Pumpkin Patch

RJ & his kindergarten class

2014?!

When last I updated (not counting yesterday's reboot post), it was November of 2013. I let almost two entire years go by without paying attention to this blog, and that's downright shameful. And what's worse? We've even added another child to our chaos in that time, and I never even took the time to introduce her here! So, coming up next: a re-introduction of my family (also known as the updated "About Me" page).

Beginning Again

It's ingrained in the very fiber of our being, this want of a family - a spouse, a child, more children. We long to find that special one to marry, and then to create offspring together. No sooner do those small blessings arrive than do we start wishing for them to grow up, to become more independent, to branch out and become their own selves. But once they do, we yearn for them to be small again, to snuggle into our arms and need us to care for them.

This constant longing for the next (or last, or far gone) stage rob us of the present joy. We spend so much time looking forward (or back) that we miss out on the here and now. And I don't want to miss out on Now anymore, don't want to forget the things of today.

This blog has sat silent for far too long, while I waited for my children to grow up enough that I might have more time to write. But no more - no more will I wish them to be grown, no more will I push off the writing to another day. No more will I let myself forget the small joys among the chaos. No more. This is the beginning of a new chapter in this blog's life - one where I write more and wish less. This next chapter may be less polished and prepared, but it will also more thankful for the days we have. Won't you join me on this next adventure?

Shape

Self-esteem issues are not new to me. I was never the pretty girl, always more awkward than my sisters. Until seventh grade, I was tallest in my class (and really, taller than most others too), and I "blossomed" at 11, years before any of the other girls needed bras or pads. I stuck out, and the kids around me made sure I knew it. 

High school wasn't much better than middle school, except that there were so many more students that I could fade into groups of others like me. Making friends wasn't a struggle, but keeping myself from constant comparison and feels of unworthiness was. 

When I got to college, I finally started to feel like I could truly be myself - which is due mostly to some guy I met who made me feel like I was the most important woman in the world (you better believe I married that one!). But even still, I was never truly comfortable in my own skin. 

For years, I've been looking in the mirror, wishing I could change this or that. You've probably never seen me in a bathing suit - I tell myself it's because I'm modest, but the real motivator is my embarrassment of my appearance; at 14, I chose to join my hot-tubbing friends fully clothed (jeans and all) rather than reveal my unshapeliness. The only time I've ever been truly comfortable with my shape was when I was pregnant - round is most acceptable when you're growing a person. But now, three children later, I find myself loathing the body I'm in. Sure, I could work hard and slowly begin the change it, but then I think, what's the point? If I'm going to keep having babies, I'm going to be right back here again sooner than I would be fit. So instead, I cover up my imperfections as best I can and continue to hide. But for how long? Years? Decades? Honestly, probably for the rest of my life. I've taught myself to hate what I look like, and that's not an easy lesson to unlearn. 

Anxiety

I can feel it gripping me even before I recognize the source. My chest tightens, my face flushes, my breath catches. Heart racing, I search frantically for the trigger. Sometimes it's physical, but mostly I'm just lost in my own head. If I can identify the thing that causes it, I can usually talk myself down. It doesn't happen often, but the recovery is tough, regardless. Hours later, I'm still reeling. "Calm down," I tell myself. "You're making too much out of this. Everything is fine." And it will be, soon enough - when I can wrap up in the arms of the man who truly understands me and finally allow myself to relax. But for now, I swallow it back. These small people need me, so I can't freak out. Not yet.

Silence

There are so many things I should be doing right now. The laundry needs to be moved (and folded), dishes are piling up on my counters, toys litter the living room floor. But my children are sleeping, and I haven't taken a moment to write in far too long. At times, the itch sneaks up on me again, and my hand reaches for a pen to put down thoughts on a page. But my attention is so quickly required elsewhere these days, and nothing to be proud of has formulated.

The sounds of slumber echo through this temporarily-quiet house. Soon, small voices will fill this space, but for now, I breathe deeply and reap the benefits of this triple-nap.

I've been absent from this space far too much since the birth of my second child; there are far too many gaps to fill. That second child will soon become a two-year-old, and his baby sister has now spent more than four months outside my body. Time moves so quickly, the moments slip through my fingers before I have a chance to record them. Perhaps a few photos will make up for my lack of wordy updates?

For the record, I'm better at updating via Instagram.

JoJo's Birth Story

Two weeks ago today, I left the boys with Grandpa and headed up to my midwife's office for my weekly appointment; I told them I'd be back in a couple of hours, kissed them goodbye, and asked them to behave well while I was gone. Less than 8 hours later, I was holding their sister in my arms and Nana & Opa were putting them to bed.

__________

At my midwife appointment, it was determined that my body had progressed to the point that labor was imminent. We talked about 'the plan', since it looked like I would be going into labor in the next day or so. I voiced concern about laboring at home with the boys and being 30-45 minutes from anyone who could help; my midwife could see that I was letting the idea of being in labor at home, alone with two toddlers, get the best of me. She suggested that we consider the option of 'inducing' labor then, which would only consist of breaking my (already bulging) bag of waters and allowing us to labor in the hospital instead of on the highway and to stay in one place instead of trying to move and cope with contractions in the car. Husby and I had already discussed this option that morning, so I readily agreed and headed over to Labor & Delivery.

At about noon, I was admitted to the hospital. Alone. Husby still needed to leave work, pick up my Dad, and bring him to collect my car (which had the only seats for the boys). Our doulas were also on their way, but as I had feared, I was on my own for more than an hour before my 'team' began to assemble. Fortunately, I wasn't technically in labor yet, and was able to answer all of the nurses questions and enjoy a last few minutes of calm before the storm.

Since I was planning an unmedicated birth, I was able to talk the nurses into letting me go without an IV. After Eli's birth, and all the craziness associated with my IV, I was relieved that I didn't have to worry about it. It was understood by all that they had permission to do what was needed in case of an emergency (start an IV, stick me in the thigh, knock me out, whatever), but I was able to be without needles and plastic in my arms for my labor. What a relief!

I was also allowed to wear my own clothes, which I had planned specifically for the type of labor that I wanted. Instead of a hospital gown, which is fairly restricting and uncomfortable, I donned a super soft bikini top and simple black wrap skirt, with a tank top added for some modesty at first. Everything I was wearing could be quickly removed if and when that became necessary, and yet I felt more like myself than some invalid in an institution. (Perception is a huge factor for me in labor!)

At about 12:30, my team was ready and my midwife arrived to break my water. Since I wasn't having steady contractions yet (or really, any at all to speak of), we set out to walk the halls and get Baby Girl moved down into a better birthing position. Without the cushion of her bag of waters, I could feel her head come down as we walked ... and walked ... and walked ... lap upon lap around the Labor & Delivery and Recovery units. Nurses waved and joked with us as we passed them again and again, snacking on some grapes and crackers to keep our energy up.

With a couple of stops back at our room to rest and check my blood pressure, we spent more than 2 hours trying (and failing) to get contractions started. Our doulas suggested a side-lying release to help get my body into a better position, and helped me twist around on the bed to try it out. Right around the same time, we got a new (much friendlier) nurse, who was excited that we were planning to birth "the way they do back home" - she was a midwife in Australia, where epidurals are unheard of and "natural" is also "normal". I loved her immediately, and the stress in the room dissipated instantly. 

We were passing 3 o'clock, and starting the get a little nervous that nothing was happening, when my first contractions hit. I had just sat up from the side-lying release, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and mentioned to our doulas that nothing felt different - and suddenly was hit with three strong contractions in a row. Husby sat on the stool at the side of the bed and I was able to lean into him to work through them. He gently stroked my arms and encouraged me to relax into the pressure.

We knew we wanted to labor (and possibly birth) in the tub, and our nurse set to work getting it all set up. It was suggested that I try to empty my bladder before things got moving too quickly, so Husby and I moved into the bathroom for a few minutes. On the toilet, I was beginning to moan softly to help focus my energy during the peak of a contraction. When started to feel a bit nauseous, and our doulas came to the rescue, spraying oils around the room that calmed both my stomach and my mind. Contractions continued to get stronger, and I asked that the tub be filled so that I could get in soon (I knew it would take 10-15 minutes to fill, and didn't want to wait much longer than that). My midwife asked that she be allowed to check my dilation before I got into the water, just to make sure things were moving like we thought they were, and then stepped out to put on her scrubs. A few contractions later she was back, and we moved to the bed for a check. I had been at 4cm when she broke my water, and as soon as she tried to check my cervix it "melted" into a 7+. She held it there for a contraction, making sure it would stay and continue progressing, and said I was nearly to 8cm by the time she was done. 

With confirmation that things really were moving quickly, I was anxious to get some relief. Before we had moved to the bed, I had begun to fight with myself in my head, arguing for and against some pain medication as the intensity of contractions built. But as soon as I was enveloped in the soothing water those thoughts melted away - the weightlessness and warmth made the contractions exponentially easier to cope through. In the water, my need to vocalize was much less, and my team remarked that they hardly knew when I was contracting - I sat mostly still and fairly quiet between and during each contraction for quite a while. In our peaceful, darkened room, soft music played in the background and labor took over my whole self.

After a few minutes, my midwife suggested changing positions to keep things moving along; I shifted from sitting with my back against the side of the tub to leaning over the edge into Husby's lap. He put a pillow down for me to rest my head, and lightly rubbed my head and arms.

Rocking felt better than being still now, and the movement of the water worked with me to keep a steady rhythm both in and around my contractions. I was told that I could try a mini-push at the peak of a contraction just to see what happened; I tried a couple of times, but the heat of the water was overwhelming and we knew I needed to get out to cool off.

In between what were now very powerful contractions, Husby and my midwife help me move to the bed. I knelt facing the back, my arms draped over the raised head, and tried to push through a few more contractions. The intensity was overwhelming, and I couldn't get on top of my contractions long enough to push effectively.

I heard myself ask if they could just pull her out since I couldn't do it, and then Husby's voice was in my ear reminding me that I was doing it, and she was so close. The team was trying to talk me through flipping over to see if I could push better on my back or side, but before I could process what was being said I had repositioned myself to lay on my left side, just as I had ended up with Eli. My pushes were much more productive this way, and soon I was being alerted to her impending exit. I could feel her descending  but it felt like she was moving much slower than I wanted her to; I stepped up my pushing, and was quickly warned to slow down. There were oils and compresses being applied to help lessen the sting of stretching, but the pressure of her head was too much and I couldn't keep from pushing for very long. Her head slowly emerged, and everyone cheered - except for me, who didn't feel any of the much anticipated relief. One, and then two, agonizing pushes later, her shoulders were born, and then the rest of her in one massive, final push. 

We had been out of the tub for less than 10 minutes, and my baby girl was being placed in my arms. The bliss! The joy! The hilarity of double-checking to see that my girl was, in fact, a girl! "My girl! There's my girl!" was all I could say, and she snuggled into me, all covered in vernix and slippery and wonderful. Her Daddy kissed my forehead, telling me he was so proud of me. "We did it," I whispered to him. "She's here." The look in his eyes said it all - we were both overjoyed and relieved.

Her color was beautiful, and her cries were strong. Husby cut her cord after it had stopped pulsing, and she stayed with me until I began to shiver. I handed her off to snuggle her Daddy while piles of warm blankets were brought in to help me regulate my temperature.

Her placenta was delivered with one small push, and my bleeding was under control with very little help from massage, so I was bundled up and soon had my girl back in my arms.

This was it. We had a daughter. We were a family of five. And we couldn't have been happier.

__________

Photos courtesy of our wonderful doulas:
Sister Doulas - Kaitlin & Vanessa Manville

Midwife: Aliza Chkaiban

Hospital: Baylor - McKinney

Baptized into Christ

Eli, Daddy, Momma, RJ, Opa, Uncle A w/JoJo, Auntie K

Opa, Nana, Daddy, Momma w/JoJo, Grandma, Grandpa

JoJo with her sponsors, Uncle A & Auntie K

w/Big Brothers Eli & RJ, all dressed up for Easter

In the Quiet

One toddler breathing deeply in his bed an arm's length away,

another snuggled to my chest as he settles down to sleep,

and their sister stirring inside me, anxious to join them.

My hands may be full, but so is my heart.

I haven't had the wherewithal to post in quite some time, but tonight I feel the word vomit welling up. My days are full, and the nights are long, leaving little time for composing something worthy of posting for the world (at least my little piece of it) to read. Countless entries bounce around in my head, and I wish for a pause button, a voice recorder, a way to keep these thoughts and translate them for posterity's sake. When I started this blog almost two years ago, it was with the intention of imortalizing memories for my child(ren). These words recorded here have also served as a connection to family and friends far and wide, those loved ones we wish could be a more present influence in our lives. 

All of the things I want to say sound either too mushy ("These men in my life are the best things that have ever happened to me") or too cheesy ("My firstborn is 2!" "The baby has a tooth!") or both (see previous parentheticals). So for now, I'll say nothing and everything, as I nurse my baby to sleep & pray that the toddler doesn't wake too many times tonight. I have much to cherish these days, and I'm doing my best to remember that I'll miss this all too soon.

The More Things Change ...

... the more they stay the same.

Nearly six months later, I'm finally back behind my keyboard, ready to continue documenting this life. In an effort to keep a more complete record, retro-posts will likely appear periodically; mothering two babes under two years old prevents timely posting, I'm afraid. Still, I'd rather post late than never. While blogs may be fewer and farther between, updates are always available though other forms of social media:

Twitter: @HillsideRavine

Facebook: Little Misses Kate

The Birth of a Brother

Having arrived at the BirthCare Center for a 7am induction, we went over the birth plan with our doula, MissJ, one last time as the nurse started my IV. Four attempts and a sore arm later, I was hooked up to 500cc of fluid - two veins had blown before the nurse changed over to a smaller catheter and was able to finally get a working connection. She was trying to make things as comfortable as possible for me, but wanted to try again for the larger needle once I was re-hydrated; I was in no mood for more sticks and ready to get things going.

By 8:45am, I was adequately hydrated and able to be unhooked from the fluid lines. My doctor arrived for the induction, and when informed about the trouble we had getting an IV started joked that we would have had an easier time if I had heroin track marks for them to follow. He asked the nurse for his 'fresh stick from the tree out back' with which to break my water - his sense of humor put the room at ease.

Hoping to help speed things along, we went for a walk around the building. But as had been the case for the last few weeks, as long as I was up and moving my contractions were light and easy. Back in the room, I decided to rest in a chair for a few minutes, and before I knew it I was having some pretty strong contractions.

This can't be the real thing yet, we're just getting started. Wait it out, it's only going to get worse.

I didn't last very long sitting by myself - soon I was asking that Husby be nearer, holding me and helping me breathe through each contraction. We had talked about using the bath tub to help relax when things got tough, and before we hit 10 o'clock I was ready to get in. I let go of Husby just long enough for him to get into his trunks (in case he needed to get into the water with me), and settled into the warm tub. With the hand-held shower head pointed at my belly I was able to work through contractions fairly effectively.

Down the hall, another laboring mother coded, and our nurse was pulled to help bring her back. She returned a little shaken, and asked me to re-consider the larger IV catheter 'just in case', since the small one I had wouldn't allow quick administration of drugs should it become necessary. For her sake, I decided to give it another try since my veins should be more cooperative after the fluid I was administered. A young anesthesiologist was sent to do the sticking, since they were supposed to be better at finding good veins quickly.

Just hold on, work through this one contraction and she'll be done. You can do this.

Two failed sticks later, she was annoyed with my being in the tub since it made things harder on her. Contraction after contraction kept me from being able to communicate.

Make her stop! Someone make her stop and get her out of here!

As I finally caught a break from contractions, MissJ reminded me that I could tell her to stop anytime. "No more" was all I could utter as I pulled my arm away from her.

"Are you ready for your epidural now?" Her snotty voice made me want to scream, but my energy was needed elsewhere.

"No. Get out."

I was starting to shiver in the tub, so we decided to get a seat for me to sit up on and get more of my body under the shower. Half way out of the tub another contraction hit me and I landed harder than intended on the seat; it flipped sideways and fell into the tub, taking me with it. I didn't have the will to try again, so a warm blanket was brought in to put over me in the water; Husby and MissJ poured and sprayed water over me and on my belly to keep me from freezing and help me relax.

After about a hour and a half, the intensity of the contractions was really starting to effect my thoughts.

I can't take this if it's just going to get worse.

I heard myself asking for drugs.

Wait! That's not what I want! Don't give me drugs! I can do this!

Husby could see the panic in my eyes, and asked me if I wanted to be checked (we had agreed ahead of time that we would take this first, smaller step before hooking up to any pain meds).

Yes! That's what I mean! I don't want drugs, I just want to know where I am!

To be checked, I had to be in the bed - which meant I had to get out of the tub. Towels and blankets were readied to dry me off and keep me warm, and we waited until a contraction was over to start moving. No sooner did my feet hit the floor than a huge contraction hit, and I went limp. With MissJ in front of me and Husby behind they managed to keep me from hitting the floor until I could support myself again and make my way to the bed.

I needed to lay on my back in the bed, but only made it up onto my hands and knees before another contraction hit. The nurse tried anyway, and thought I was about at 7cm, but asked me to try to roll over so she could be sure. A couple more contractions passed before I could move, but once I was settled she confirmed that I was already almost at 8cm.

That can't be right. We haven't been doing this long enough.

My brain knew that we were already in Transition, the hardest but shortest part of labor, just before the pushing stage. But my mind was reeling with the intensity of the contractions, and I again heard myself asking for something to take the edge off. MissJ was ready with the suggestion of Stadol, which wouldn't make the contractions themselves less intense but would give me more of a break in between to catch my breath and relax - it was the one thing I had considered beforehand, and was prepared to accept if needed given it's minimal effects on the baby. Since I was already so far along (and just wouldn't admit it to myself), my doctor would only approve a quarter of the usual dose. Administered during a contraction to further lessen it's effect on the baby, I felt it almost immediately - as long as I kept my eyes open I was alert, but as soon as I let them close I started to doze when I wasn't contracting. Thanks to the Stadol, I was allowed about a half an hour of 'rest' before the real work began.

The contractions started coming three and four at a time, and I was having to really work to get through each one. To cope with the intensity, I had been breathing low and started vocalizing with my exhales. As the intensity rose, and my breaks shortened (the Stadol was wearing off), my vocalizations began to get higher and tighter. Reminding me to focus low and slow my breathing, MissJ could see that we needed a change and suggested using a squat bar.

Once I was upright, Baby flipped himself around to face upwards, causing intense back labor. MissJ moved around behind me to help support and put counter pressure where I was hurting. Husby moved in front of me to help hold me up, and my eyes locked on his just as one of my toughest contractions hit. My vocalizations were high and tight as my body fought against me.

Don't freak out. If you freak out, he'll freak out, and we need him to not freak out.

His calm voice brought me back: "You can do this. I'm right here. You're doing so well."

My legs no longer able to support me, I laid back on MissJ, who's knee happened to land just at the point in my back that needed counter pressure. I had planned to rest for only a moment but ended up staying there for quite a few contractions. A second nurse appeared and began preparing tables and instruments; I heard myself asking what she was doing, and was told that she was setting up for delivery.

She's got to be crazy. She has no idea that we just got here. We are so not ready to have this baby.

The idea of readying for the birth, along with the rising intensity of contractions, began to overwhelm me and I again asked to be checked. Our nurse was out of the room, so the second nurse stopped her setting up and came over to see how far I was. She measured me at about 8cm, essentially the same as I had been an hour before. I was disappointed to say the least.

We're not even progressing! What does she think she's doing setting up all that stuff? Now I have to stare at useless tables for hours!

When she returned, our nurse held a fetal monitor to my belly and detected decels in Baby's heart rate. She helped me move to lay on my left side to alleviate some stress on him - in an instant, my contractions changed. Up to this point, I was able to focus on being open and relaxed with each contraction. Now, when I tried to be open, my body started pushing on it's own. Since I knew I wasn't to 10cm yet, I tried to pull back and keep from pushing, but it only made things more intense. When a contraction ended, I tried to tell Husby and MissJ that I couldn't stop myself from pushing. I looked up to find my doctor walking in to check on us. He quickly slipped his gloves on to check me; he felt merely a rim, but said I could easily push past what was left, and that was all I needed to hear.

Here we go. Deep breaths. Holy cow, we're going to have a baby.

With the next contraction, I pushed with intent. Being able to feel what I was doing, I could focus my energy where I knew it was effective. As I felt Baby descend, my doctor helped him to turn back into an easier position; I gripped Husby's hand a little tighter. His voice encouraged me that I was making progress, and with MissJ's help I repositioned myself for the birth.

Through two or three contractions I pushed continuously, and before I really knew what was happening, my son was born. LittleE joined us at 1:27pm, weighing 8lbs 13oz and measuring 20 inches long. Placed immediately on my chest, he looked up at us, his parents, for the first time, and my heart swelled.

Rocking

The slow rhythm calms. Back and forth, back and forth. Soft music plays in the background as his head sinks heavily into my shoulder. Back and forth. His legs wrap around my ever-expanding belly, perching himself atop his brother. Breath sounds grow slow and heavy as little hands reach up to hold my face. The scent of clean baby wafts up to me, and I lean in for a stronger sniff. Back and forth. I close my eyes and memorize this moment - this small boy held tight, in his last days alone. Soon my time will be shared between two, both in need of love - and rocking. But for now, I treasure these moments with my firstborn. Back and forth.

Date Night

Husby and I took full advantage of Grandma & Grandpa's visit this weekend to squeeze in a Dinner-and-a-Movie Date tonight - a glorious 4+ hours of uninterrupted non-parenting. Celebrating our forth anniversary, we enjoyed a relaxing evening of Harry Potter and restaurant dining and returned to find a sleeping toddler and a clean home. It's evenings such as this when I wish we lived closer to family ... and am grateful for the ease with which my parents can travel to visit us.

Four Years

A Walking Video

Shhh...

Quiet stirrings, whispered greetings, hushed voices. 

Hot coffee and chocolate milk. 

Scrambled eggs and buttered toast. 

Aftershave and a uniform. 

A farewell kiss and a beckoning pillow. 

This is how we spend our mornings, readying ourselves for the day in the dim light of the breaking dawn, cautious of our noise in order to continue alone. Just in the next room, the toddler sleeps, and we spend a few moments alone together. Too soon, he'll walk out the door to face his workday, and I'll return to bed, begging for a few more minutes of rest before my mothering duties are required. We relish this time together, and are grateful for the moments we have.

Owies

Over the course of today, I managed to traumatize my child multiple times. Mother of the year? Not me.

At lunch, I spilled my entire drink on him (he was crawling at my feet, having just finished his meal, while I was finishing mine). He was none too happy about being suddenly wet and sticky, and while still wearing his clothes, but a quick whisk into the tub for a clean-up dried those tears.

Not more than an hour later, his fingers got caught in the door as I was trying to close it. I quickly scooped him up for a snuggle, but it took quite some coaxing to get him calmed down again. Once he stopped screaming, he settled in with his blankie and napped for a bit. I noticed a rather swollen finger when he woke, called the pediatrician, and got him right in to be seen. Unsure of exactly how much damage may have been done, she ordered an X-ray of his hand. 

Being 13 months old, he needed someone to hold him still. Being 27 weeks pregnant, I was not eligible for the job. Being at PT and unreachable, Husby was unable to come to our rescue. Enter sweet female sergeant willing to cuddle my screaming child and attempt to keep him from moving while a picture is taken of his now-purple finger. It was so very sweet of her to volunteer, but I think both she and RJ were a little worse for wear afterwards. We're still waiting to hear how the films came out, but no news is good news in the situation.

Finally home from the clinic, it was time for dinner, bath, and bed. But my poor little man just couldn't catch a break! On his way out of the tub, he slipped, bumped his chin, and bit his tongue. Sad and tired, it didn't take much to get him to sleep tonight; hopefully he'll wake up tomorrow thinking that today was just a bad dream.

Double Ear Infection

As an only child (thus far), RJ has few others to share with than Momma and Daddy. So when he wants to practice his sharing skills (and this is encouraged, as we'd like him to be a nice boy), I am usually the one on the receiving end of his gifts. I've been given many a paci, blankie, toy truck, spoon, and so-forth, but the gift he's shared with me the last few days has been the most unnecessary. 

Thank you, my son, but you really could have kept the sinus infection to yourself.

A doctor visit confirmed that not only have I contracted the sinus infection RJ is just getting over, but that it's moved into my ears, leaving me with a double ear infection and 10 days of antibiotics. Is it my day off yet?

Diaper Bag

I've decided to purchase a new diaper bag. Costing a bit more than I had originally intended to spend, this bag holds the promise of being my be-all-end-all bag for the rest of my diaper-bag-carrying days. Plus, I'm ordering it through a lovely shop I found on Etsy, meaning that it's completely customized to be exactly what I want and need in a diaper bag. Watermelon Wishes is a small business run by a Mom, and I couldn't be happier to support them.

Here's a sneak peak at some of the details being worked into my bag:

I am ridiculously excited, and will be anxiously awaiting it's arrival (in July).