[To pick up where we left off from the last post, little little brother, Davis, has been born and he is awesome.] Our newest Taylor tot was born at a hospital that opened earlier this year – the rebranded, relocated version of another hospital in town – which seems great. New hospital, new rooms, new everything besides staff. And maybe it’s because the hospital is newish, maybe it’s because the staff has been transplanted from a different place…whatever the reasoning, it’s quirky. (Starting with the front desk people being MIA for over 10 minutes when I was first trying to check in/having death contractions/trying to carry on a conversation with a constipated lady in the lobby). The night…

On the night you were born, the moon smiled with such wonder that the stars peeked in to see you and the night wind whispered, “Life will never be the same.” But before the night of August 23, 2015, this: “If this baby doesn’t come out like, right now, I am going to perish.” – me, every day for the entire month of August. The last 3-4 weeks of pregnancy with little little brother felt like the last 3-4 days of pregnancy with my other two. It was brutal. B-R-U-T-A-L. Consistent, painful contractions…back aches…fiery shooting pains…it was no joke. I showered at 2am on 3 separate occasions, positive I was in early labor. I…