A goodbye of sorts

Wow. It's been a long time since I've been here. It's been a long time since I've thought about here.

I have some news, though. So I thought I'd share.

I'm pregnant.

Yes again.

They'll be 18 months apart, almost exactly.

And I don't care if you think we're crazy or whatever. Because having a family is the best thing in the entire world, and we are only and extremely excited.

Also, I sometimes (rarely) update our family blog. I don't post my "musings" online anymore, mostly for personal reasons, but I will give small updates on family life every so often. As of now, I haven't since like January, but you know. If you're interested. It's ourlittlebylittle.blogspot.com.

That's about it.


le parole

In class today, we discussed the actual, electromagntic, intense powerful substance of words.

"Let there be light."

And then there was light.
But there wasn't light before there was words.
And the power of God's words brought about the light.

Words can denegrate, they can change, they can reduce, they can expand.
They are our way of understanding the world, of understanding reality, of re-presenting the intangible, the unknown, the known, the tangible, capital-L-LIFE.

They aren't the world--these words that spin and sway and try to be something real, tangible, evidenced. They are reductive in their encompassing, portraying themselves as a full story; aiming to convince; aiming for wholeness, yet never quite getting there because that wholeness is something impossible.

There are hundreds of thousands of languages on this planet. Within those hundreds of thousands of languages, there are millions and billions of words, conjunctions, congugations, nouns, pronouns, verbs--all trying to explain this world away, slicing it into tiny bits, cooking them until well-done, aiming for fulness. Fulness of the partaker. Fulness of the dish. Fulness of presentation. Or, re-presentation.

This is my frustration with words. They have power, they have might, they have truth-lower-case-t, but not always Truth-upper-case-t. They desire, want, long for the full story, but never quite obtain it.

Mandarin orange.
Mandarin orange.
Juicy, sweetly citrusy, pockets of skin bursting with flavor and wetness.
Perfect in an Asian toasted salad, with cashews.

I can say it a thousand times. The words fill my mouth. But that doesn't change what I'm not chewing on.

Do you get it? This sub-reality that words like to create? To simplify the world, reduce it, make it graspable?

Reduction is not something I need, currently.
For it is not logical to desire to reduce happiness.


An update, of sorts?

I have the itch today.

It's tingling my arms, working its way through my bones, trying to reach my head, trying to grasp something, anything, just ONE thing of the millions of things bopping through my head.

That's not accurate.

Things USED to bop around my head. They used to flail, and scream, and fight their way around my head, actually.

But that doesn't happen anymore.

No, my mind is more peaceful now. Peaceable, too.

and I think it has something to do with my heart.

I just figured this out. Just two seconds ago. Just typing I realized this.

My heart and my mind are on the same track. It took some time to route my mind (because the mind is always the one veering off the intended) back on track, but I think I am finally here.

And it feels good. Oh so good.

So the itch. The things (not) bopping through my head.

These days I just think. I just wonder. I just contemplate, and search for truth. I don't try to will things to be how I see them. I don't try to know everything. I just try to experience, and I try to learn as much as I can.

It makes me quieter (if that's possible), and it makes me more peaceful.

This will probably come as a shocker to most people who have known me, but it is what it is.

These days I don't fret. I don't worry. I don't obsess over injustice, unfairness, wrongness. I don't try to WILL change. Change in other people. Change in everything around me. CHANGE CHANGE CHANGE. DISCONTENT. CRAVING FOR SOMETHING ANYTHING BUT THIS. DIFFERENT. FREEDOM. SOMETHING.

No, that is not me. Not anymore.

I just try to live my life as much as possible.
I try to follow my soul.

And I'm learning, that's about all I can do.

I'm finally getting that.

I'm relinquishing the control that I never had, but constantly tried to have over absolutely EVERYTHING.


I'm turning everything inward.
Changing myself.
Righting my own wrongs.

I feel so peaceful.

So I suppose that's one of the things slowly musing its way around my brain.

On another note, my adorable son is currently the cutest thing on this planet, and my husband is still as spiffy as ever.


Yesterday I switched to the new Blogger interface. At first I'm always thrown off a little bit by website changes (probably a conditioned response due to facebook's neverending changes which may or may not turn out to be for the betterment of the website and its users), and so my first reaction was to dislike it. However, after exploring a little bit, I found the set-up to be quite convenient. I quickly became especially fond of the site-tracking section. Not only does it tell you how many page views you have had on a particular blog, but it gives you referring sites, location, browser, and even the computer type of the visiting individual. Not that this is revolutionary technology or anything, Sitemeter has had all of this for quite some time now. But rather than having to navigate to an entirely different site just to find out how many people are reading your stuff, Blogger has set it up in an easy to access, functionable, quick way. It's all just right here.

So anyway. I'm browsing around the new site, and I stumble upon the statistic portion of my "daily kaylie" blog. Fully expecting to see zero site visitors since, like, May, I was completely shocked to see how many people still come here daily.

Honestly, I'm quite flattered.

Thanks for checkin' up on me, and giving me reason to keep writing on here.

I've got some things to say, and this is my place to say them.

It's taken me time to know how, to think through things, to learn of my internal changes since being a mother.

It's a time thing.

So thanks for staying tuned.

It is much appreciated.


Things(ish) I've learned in the last 2 months and 3 weeks.

Being a mom is the hardest, most rewarding, most fulfilling, best job I have ever had. And I'm only going on month 3.

I love love love it. My heart breaks probably a hundred times a day to fit my growing love for this tiny (okay, so maybe he's not so tiny anymore...) little boy (he weighed in at 13.2 lbs at his 2 month check up... 95th percentile for weight! Haha!).

Everyone tells you, it's going to be over before you know it! And it's true, time has absolutely flown since little man got here. But this kind of advice just makes me sad, nostalgic, and depressed. Very uncool. I like my mom's advice much better (but when do I ever NOT like my mom's advice?): Just enjoy every stage!! Enjoy getting up at night with him. Enjoy him as a helpless newborn, enjoy him as a bouncy toddler, enjoy him as a troublesome five year old, enjoy him as a moody teenager, and so on. And that's what I'm trying to do. I'm not going to focus on how fast time is going. I'm just going to love every single minute of being this little boy's mom.


I refer to myself as mommy probably a hundred times a day.

"Mommy will feed you after mommy changes your diaper."
"Do you know how much mommy loves you?"
"Mommy and Gabey are going for a walk!"

And the strangest part? It's not weird (well, it's not weird that I'm a mom, anyway. It probably is weird that I constantly refer to myself in 3rd person while talking to a little person that can't really understand what I'm saying. And the voice I use is probably even weirder. But being a mom? That's not wierd). I'm a mom. And I love it.

People always laugh at new parents for making a big deal out of everything the babe does. Most nights LJ and I will just sit together, holding the babe between us, and laugh at every single cute thing he does. He laughs back, too. He probably thinks he is the funniest thing on the planet. We certainly do. So it's true, what they say about new parents. The funny part, though? It's not just new parents who are like that. It's, like, EVERYBODY. People love babies. Especially cute babies. Like mine. People coo and laugh and give all of their attention to an awake baby who will coo back. And when you have a baby, all the sudden you become ten times more popular. Only, it's not you people want to talk to. It's your two-month-old. It's pretty hilarious.

And if you think you can't talk to a two-month-old, think again.

Because I talk to a two-month-old pretty much all day.

I was thinking about how babies communicate the other day, and I find it so fascinating. Babies in general cry when they are hungry, tired, lonely, bored, have messed their pants, or are uncomfortable in some way. They cry to alert us to these problems, as they are completely dependent and can do nothing for their discomfort themselves. How interesting that they CRY, though, to tell us these things. To us (developed adults) crying means sadness. I would argue that when we witness another person experience this emotion, we have our most immediate and thorough reactions. We comfort, empathize, and sympathize and want to help the person to feel better almost instantly (I'm talking NORMAL human beings here...we'll leave sadistic, unfeeling crazies off the list...). This doesn't happen with any other emotion, really.

Interesting, then, that babies use crying as their primary method of communication. When Gabe cries, nothing else matters to me. All I can do is focus on him, the problem, and how to fix it, ASAP!!!! Gabe is not always sad when he cries. But crying is his only method of communicating. I have learned to read his different cries that mean different things. It took a while for me to figure this out though. Which is great! For the first large chunk of Gabe's life, his crying lead me to give him incessant attention (I don't know if you know, but crying is pretty difficult to ignore). Because of this, I was able to learn how to communicate with him.

And now we have regular conversations.
And it's awesome.

Gosh, I love being a mom.


Gabriel Alaka'ipono Sikahema

I've been meaning to write this for a while, but if you can't imagine, I've been doing much more important things. Like holding my sweet, tiny, perfect, baby boy. But I still wanted to write his birth story on here for those still interested in hearing it.

So here it is:

Sunday, March 6. 6AM I wake up with light, but regular contractions. I don't think much of it because at this point, contractions of this nature are a regular occurrence. I try to lull myself back to sleep, considering the fact that Sunday is the only regular sleep-in day, but sleep won't come. Eventually, I decide to cease my tossing and turning, and get up and do something productive. I find my scriptures and my journal, and move to the living room to read where I won't disturb my still-slumbering husband. After reading for a good 20 minutes and continuing to feel regular contractions, I become distracted, and wonder if I should start timing them. I get up and walk to the bedroom to grab my cell phone to use as a timer. As I return to the couch, I see a small puddle of liquid pooling where I had just been sitting. How embarrassing. I didn't even know I had to go (weird things happen to your body when you're pregnant. Just saying).

At that moment, I experience a particular strong contraction. It is shortly followed by a realization on my part.

Perhaps that pool of liquid is not urine...

So I sniff the puddle, and sure enough, it has no scent. I'm confused. I thought my water was supposed to "gush" if it broke. Not trickle into a little puddle without me even realizing it. I look at the clock--just a little bit after seven. My mom should be up. She's an early riser.

I am calm as I tell my mom what happened. She advises me to continue timing my contractions, and to call my doctor around nine. I'll probably have the baby today, we both decide. Calmly. Rationally.

We hang up, and I continue to time my contractions. I leave LJ to his sleep, as I figure this might be the last good night's sleep he will get in a while. At 8:30, my contractions are regular and 5 minutes apart. I decide it's time to wake LJ up, and let him in on the news. I sit on his side of the bed and gently shake him until he opens his eyes.

"Hi. We're having a baby today."


We spend the next hour and a half showering, packing, eating breakfast, making sure the camera is charged and the video camera works, and taking a few last minute pictures (none of this had been previously prepared...what can I say except baby boy was 2 weeks early). At 9:30 I am unable to reach my doctor, but my contractions are pretty painful, and when my mom hears me breathing through them on the phone, she instructs us to just go to the hospital. Don't worry about contacting your doctor.

The drive is quiet. Calm. Happy. We talk about what we thought this drive would be like. We talk about having a baby. We talk about how much we love each other. We talk about how great life is.

We arrive at the hospital around 10:30, where I had already pre-admitted a few weeks back. I walk up to the lady at the registration desk, though, because I am unsure where labor and delivery is.
Hello, I say.
Hello, she says back. Do you need to register?
No, I've pre-admitted. I'm currently in labor though.
Oh! Labor and deliver is on the 3rd floor! Good luck!

Once in labor and delivery, I am taken to a room where they will decide if I will be giving birth today, or if they will send me home on a false alarm. My contractions are painful.

The nurse walks into the "decision room" where she tells me to shed my dignity, and my wardrobe. She is witty, sarcastic, and anti-BYU, we learn from the get-go. I like her instantly. Not because she is anti-BYU, but because I feel immediately comfortable with her. After testing my leaking fluids on a little strip, and telling me that I am dilated to a 3, it is determined that my water has, indeed, broken, and that I will, indeed, be having the baby today.

So, she says, we've got to decide a few things. On a scale of one to ten, one being none, and ten being having your arm sawed off, how much pain would you like to feel?
Umm...one? I'm not that into pain...
Oh, good. I thought you were one of those crazies who likes pain (her viewpoint, not mine). Epidural, then?
Yes, please.
When do you want it?
When can I have it?
As soon as we can get the man here!

So we wait for the epidural man to bring his magic. In the mean time, the nurse puts in my IV, and brings me a cranberry juice. At 11:30 the man arrives, and administers the blessed medical miracle (at this point my contractions are preeettyyy intense, and I might have sung the man's praises as the medicine kicked in). Then, we begin the wait. My wonderful doctor who is not currently scheduled to be in labor and delivery comes in just to deliver my baby. It's getting close to one, and I am dilated to a 5. He tells me to hang out and get some sleep if I want. He is going to attend his one o'clock meetings, and he'll be back around four to check on me and perhaps deliver the baby.

The three hours fly. After about an hour and a half I am fully dilated, and by four when the Dr. gets back I am +1 and absolutely ready to have this baby.

The nurse tells me that we should have this baby out by 4:30. The Dr. agrees.

Delivery is exhausting. I was told after the fact that most women burn an average of 50,000 calories during delivery. After experiencing it, I can understand. After an hour of pushing, we're about half-way there. My epidural is wearing off, and I am in quite a bit of pain. I had refrained from pushing the "pain" button which would give me another dose of the epidural medication because the nurse told me it would make the pushing more difficult if I were to push it, but the pain gets to the point where I can hardly handle it. I push the button again, but it is too late to kick in. The last 15 minutes of the delivery are pure agony.

At 5:37PM, though, after almost 2 hours of pushing, my beautiful baby boy is born. Immediately, I feel a billion things, all at the same time. The emotions are higher than anything I have ever felt, and can hardly be explained in words. He is squirmy, and flailing, and beautiful with a head chock-full of black hair, still wet from the womb. We sob, although not as loud as Gabriel. We can't take our eyes off of this perfect little boy. We've never been so happy.

He is weighed, measured. 7lbs even, 19 inches long.

He is then placed on my chest. Skin to skin. I cry harder. He is perfect.

I desperately want LJ to hold him, too, and I tell the nurses so. One of the nurses suggest I leave him on my skin, but my kind, understanding doctor says that it's my baby, and it is also LJ's. We make the calls.

Soon, everyone has gone. It is just the three of us, our small family, alone for the first time. We continue to cry, all three of us, until the nurse comes to get him so that he can be bathed. LJ goes with him. I'm not fit to walk, and I have to prove that I can go to the bathroom by myself before they will let me go downstairs.

The next couple days are a blur. Friends and family visit with their wishes. He cries at night, but I refuse to let the nurses take him to the nursery. He pees on his face while our favorite nurse, Kally, is changing him. He is kissed probably a thousand times. We can't get over our happiness.

48 hours after he is born, Tuesday, we are allowed to go home. We are told to return to the hospital for a biliruben test the next day though. It's should be nothing to worry about, they say, but his levels are a little high.

That night my mom stays with us. We are exhausted but absolutely ecstatic to have him home.

(This blog is plenty long, so I'll stop here. Wednesday we had to readmit him to the hospital, and I might write about that in a Part II of sorts, but we all know how good I am at fulfilling blogging promises, so we'll see.)