t start more aggressive blood thinning treatment to protect the baby from clots yet because it may cause the already-existing clots to rupture.  The doctor gives me orders for “modified bedrest”, which he says means that I can care for my three-year-old and that’s about it.  So we wait. And pray.  A lot.

Week 8

At our next perinatologist appointment, the multiple clots are still there, but not growing.  No changes, baby still okay.  We pray some more.

Week 11

This time, besides having no good news about the blood clots, the sonographer predicts that this is a baby girl in my womb.  We pray hard that we will get to meet her someday.

And we enjoy a little winter family time at our place in Colorado as my bump begins to show.  And no, I’m not supposed to be lifting Lillyan, but there was seven inches of snow on the ground, and she wanted to see the deer in our driveway.

Week 13

Before we have a big party to celebrate my husband’s recent promotion, his Mom joins us for the next ultrasound.  Fantastic news: the sonographer can find no evidence of any blood clots!  The doctor comes in and looks himself.  We are clot-free!  Praise God for erasing those nasty things.  The doctor gives me instruction to start Lovenox.  I head to work on the other side of the country for the weekend, hugely relieved.

Week 14

Monday morning, March 22:  I give myself my first injection of Lovenox, a designer blood thinner that is supposed to protect both the baby and me from more clotting.  Giving myself a shot in the abdomen every morning is not that fun, but Lillyan is my coach and cheerleader for each shot.  I have no choice but to be brave in front of her. It’s a little easier because I start to feel the baby kick and flutter when I lay down at night.  And I’m certainly willing to do whatever it takes to keep our little baby safe.

Week 16

Confirmation: it’s definitely a girl!  Lillyan is beyond excited, and I’m relieved.  I wouldn’t want her to go through life without a sister.  Daddy vows the next dog we get will be a boy.

Week 18

Now, to add to the fun of poking myself and numerous bruises, the doctors identify a hernia of the fascia layer that is causing major pain in the upper left side of stomach.  The perinatologist says there’s nothing to do but “grin and bear it”.  So I do.

Week 20

Our little girl has her first Echocardiogram (an ultrasound of her heart).  A potential complication of my type of thrombophylia (the propensity to develop blood clots) is an abnormality in her heart.  It’s a long, in-depth process, but the perinatologist says, at this point, her heart looks perfect.  Prayers answered again.

And our lives go on.

Week 24

I’m doing my best to keep up with my exercise now that I’m off of “modified bedrest”.  After a morning swimming laps and then a few more hours laying at the pool with Lillyan, I realize I haven’t felt any movement from an otherwise-normally-very-busy baby girl.  I try all the tricks (drink juice, lay still and concentrate, eat food, etc.) but still nothing.  When my husband gets home, I call the doctor’s office, and they tell me to get there immediately.  All the nurses show compassion and concern, and they get me in for an ultrasound right away.  Thankfully, our little girl is just worn out from all the swimming and is in the middle of a big, still nap.  Sigh of relief.  Hugs from all the nurses.

Week 26

My regular obstetrician orders more bloodwork and decides I am anemic, so I start on iron supplements.  Hopefully this will help with the constant exhaustion I am facing.  It doesn’t.  However, the vomiting that has been a daily occurrence starts to dwindle to every few days at this point (which is a major improvement from my first pregnancy, in which I threw up almost every single day until Lillyan was born).

Week 27

It’s a hot summer afternoon in the desert, and I spend too much time and definitely too much energy working outside.  The standard Braxton-Hicks contractions that I experience all the time seem to change into actual, serious contractions.  My husband starts timing them, and they are too regular and too painful to ignore.  My OB says to get to the hospital immediately.  They fill me full of fluids, lower back spasms begin (also a symptom of pre-term labor), and the contractions eventually stop.  In the maternity ward they tell us that dehydration is the leading cause of pre-term labor in this town.

A few days later, our family heads to our Colorado ranch, where I take it much easier than normal while there, and I get a welcome break in caring for Lillyan from all the family that is around.  We also take a break from constant doctor visits while we spend a few weeks in Colorado and Kansas.

Weeks 30, 31, 32

I have three last work weekends around the country, a little too pregnant and miserable for my particular job, but I survive.  I then have a week to relax at home while Lillyan spends time with her grandparents.

Week 33

It’s been eight weeks since my last ultrasound, so we’re thrilled to “see” our little girl again.  She’s measuring about a week behind in her growth, but otherwise everything checks out okay.  I start fetal monitoring once a week, which means I sit in a recliner and drink juice while they track the baby’s heartbeat (particularly the accelerations) on a strip chart.  If she is sleeping, Lillyan starts jabbering away to my belly to wake her up.  It works every time, and our baby girl always passes her monitoring tests with flying colors.  They also check my fluid levels via ultrasound each week.  These are a little less than optimal, but no one seems too worried.  Yet.

Week 36

I make the switch from Lovenox injections once a day to Heparin injections twice a day.  The switch is because the doctors want the blood thinner out of my system for delivery.  Heparin has a lower molecular weight, and therefore, stays in my system for less time.  These shots hurt like the dickens (as we say in Kansas) and leave horrible bruises and scar tissue all over my giant baby belly.

Week 38

Tuesday morning: We have another ultrasound scheduled at the perinatologist’s, and both Daddy and Lillyan are on hand for this one.  The sonographer starts measuring and figuring and comparing charts from the last ultrasound and  checking blood flow to the baby’s lungs and brain … and calls the doctor in.  She is concerned that our baby girl is growth restricted and my fluid levels are too low (both known complications of an MTHFR pregnancy).

That’s where this story ends and the story of our daughter’s birth begins.

Continued in Part Two:  MTHFR and a Healthy Baby: The Birth Story

…

We put in very early in the morning right at the base of the Hoover Dam.  We went with a local outfitter who has access to the National Park Service launch sites (not just anyone can paddle the Colorado there–you have to have a NPS permit).

Neither Melissa or I are expert kayakers, but we held our own on that beautiful Nevada fall day.  I’ve been sea kayaking in the dead of night in Ireland and on an intrepid kayaking adventure in a tremendous thunderstorm on Lake Placid.  This day of kayaking lived up to the high standards set by those other trips, especially because of the excursions we took whenever we beached the boats.

For our first stop, we hiked up to Sauna Cave, which is actually a horizontal shaft that was drilled and blasted into the mountain as a tunnel for the Hoover Dam in the early 1900s.  However, work on that particular tunnel suddenly came to a halt due to an unexpected natural phenomenon: geothermal activity (which, I have now learned, is quite pronounced in this area).  At the back of the cave, hot springs gush out from the wall and fill the tunnel with steam.

Yes, I know this photo looks awful — the camera lens was completely covered in condensation.  It was about 100 degrees in there and 95 percent humidity.  Great for our skin and perfect for a cool Nevada autumn day, but I wouldn’t recommend it in the heat of summer.

The whole trip from the dam to Willow Beach somewhere in Arizona is about 12 miles (here’s a nice map), and with all the stops for hiking and hot springs, it took us a full day of paddling.  The Park Service doesn’t make public the dam water release schedule, so from day to day you’ll never know how much you might have to paddle and how much you can just float the distance.  Today was a mostly paddling day, with a slight breeze, perfect temperature and beautiful views of Black Canyon.

We stopped several times for short hikes up to different Hot Springs.  This was on the way up to Arizona Hot Springs.  Some resourceful conservationists strategically placed sandbags to control erosion and provide nice footholds for climbing up the runoff.

This is the way up to the top few pools at Arizona Hot Springs.  I didn’t take my camera up there with me, because we stripped down to our swimming suits and soaked in the 111 degree water.  God sure does make better hot tubs than we do.  If you don’t want to take the river to the base of the hot springs and hike the 1000 feet up, you can reach Arizona Hot Springs from the top and hike down a canyon to get there.  Our family plans to do that at Gold Strike Canyon still this fall.

We did get a rare look at some native Nevada widlife:  Big Horn Sheep.  They were gallivanting on the cliffs along the river and seemed to be as interested in us as we were in them.

This momma kept her two kids fairly well hidden (they are remarkably camouflaged), but she came down to check us out.

Near the end of the trip, we ventured into Emerald Cave, which is supposedly one of the most photographed caves in the world.  When full sunlight hits the cave, it lights up with a majestic green glow.

On a hot summer day, I’m sure the cool shade of Emerald Cave would be a welcome respite for a Colorado River paddler.  For us, it meant we were only two miles from the end of a journey we would have gladly continued all night.

I am so thankful Melissa recommended this kayaking adventure, and I’m looking forward to many more with my fabulous bonus friend.

It’s no surprise to anyone that Lillyan loves to go fishing.  Her Great Grandpa would still go fishing everyday if he could make it happen, and he will turn 100 years old next month.  Grandpa taught Gramps to love to fish.  They both taught Daddy there’s not much better than a good day of fishing.  Now, Lillyan is beginning to ask to go fishing quite often.  Especially when Gramps is around.

Earlier this summer, they went to the Roaring Judy fish hatchery near Gunnison, Colorado.

Gramps and Grammy (Travis’ parents) bought a vacation place there this summer and have been having fun living the sorta-semi-we-keep-trying-to-retire-and-never-really-do life.  The best part for Gramps, of course, is the fishing.  And sharing the fishing with his granddaughter.

There’s Lillyan’s very first Colorado-caught Rainbow Trout.  Hopefully, for her sake and for Daddy and Gramps, it’s the first of a lifetime full of Rainbow Trout.

Gramps and Grammy also have a pond in their backyard in Kansas.  While we’re visiting this fall, Lillyan has been asking to go fishing often.

Sidenote:  If you’re wondering why the photo quality is a not-quite-up-to-LRR-normal-standards on this post, it’s because all of these photos were taken with Lillyan’s camera.  Gramps and Grammy bought Lillyan her very own point-and-shoot last Christmas.  She loves being in charge of her own electronic device, and we love seeing the world from her perspective through her photographs.

Lillyan took this one of Gramps casting her pole all by herself while standing on the bank.  She’s getting it figured out.  Stay tuned for an All-Lillyan-Photos post soon.

After Gramps casts for her, they work together to get a bite and then Lillyan does all the work reeling that fish in to the bank.

I’m glad my little girl isn’t yucked-out by slimy fish.  There’s no room for prissy princesses in this family.

Not only is she not yucked-out, she obviously has a ton of fun fishing with her Gramps.  I’m glad.

(For the record, as Daddy and Gramps will tell you, I’m not so much into the “fishing” as I am the “catching.”  As long as there are actually fish being caught, it sounds like fun to me.  Otherwise, it seems like there’s an awful lot of sitting around.  Maybe that’s why Gramps and Daddy like it so much …)

If you have never been to the Kansas State Fair, you are missing out.  When I was a kid, our trip to the State Fair was a much-anticipated annual event.

I haven’t lived in Kansas for almost 15 years, but since Lillyan’s grandparents are all still there, we happened to be visiting at just the right time this year.  Lillyan got her first taste of the Kansas State Fair.

The Kansas State Fair, understandably, is big on livestock.  When we first arrived, she watched a cow being milked.  This has been a curious subject at our house, as we drink raw milk in Las Vegas and have plenty of cows in our pasture in Colorado, but, until now, she’s never seen one actually being milked except on youtube (we answer a lot of 2-year-old questions with youtube).

As we made our way through the steers, sheep, horses, goats, turkeys, chickens, pigeons, and rabbits, Lillyan kept asking, “Where is the pig section?  I want to see the pigs.  Can we please go to the pig section?”

When I was a kid,  we weren’t allowed to go on any rides at the State Fair.  They cost too much money, they were too dangerous, we had too many other things to see, blah blah blah.  Apparently, that rule only applies to children and not to grandchildren.  Right after the livestock tour was complete, Pappy asked Lillyan if she wanted to ride some rides.  They started with the Skyway.

The skyway travels high above the Fair from one end to the other.

From high above the Fair, Lillyan spotted something else she just couldn’t wait to ride.

“The PIN WHEEL!”  No matter how many times we told her it was called a ferris wheel, she kept forgetting and continued to call it a pinwheel.

Now, don’t forget, Lillyan is less than 3 feet tall and only 2 and a half, but she wasn’t in the least bit nervous about this huge ride.

She loved every second of it, including the part when we got stuck at the very tippy top for a long time.

Next, she drove a couple of strangers around in  this purple hotrod.

While it was fun at first, just driving in a circle got boring really quickly.  Lillyan is into rides that go faster and higher.

Pappy just kept handing out the tickets, and Lillyan just kept riding rides …

The State Fair isn’t just for animals and carnival rides.  Like all the 4-H kids in Kansas, I worked all summer to have some project worthy of the State Fair.  Maybe someday Lillyan can be a 4-H kid, too.  For now, she seemed to be into these very nice looking pumpkins.

One pumpkin in particular caught her eye:

According to Lillyan:  “That is a HUGE PUMP-IN!”  We’re talking an 800+ pound pumpkin.

They also have all kinds of livestock equipment, as-seen-on-TV products, log cabins, farm implements, whirlpools, quilts, food, photography … if there’s anyway you might need it in Kansas, they’ve got it.

Lillyan decided we needed this for Liberty Ridge Ranch.

A six-seater would sure be nice — and we can even drive it to town (and in town) in our Colorado county!

One of these would sure be nice at the ranch, too.  Lillyan is sure she could learn to drive it.

This is our new friend “Snork”.  He is an Asian Small-Clawed Otter, and he made my day.

He’s horribly cuddly and makes funny “snork-y” sounds continuously while he snuggles.

He  loves to snack on ice cubes, likes swimming in cool water and is a great kisser.  He’s looking for love in the Nevada desert.

Snork has some very nice Kangaroo friends.  They all live to together, with about 150 other wild animals at Roos ‘n’ More, a zoo / animal rescue north of Las Vegas.

This coatimundi decided that just wasn’t enough friends and wanted Lillyan to join their group.

The two-toed sloth gave Lilly the eye from upside down.  He was interested, just moving a little slowly.

And the Bactrian camel was much more interested in Lillyan than she was in him.

Daddy was all about this “Zee-donk”, but he apparently already had enough friends.

A little girl who believes you can never have too many friends, though, is this little Capuchin monkey “Caico”.  Our friends invited us on this adventure — I think mostly to get to spend more time with this monkey.  Caico could not get enough of Mrs. D.  I’m sure Mrs. D would take Caico home, given the chance.

I’ll tell you what WON’T be coming home with us, and that’s this African crested porcupine.  While they are friendly and curious, their cuddle factor doesn’t quite match the otter’s.  And I’m afraid that’s one family adventure that might have a bit of a sticky ending.

By two-and-a-half, Lillyan finally needed a haircut.  It’s not that I was at all sentimental about her first haircut and couldn’t part with her baby locks — it’s just that her hair didn’t grow long enough to warrant cutting until now.

It may be a little crazy, but Lillyan and I both get our hair cut in Kansas.  We can pay for plane tickets to Wichita and our haircuts for the price of stylist visit in Las Vegas.  And we like our stylist in Kansas.  She’s Daddy’s cousin Kaylee. 

Lillyan has seen Kaylee do my hair so many times that just before Kaylee started cutting, Lillyan asked, “But can you please wash my hair in that sink first?”

Apparently, Lillyan enjoys the shampoo as much as I do.

I’m not sure if it was because she’s watched me get my haircut so many times (Kaylee is always happy to let her hang out in the shop and hold the dustpan for cleanup) … 

… or because she has learned to sit still when necessary …

 … or because she just enjoys the pampering, but Lillyan was a professional haircut-ee.

Kaylee even styled her curls with the blow dryer, which is a rare treat for a curly-headed girl (she gets those curls from her Daddy, obviously, not from me).

“Just a little trim” and “no more little baby hairs” — those were the instructions Lillyan gave Kaylee from the start.  Looks like Kaylee followed the instructions beautifully.  Here’s the before and after …

Just ask for Kaylee — but book ahead — her schedule’s pretty full.

This composite photo hangs by my front door. More people comment on it than the huge photograph of the Sangre de Cristo mountains above our couch or the Emmy above the television.  And well they should.

This photo is of the five generations of women in my family.  Our mothers.  Our daughters. The last three of us firstborns.

The other four women in this photo have had a profound and lasting impact on my life that can never be replaced, forgotten, or matched.

These photos were all taken on the same day, just before Lillyan turned one year old. Most of us look the same, now a year and a half later, and Lillyan looks even more like the rest of us.

If you’re having trouble with the math, that’s Lillyan with her mother (me), her Grandmother (GeeBee), her Great Grandmother (who we all call Grandma) and her Great Great Grandmother. Yes, you read that right. Lillyan is blessed to have her Great Great Grandma around to laugh and giggle and tickle and love on.

Here they are sharing a smooch at our cousin Jamie’s wedding. Lillyan and her Great Great Grandma make each other very happy.

This lady is one of Lillyan’s favorite people on the earth (mine too, truth be told). She’s not the kind of grandma that takes you shopping for school clothes or pays your way for cooking lessons or sends you a check for your birthday. She’s the kind of Grandma that is there for every single one of your ballgames, plays, forensics meets, and silly programs. Her rule for cooking is this: As soon as you’re big enough to sit up by yourself, you’re big enough to sit on the counter beside the mixing bowl. She’s the kind of Grandma who makes cinnamon rolls and chocolate chip cookies so scrumptious that your grade school friends are still talking about them and your college friends are still begging for her to send them some.  She’s the kind of Grandma who will spend tireless hours entertaining your own daughter (Lillyan) with books and baking and pretending and singing songs about Jesus. She’s the kind of Grandma that no one would ever guess that she has Leukemia and has been on chemotherapy treatment for a year and half.

If you think about it, say a prayer for God’s healing hand on my Grandma today. She now has a blood infection that’s keeping her in the hospital. If you talk to her, though, she’ll tell you she feels great. She probably does.

Daddy’s Father’s Day present, framed for his desk:

GeeBee’s Birthday present (Kymberly’s mom):