25 Years in the Making: An Inconvenient Gift

 

This is one of Katie's favorite pics from our wedding. Sneaking a kiss, so stealthily. 

Katie and I are celebrating 25 years of marriage today. Some of you may think that sounds like I'm bragging. [I'm not.] Some of you might be condescendingly thinking, “Hmph, that’s cute. Tell me when you get to 40 years.” [I will.] Some of you may wonder what 25 years looks like. Well, I’ll tell you. At least, I’ll tell you a little of what our 25 years looks like. 

There’s the emotional shorthand of being able to skim or completely skip details because we already know the history, backstory, opinions, and feelings about sooooo many things. There are the millions of inside jokes, quips, and idioms … and for some of them, you really can’t remember how they began, you just know they’re a thing you say to each other. There are the hundreds of subtle, non-detectable-to-the-public glances you share that indicate, “We already know our feelings about that” or “That’s not how we would do this, but whatever” or “We’ll talk about this later” or “We’ll talk about this person later” or “I’m so grateful you’re the one I’m going home with after this party.” 

• We’ve been married 25 years. A quarter of a century. That’s 9,132 days. 

• We’ve lived in 9 different houses/apartments. 

• We’ve had 8 children – all 8 with a midwife, and 7 of them at home. 

• We’ve owned six cars – three of them vans, and one of those a 12-passenger van. 

• We’ve owned one cat, two goats, a dozen chickens, one guinea pig, two mice, one rabbit, and several subpar goldfish. 

• We’ve homeschooled all of our children since 2003. 

• We’ve watched the entire series of The Office, Seinfeld, Chuck, Cheers, and Parks & Rec. [And ER, but I don’t want to talk about that.]

• Together, we’ve been to Grenada, Israel, Portugal, England, Scotland, Canada, and 40 of the 50 States. [We were supposed to be in Europe for our 25th, but COVID punched us square in the throat, instead.] 

• We’ve had careers or side-hustles in copywriting, doula work, improv/acting, public speaking, account managing, philanthropy, and sales rep’ing – with three separate stints of unemployment. 

• We’ve lived in Las Vegas, where we never thought we’d live, and in Utah, where we never thought we’d live. And we've realized we don’t want to live in California, where I grew up and always thought I’d live. 

• We’ve met and fallen in love with some of the loveliest people that we get to call our friends. 

There are a lot of memories crammed into those 9,132 days. A lot of moments. Some of them are these unremarkable moments that somehow punctuated a feeling or an impression in that instant and stayed with me. Taking the kids trick-or-treating and looking over my shoulder at Katie, standing in our doorway to hand candy out to the trick-or-treaters coming to our house – both of us loving our stations for the evening. Holding each other’s hands at concerts. Making a meal together that we’re both excited about. Or like this one time when Katie and I were watching Saturday Night Live and fell asleep, spooned on the couch. I woke up when the musical guest was performing. Katie was still asleep in my arms, our house was quiet and still, the kids all asleep in bed – and I felt this warmth come over me like a blanket. I don’t know how else to describe it – it was just a sense that everything in the world was right. I didn’t move, worried that I would disrupt this glow. I just felt grateful.

There are other specific experiences that stand out as marriage moments. Those sometimes predicable or expected life moments that you share with your partner, because you are on this path together – but they are uniquely yours, because it’s your path. When we got to honeymoon in Hawaii and it literally felt like the world paused just for us. When we hid in the bathroom at my parents’ house on Thanksgiving Day to take our first positive home pregnancy test. When we bought our first house and realized we were committing to staying in Las Vegas longer than we’d planned. When Katie had a miscarriage between Becca and Lucy. When we decided to move from Las Vegas to Utah. The moment we both knew we were done having children and cried. When my dad suddenly passed, and I’d immediately left to be with my mom, and Katie joined me three days later and we found our way into a bedroom so I could tell her about the last 72 hours and I completely came undone and was unintelligible and just sunk my head into her chest. 

Twenty-five years holds a lot of unpredictability, with the occasional plan coming to fruition. When Katie and I were dating, I knew it was different from previous relationships. I had this spiritual, visceral confidence that we could build something happy together. And that was everything to me, because I have never had the gift of “vision” – being able to see what the future could look like. I’m not that savvy or wise – especially if you’re comparing me to Katie – but from experience, I can tell you that we’ve built our life and our home on faith, laughter, compassion, and quick forgiveness. And ice cream to fill in the cracks. And I would say we have definitely built something happy. 

As one of those non-life-events that was unremarkable and extraordinary to me, I thought I’d share something that I wrote for Katie some time back and never published. Please enjoy! Or don’t, I’m not the boss of you. [But you should know that this is the only thing I got you all for our anniversary.] 

An Inconvenient Gift

Timing is a crucial ingredient for romance. 

This is what Katie tells me every time I grab her bum in the kitchen and there are one or more of our children around. (And there is always more than one around.)

Timing hasn’t always been on our side anyway. Like, since day one. The day I met Katie, I was dating someone else. The day I decided I wanted to ask her out, she was dating someone else. And I’m not kidding, on the very day I mustered up the courage to ask her out, in the precise moment I walked up to her on our college campus with concert tickets in hand and my mouth open to say the words, she turned to me and with all the excitement of someone who had just figured life out, she said, “Hey! So, guess what – I decided that I’m going to serve a mission, so I’m not going to date this entire semester!” “That’s awesome,” I said, one hundred percent certain it was the least awesome thing I had ever heard in my entire life. And I had heard a lot of bad a cappella music in college. Including an a cappella version of U2’s Mysterious Ways that still offends me. 

Fortunately for me, Katie was easily worn down. And by “worn down” I mean I waited 24 hours for her to change her mind and/or completely forget that she’d said anything. And then I asked her out – and she said ‘yes.’ 

See?! Timing!

Decades later, the struggle is still real. 

It was early evening in late October when we met up with some friends for dinner in downtown Provo. Station 22. A restaurant that is so contemporary that it gives you one of those electronic buzzers that light up and vibrate to let you know your table is ready. This means you have the convenience of cruising around downtown Provo and visiting the cute shops instead of just sitting in a crowded restaurant while everyone except you is eating and enjoying the merriment of no longer waiting for their turn to eat. Oh, red vibrating buzzers … where were you in the mid-90s?! And why didn’t you stop that a cappella group from arranging Mysterious Ways?! Or at least Enya’s Book of Days, which was also not ok. 

Katie and I wandered into a nearby store called Here, a quaint little place that, among other things, featured art from local artists. Sadly, the store has since closed, so Here is actually no longer There. I was casually browsing pithy greeting cards and Katie was thumbing through some books when we suddenly found ourselves staring at the same painting … and we both stopped moving as our hands found each other and locked. 

Right before us was this painting, by Brian Kershisnik. It’s titled This Splendid Inconvenience. 

Let me tell you something. You don’t get something that accurate without having lived it. Dear Brian, we get it. That exact moment? We get it. The trying to take advantage of those last few minutes of snuggle time, only to be interrupted … but to be interrupted by your other favorite people? Timing is indeed everything. 

And without a word between us, we both immediately welled up. 

I knew in that moment that I was going to buy that painting for Katie for Christmas. Sure, it would be the third Kershisnik painting hanging up in our home. But so what? We aren’t hurting anyone. It’s not like we arranged an a cappella version of the Pointer Sister’s Fire and made people pay money to come listen to us sing it. (You also don’t get that kind of detail without having lived it.)

I wanted to surprise Katie, so I knew I needed to keep the purchase off bank and credit card statements. So I did what every single citizen of Utah County has done at some point in their life. I donated plasma. I donated a lot of plasma. This painting wasn’t cheap. But I was so excited to surprise Katie with this painting that resonated so much with both of us. 

On the day I wondered back into Here and purchased This Splendid Inconvenience, I felt like I had just won Christmas. It was worth all the times some random teenager with weird facial hair jammed a thick needle into my unsuspecting vein and promptly forgot all about me as he or she went off to flirt with coworkers. 

Here was kind enough to giftwrap the painting for me. It was a plain brown paper, but the string was tied in some fancy way that made the whole thing look pretty. I kept it at my office, safely hidden from Katie throughout the entire season. Each day when I walked into work and saw it by my desk, I got excited all over again. 

On Christmas Eve, I brought it home from my office and hid it in my closet. I was so stealthy, you guys. Like an a cappella group who decided that now that they had your money, they were going to blindside you with their version of Suzanne Vega’s Blood Makes Noise.  

Christmas morning had exploded all over our living room, and with wrapping paper everywhere and candy already eaten for breakfast, and toys and gadgets being played with … I turned to Katie and said, “Oh, I still have my present for you.” To which she literally, physically jumped up and responded with, “And I still have mine for you! Me first!” And she ran into the other room … and came walking back in with some very familiar-looking packaging. Brown paper with decorative string. The Christmas tree lights were dim compared to the light in Katie’s face. She was so excited for me to open my present. 

I tore off the paper – and there it was, in all its glory. This Splendid Inconvenience. I stared at it, and apparently my expression was not what Katie had anticipated, because she started to coax me. “Don’t you remember it? We saw it in that little store last October! While we were waiting to go to dinner! We were, like, both emotional! Remember?!” Of course, I completely remembered. Katie went on, “I babysat for our neighbor for the last three weeks so I could have the cash to buy it without you knowing. I wanted to surprise you!” 

I looked up at her and we smiled huge at each other and I hugged her and kissed her and thanked her and gushed. I was thinking how now I didn’t have this surprise gift for her … but I also so completely loved that we were both on the same wavelength and had the same idea and made similar secret plans to surprise the other one. I retrieved her gift, and as I walked it over to her and she recognized precisely what it was, her eyes grew even bigger, and I wryly commented, “You…don’t need to open it.” 

It was this uncanny Gift of the Magi moment. 

Maybe the timing was actually perfect. 

Announcing My New Baby, Hillary

 There are certain red flags that immediately identify hippie-freaks. 

“Oh, we don’t own a TV.”
“Waitress, are these ice cubes in my Diet Coke organic and locally sourced?” 
And finally...
“We’ve just loved homebirthing our eight children.” 

I had to ask myself some hard questions this weekend. 

If you are unfamiliar with the culture of the Craig family, let me explain. No. There is too much. Let me sum up. 

We use a midwife. 
We home birth. 

Apparently we are hippie-freaks. (Though we admittedly enjoy TV and the only thing we care about our ice is that it's pebble-ice.)

Not everyone wants to or should use a midwife. You may have health risks that prevent this opportunity - or bottom-line, it may not be what you’re comfortable with. And that’s fine. It is not everyone’s choice; but we are grateful that it can be ours. We have loved the experiences. 

This experience was different - in a few ways. 

1. I got The Call. Until this birth, I had never gotten that awesome call at work. “I’m in labor! Come home!” Wherein I then hastily throw out any papers on my desk, slam the computer, and flee the office while yelling to the front desk, “Hold my calls! My wife is in labor!” I finally got to do that! Though, just like all other media-versions of birth, that’s not exactly how it happened. But I’ll take it!

2. We had a new midwife. We’ve used the same midwife, in Las Vegas, for our last six children. It was not fun to realize she would not be here for this one. We found a new midwife here in Utah. Katie loved her because she is old, experienced, and holds the wisdom of an old, experienced midwife. I wasn’t so sure, but then, during Katie’s labor, when I was sitting behind Katie, holding her, and the two of us naturally had our hands on Katie’s tummy...and the midwife said, “Somebody please take a photo of those hands, I want it on the cover of my website. That is the photo of the century.” Well, when she said that, I thought, “You know, this midwife has something.  A certain eye for beauty and awesomeness. She really IS so very, very wise.” 

3. This baby was way overdue. We may never know how accurately overdue. You know they base the 40 week pregnancy cycle on the date of your last period. But since Katie has either been pregnant or nursing since 1997, she’s had, like, two periods. (My apologies to any men who... no. You know what? I don’t apologize. If you can’t talk about women’s periods, then you are no man. There I said, it. Now good day, sir.)

4. Ok, actually, I wasn’t done with my last point. I got going on my soapbox and forgot where I was. That’s right, Katie’s monthly menstrual periods. Anyway, so we really had no idea when her last period was, so we guessed. Well, we knew it was on the day we had used a gift-card to this bbq place in Orem, but there was no credit card record to confirm the date. And I think we guessed wrong. Because this baby was late, though not record-breaking late. 

5. We called the midwife early. We have traditionally called the midwife to come for the delivery at either the perfect time (baby born 15 min to an hour after the midwife arrives) or too late (Roxanna and Rebecca, who arrived before the midwife). This time...too early! I couldn’t believe it. That’s a rookie mistake, and this was our 8th baby. But Katie was tired and wanted to know how far along she was.  Midwife came at midnight on Friday, left at 2 a.m. and came back at 6:30 a.m. (Saturday morning), when we and the baby had stopped messing around. 

Katie’s contractions never got super-close together, but they got harder.  They got even worse whenever she got up to do something. So I had the brilliant/marriage-ending idea that Katie should just be up, moving around. I said it out loud. The midwife agreed (she is so, so wise, you guys). And Katie told us we were both fired.  

But that kicked things into high gear. Soon she was sitting on this awesome birth-chair that the midwife brought, and making these deep, bass-sounding noises that meant she was getting ready to push. More than the timing of contractions, more than any instruments, I know Katie’s status by the labor noises she makes. It’s more visceral, but it’s the best gauge I know. 

This is Katie, about 45 second before pushing out a head. I sat at her feet watching her. With all apologies to the women I know, plus my daughters and future daughter-in-laws, plus Pink (who I imagine to be pretty tough) - I told my children that their mom was the strongest woman they would ever know. 

I couldn’t believe we were finally at this point. I had had impressions this baby girl was coming a year ago, before Katie was ever pregnant. I’d had feelings she was a girl from the very beginning. I had been anxious to meet her. When I finally caught her, I felt gratitude beyond measure. She was here. She was healthy. Katie was healthy. The world stopped and for moments...it was perfect. What us hippies call “zen-tastic.” 

It is a unique challenge to write about miracles. Often, you can chronicle the framework of the occurrence. You can describe the specific circumstances. You might be able to articulate how it changes you. But there is some portion that eludes you. You can’t put words to it. It is sacred and otherworldly. And those divine moments generally involve people you love, with a power that cannot be manipulated. And you are simply grateful you got to be there. 

Hillary Craig
November 23, 2013
9 lbs 20.5” long

The Waiting Is the Hardest Part

The other day Josh asked me what I thought our theme for this week should be. Know what I said? Babies.

That's what I said.

Could be because at this moment, Katie is 16 days past her due date. And babies are ALL I can think about.

Here is a photo from a party Saturday night. That's Katie, still going to parties despite wanting to mostly cuddle up on the couch and watch movies until this baby decides to make the scene. And that's one of my BFFs and PTA's own Chris Clark – a self-proclaimed Baby Whisperer – telling this baby to step it up. (Photo taken by up-and-coming Baby Photographer, Kacy Faulconer.)

And I am seeing babies everywhere, now. Neighbors, strangers at the grocery store, random babies who just show up on my front porch, knocking, then pointing at me and laughing when I answer the door. (That last one might have been a dream.)

Look at the cover of this month's Ensign, for crying-gosh-sakes-outloud!

I know, I know. I'm not Katie, carrying around what is most likely a 10 pound baby, so what am I sounding so impatient about? I'm just anxious to hold this new soul, that's all. I love that.

I love the stillness that comes to a home when a newborn arrives.

I love the absolute wonder of new life.

I love the smell of the top of a baby's head.

I love how our babies are consoled by the sound of Katie's voice.

I don't love the worry when you don't know why they're crying, and I don't love the spit ups when you just put on a fresh shirt. But those always seem to work out just fine.

This footage is from the movie The Tree of Life. It is one of the most beautifully filmed movies I've ever seen. It's often impressionistic, and I don't often recommend it - because maybe you'll love it, or maybe you will find it boring and strange. But I loved it. 

Speaking of the Ensign, in President Eyring's talk on Sunday morning he quoted President George Q. Cannon: “There is not one of us but what God’s love has been expended upon. There is not one of us that He has not cared for and caressed.”

That observation reminded me of an image I once held, just briefly. I was sending Abbie off to Girls Camp, and before she left, I sat and visited with her. I hugged her and kissed her and offered words of encouragement and love. That was me, a super-flawed mortal father. And Abbie was leaving for only a single week. I couldn't help but think of how a perfect Father would spend a few moments with His child He loved perfectly before sending them to mortality. A few moments where He cared for and caressed His child at the start of their mortal journey that would last much longer. At least to the child.

And then that child arrives in your arms. And you almost swear that those impressions are still enveloping that baby...and you are somehow privileged to feel them. As if heaven is tangible for just a bit. 

Presenting Garren

14 years ago today, Garren was born in our Las Vegas apartment, on our Futon.

At this point you’re saying to yourself, “Futons aren’t comfortable for sleeping on, sitting on, or even lifting to turn it from a couch into a bed – why on earth would you birth on one!?”

Well, because the kitchen table was still full of dishes from dinner.

Not really. But when you imagine people that homebirth, your mind kind of goes that direction, doesn’t it? Mine used to. Like, “They homebirth; who knows what they’re capable of?!” To quote comedian Jim Gaffigan, “We homebirth and we use a midwife – because, of course, we’re into witchcraft.”

Having a home birth was never actually on our radar. Of course, living in Las Vegas and owning a Futon were never on our radar, either. You just can’t predict everything, people.

Even with Abbie, our first born, we employed the services of certified nurse midwives, who delivered in a hospital. This was more reassuring to me. Like it was kiiiind of homebirthing...but with a net. (Which would probably still be more comfortable than birthing with a Futon.)

After that first midwife experience with Abbie, we moved to Las Vegas. We couldn’t find a practice of certified nurse midwives, like we’d found in Utah, so we began looking at the option of a homebirth with a homebirth midwife. And that is how we found Margie the Midwife. And Garren’s birth then became our segue into homebirthing. And that’s the way all of our children since Garren have been born.

I act like it was this natural and carefree transition, but until we met Margie the Midwife, I was slightly unnerved. I would time how long it took me to drive from our apartment to the hospital, and I would try different routes. You know, in case of an emergency. Like an arm coming out before a head. Or like me freaking out. But after we met Margie, I had all the confidence in the world in her. I already had all the confidence in the world in Katie. So I started to accept that this would be a really neat, really new experience.

It was mid-morning on Saturday, September 18, 1999 when Katie started “early labor.” Katie’s mom had been with us for a few days, and my mom was at home in Lake Tahoe, waiting for our phone call to summons her. I wanted to document the “homebirth experience,” so I had a small notepad with me and jotted down thoughts as things progressed. Here they are, ripped from my journal:

1:00 p.m. Katie makes it public that she is in fact having regular contractions every 20 minutes or so. This continues through the afternoon, with the contractions getting closer – like, five to seven minutes apart – but never getting to the stage one would call Active Labor.

5:00 p.m. I call Mom, telling her to make some plans to get down here from Lake Tahoe, and the sooner the better. She finds two flights: One getting her here at 9:45 p.m. tonight, the other at 9:40 a.m. tomorrow morning. Mom feels impressed to come tonight or it would be too late. Katie feels impressed to kiss Mom, so ecstatic is she at Mom’s suggestion that this baby will come before tomorrow morning.

7:00 p.m. Katie’s sister, Shellie, and her daughter Annmarie (editor’s note: they happen to be living in Las Vegas at the time) come over to visit with Katie’s mom. We decide to distract Katie from the contractions, and we leave Abbie with Katie’s mom, Shellie, and Annmarie, and we head over to Monica’s, our friend who is having a big barbecue for the Oscar de la Hoya fight. On our way over, we get distracted and go to the movies.

7:25 p.m. We nestle into our seats to watch Adam Sandler’s new movie, Big Daddy. Apparently we wanted Katie to be able to say that labor wasn’t the most painful thing she endured today.

8:50 p.m. The movie ends, but we still have some time before we need to pick up my mom at the airport. We head over to Monica’s. As we pull into her driveway, Katie pleads with me to not tell everybody that she is in labor. She just doesn’t want people gawking and wondering if she is going to deliver right here in the Van Brocklin’s living room, in front of de la Hoya and all his fans. I, of course, love my wife, and have every intention of honoring any requests she has regarding her current state…that is, until I reach the front door, where I promptly announce that Katie is in labor. I have to do it, I am just too excited not to. All the girls oooh and aaaah and come running over to cater to Katie – asking her how she feels and if she needs anything, and about these dreams they’ve had lately where Katie is in labor, and even wearing the exact same outfit that she had on this very evening! (Okay, only our friend, Yvonne, had that dream.) We munch on some food, get some well-wishing, and flee to the airport to get Mom.

9:50 p.m. Mom arrives, but I can’t find her.

10:15 p.m. Oh, there she is. But I don’t know how she got on a broken escalator that has no exit on the main floor where I’m waiting for her. Mom is relieved to have not missed the birth.

10:45 p.m. Now we are home. And I’ve got to say, I don’t see this happening in the next several hours. Katie’s contractions are close together, but they haven’t gotten any harder. Katie says they are uncomfortable to a degree…but she can joke and walk and talk through the contractions. And that’s no good. We did call Margie the Midwife to bring her up to speed, so she’s aware. She told us to keep her posted when “things” start happening.

I feel anxious just in the anticipation. Even though this will be very different from Abbie’s laboring and delivery, I feel like because we’ve gone through this before, we’re more familiar with the process. I tell you this – I am not looking forward to seeing Katie in pain. I don’t like that part. It is emotionally draining.

Sunday, September 19

9:00 a.m. Katie has had contractions through the night – regular and slightly more uncomfortable. We decide church meetings might be a bit much - for us, and for members of the Desert Shores ward, who would justifiably stare at us in horror.

4:00 p.m. Things begin to get more serious. Katie’s contractions are painful. That’s right, Katie is in pain, and we couldn’t be happier! I am not allowed to leave the room or go too far. We labor mostly in our bedroom, where we find comfortable positions for Katie to sit in, and I can rub her lower back. Sometimes I stand up behind her and she slumps in my arms. We also try sitting on the bed, where I sit close behind her and rub her lower back. We made that one up, and we feel kind of cool that we are so professional and confident in our abilities that we could do whatever we want, even if it isn’t on the list of “preferred positions for laboring.” We are like…laboring vigilantes.

5:00 p.m. Shellie and Annmarie go home, and in anticipation of the baby coming soon, they take Abbie with them. They bring Abbie into the room to tell us goodbye. She is very cute and sweet and I dare say, at two years old, she seems somewhat sensitive to the situation. She is asking, “Mommy, what’s the matter?” “What’s wrong, Daddy?” Then she tells us she is going to Annmarie’s house, and she gives us hugs and kisses. We both get a little emotional at the gesture.

6:00 p.m. The contractions still don’t seem that hard, compared to laboring with Abbie, but for the peace of mind of knowing how far along Katie is, we decide to call Margie and see what she thinks. Margie, just getting back from a family outing, asks me a few questions about the contractions, but also about how Katie is feeling, and if Katie wants her to come now. I say it might be good for Katie’s strength in mind if she could find out how far along she is, and how dilated. Margie says she will pack her stuff and head over as soon as she gets home. We were to expect her in the next 45 minutes. Katie moves to the Futon in the front room, where we plan to have the baby.

7:00 p.m. Margie arrives and Katie is lying flat on the Futon. Margie sets up her stuff and checks Katie. Judging by how uncomfortable Katie says she is, but also by how calm and together she appears, I’m betting she’s at a 6. Katie, starting to doubt that anything good could be happening soon, thinks she’s perhaps at a 2. Margie checks her and she’s at an 8. We couldn’t believe it. We all let out a noise that was somewhere between a cry and a sigh and a laugh.

While she was checking how far Katie was dilated, Margie feels the bag of water right there in front. She says it is bulging, and although she doesn’t normally break the water, she recommends it this time because it feels like an arm might come through first, and that would mean an emergency rush to the hospital. I tell everyone precisely how many minutes that will take. We decide we are fine with Margie breaking the water and guiding the head down. As soon as she breaks the water, the contractions are intense. Katie must have shot into the transition stage.

Katie has a few more contractions, and it’s time to push. Our Moms are down with Margie at “the business end,” watching for the head. I stay up by Katie’s face, talking to her and holding her hands. When they all say they can see the head, I don’t believe them. I honestly don’t. I think for sure they are lying in order to sustain Katie and give her some sense of false hope.

Katie has a strength in her that she is very connected to. She is aware of her body and its abilities and the sacredness of what she is doing. I am in awe of her when I see her like this. She is stronger than I am.

I hear the three ladies letting out a relieved gasp, and Margie is suddenly handing the baby up to us. I scan the child looking for the “stuff.” And there it is – a brand new baby boy! Katie holds him for a few moments, then passes him to me. I sit on the end of the Futon looking at this new baby, and he opens his eyes and looks right at me. And I realize I am overwhelmed with the feeling that I have missed him. The words seemed to bubble to my lips and I almost involuntarily whisper, “I’ve missed you.” Upon whispering it, I realize what that means. It wasn’t the first time I had seen him, but the first time in a long time. I feel immediately that I know him.

I look around and it is the oddest, most comfortable thing to realize we have never left our home. We just brought a life into this world…right in our living room. And on our dark, blue Futon too. I’m left with the impression that birth can be a very peaceful, private thing.

The Moms go pick up Abbie from Shellie’s. Abbie has fallen asleep on the way home, but we wake her up when they get here. She is all smiles. She sits on the bed and holds him. She just stares at him and kisses his head and gives him hugs. She can’t stop smiling. She seems to know it’s the same baby that was in Mommy’s tummy, and that he is now out. She also still thinks we should name him Winnie the Pooh.

Margie packs up her stuff, and I help her carry it out to the car. Margie really knew what she was doing; she was kind and social and professional all at the same time. And we now have a new 9 lbs. 9 oz., 21 ¼” long, brown hair, dark blue eyes, perfect baby boy.

Here's to One More

This is a photo of Katie and I in 1996, moments after we found out she was pregnant for the very first time. Nine months later, we had Abbie.

We had set the camera up on some makeshift pile of teetering books in our apartment, set the timer, and ran into position. It’s an interesting moment. The photo itself seems to have captured us off guard, like we weren't quite ready when the timer went off. And when I look at this photo, it seems like a reflection of how I remember feeling. Close to Katie, not quite prepared, and not sure how the picture would turn out.

Katie was 21 years old, and I was 25. How could we possibly know how our picture would turn out? It’s been 16 years now, and, metaphorically, the picture is still developing. But the development is exciting. It’s interesting, detailed, and colorful. Sometimes it’s unexpected and imperfect. Most times it makes me smile. And I’m grateful for the people that show up as our family photo develops. I am privileged to know them. Including the newest one, who will be arriving in November.

Yep. This is our official announcement. Katie is pregnant with our 8th child.

I must admit that this was not a complete surprise; still, my reaction was kind of like this:

Comedian Jim Gaffigan, who grew up in a family of six children and is now a father of five, once said, “Big families are like waterbed stores. They used to be everywhere, now they’re just weird.”

And that’s why I would like to pitch a new show to TLC, titled “Ken & Kate Plus 8.” But unlike TLC’s previous show, “John & Kate Plus 8,” we will be entertaining, and also not go all crazy-pants while the nation looks on. (Confession: I've never seen the show. But I hear things kind of went bananas.)  

I don’t know what the threshold is before one is considered A Large Family, but I do know that it’s already been several years that we've fielded that “Ah, nuts” look on the faces of waitresses, library workers, and people sitting behind us at the movies. Once, while shopping at Costco (natch), an employee actually watched our parade and queried, “Is this a school field trip?” Katie responded, “No. It’s a family.” (As if schools spend FHE at Costco, dude.)

A good portion of the public gives me incredulous looks when I declare that I love having a big family. And I can see why. After all, I have consciously selected a lifestyle where nothing I own looks nice for very long. Not the couches, not the carpet, not my dress shirts, not our books, not the yard, not the computer keyboard, not the stair railing, and certainly not the car. My gosh, the car.

I suppose there is also a heightened level of inconvenience associated with having numerous children. I can’t remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired. I've had to, for the most part, surrender to any form of timing or rhythm in scheduling life. Bedtime is sometime after 8 p.m. and before 10 p.m. Sports, church activities, piano lessons, Cub Scouts, and dinner are all strategically scheduled (by outside forces) to occur at the same time. And if you are supposed to be somewhere at 8:00 a.m., it doesn't matter if you start getting ready to leave the Tuesday before, you will not make it before 8:12 a.m., as you will get halfway there before you have to turn around and go back because somebody is not wearing shoes, or socks, or pants. And you just pray it is one of the children and not you.

But the frenzied mayhem and borderline lawlessness of the wild frontier known as Parents of a Large Brood is truly inspiring to me. Nothing makes me as happy as my family. Nobody makes me laugh more. Nobody makes me feel more loved. I never feel more centered than when I am doing something for the emotional, spiritual, mental, or physical well-being of my family. I am a better person because I get to be a dad to these seven souls. And here's to one more!

Rare Footage: Katie Doing Stand Up on "Pregnancy"

Last year, at a party for my 40th birthday, my wife, Katie, was about 8.5 months pregnant with our seventh child, Lucy. I always thought Katie made the most hilarious observations about being pregnant, and I suggested she do a 'stand up' routine about it. She had never done any stand up, but wrote this original material and performed it for my birthday.

For a while she asked me not to post it. But I think the statute of limitations on that have expired, and a friend of ours specifically asked me to post it. I hope you all enjoy it! 

Announcing Lucy

Once upon a time, in a uterus not so far away, there was a delightful baby girl named … Lucy.

Lucy refused to come out.

Her parents thought maybe it was because she had heard of the ridiculous “economic climate.”

Or the sadistic gas prices.  

They were also suspicious that she didn’t want to come to a world where Scarlett Johansson was romantically linked to Sean Penn.

Or a world with Sean Penn.

Or maybe she was worried that our society was ignorant enough to buy into the hype that food items which bragged about not having trans fats were somehow “healthy” or something.

And finally, they thought maybe she had some concerns about living up to the high standards of adorableness already set in place by her six siblings.

But then, one day, Lucy listened closely, and could hear her family talking about how much they already loved her. How much they wanted to hold her.

She heard her sister singing the Tangled soundtrack no less than 83 times a day. And she thought she just might like to sing with her.

She heard her dad say, “Life just makes sense when I'm holding a pint of this Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream.” And she thought she just might like to experience the sensation of eating a pint of Haagen-Dazs.

She heard her brothers quoting Star Wars and thought maybe it would be cooler to see this movie, because the dialogue actually sounded kind of hokey.

And she could almost feel her mom's hands as they rubbed her swollen belly, and she sensed how much more lovely it would be to be cradled in those arms. She could hear her mom’s eager voice calling out to her, wondering when she would be able to kiss her face and smell that amazing baby-breath.

Finally, she couldn’t bear to not be with her family another day, and she decided it was time to move on. Time to make her debut.

So on April 19, 2011, at 10:50 p.m., weighing 10 lbs 14 oz, Lucy arrived on the scene. She was immediately loved by all, and overnight, the entire world improved by her presence.

The End 

The Beginning

Announcing Rebecca

Ladies and gentlemen, do you have trouble with guests who have overstayed their welcome? Do you have company that just refuses to leave? Well, grab a pencil and jot this down. I have three little magic words that will clear your house faster than “I just tooted.” Ready? “My water broke.” (I learned yesterday, however, that this also works on guests that you are not trying to get rid of as well.)

If you’ve heard the birth story of our fourth child, Roxanna, this story is going to sound faintly familiar to you. The thought may even cross your mind that we must have wanted to do it this way on purpose. But then you might want to check your Crazy Pills prescription, because nobody would want to do it this way again on purpose. We even made a most concerted effort with our fifth child, Tanner, to make sure that it in fact didn’t happen that way again. Plus why would anybody consciously decide to pay for the loving care of a midwife, and then not invite them to come over for the love and care? And then why would you do that twice?! That’s like experiencing a very unique movie, and realizing it was certainly a once-in-an-odd-lifetime experience, and then finding out there is an unnecessary sequel. (Weekend at Bernie’s II, I’m looking in your direction.)

Well, it all started with a single contraction on Friday night. I was on my way to a "Weird Al" Yankovic concert with some of my other home-nerds, so you can imagine my relief when Katie said she was sure it was nothing and gave me the green light to rock on with Al and his accordion. (Speaking of once-in-a-lifetime odd experiences, I had seen Mr. Yankovic in concert in 1987 and had assumed that would be the only time. So I should have seen this as a sign. But I was too busy wondering how My Man Weird is able to do so many costume changes in one concert. The man is truly an artist, obviously dedicated to his craft.)

True to her word, Katie had no other contractions. Until Saturday morning. Yes, beginning around 6:30 a.m. Katie started having extremely mild and completely irregular contractions. This continued through the early afternoon, when some ol’ college friends of ours who were in town for the weekend brought lunch over.

Katie was feeling so great, she was able to be social and casual and showed no signs of ever being uncomfortable. She would still have the occasional contraction, but these were the most gentle and docile contractions ever recorded, according to Katie. The contractions weren’t getting any harder, they weren’t getting any closer, they didn’t seem to be progressing at all! I could have had these contractions, and I have a very low tolerance for pain. (I also have a low tolerance for large crowds of Weird Al fans, it turns out. But this isn’t about me. Or the fans.)

Around 2:30 p.m. Katie slipped into the downstairs bathroom just to tinkle. The rest of us were on the couches, chatting. Katie called for me and said, “Can you come in here for a second?”

I tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Can you unlock the door?" I asked.

“Nope,” she answered.

“Well, we’re going to get going,” said our college friends, leaping from the couch to gather their kids from upstairs, and, in the process, easily breaking the Olympic qualifying time for the track and field hurdles.

I picked the lock and opened the door to see my cute, sweet wife on the potty. “My water broke,” she said. “I need pads and dry clothes.”

I retrieved the goods from upstairs, but I was actually quite casual about it because while Katie seemed energized that things were finally moving, she didn’t seem overly anxious or concerned about the immediate moment we were in.

I walked back into the bathroom with her stuff and she said, “Why don’t we call the Midwife. I think we’re going to have this baby tonight.” Now, our standard go-to Midwife that we have used for our last four children is Margie. Margie is wonderful. Margie knows her stuff. Margie makes you feel comfortably at ease. Margie was on a cruise in the Bahamas. We had three back-up midwives to select from.

“Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll call one of the back up midwives. Did you want to say goodbye to the Muirs? They’re leaving now.”

“Uhm…no. If I get up, I just know I’ll have a contraction.”

I left the bathroom, said goodbye to the Muirs, and was walking over to the phone to call a midwife when I heard Katie yell for me again. This was a different yell. This was a familiar yell. This was a “For the love of heaven, get in here and catch this baby” yell.

I opened the bathroom door, this time to find Katie pushing out a baby. Katie’s head was down, her eyes closed, her arms stretched around her front with her hands holding the bottom of her stomach. She seemed remarkably peaceful. Focused. I have never known anybody to be able to understand their body like Katie. The room seemed entirely still and silent

She looked up at me and said, “Tell me it’s a head.” This was a legitimate concern, because if it was a bum, a leg, or anything but a head, we were up an afterbirth creek, without a paddle.

I dropped down on my knees and saw the head out, just above the eyes. “It’s a head,” I said. “Are you ready?”

Katie started pushing again and the head came out. She pushed some more. “Is it further out?” she asked.

“No. Still just the head.”

She pushed some more.

“I can see a shoulder, here it comes.”

And she slipped right into my arms. She was covered in vernix, and now I was too. I held her so close because I thought she was going to slip-slide right out of my hands. She wasn’t crying at all. I couldn’t believe I was holding her. We had waited so long for her.

It was 2:36 p.m., and all of our kids were peering from behind the bathroom door at this point, wanting to see what was going on. They came in to see her, and everybody oohed and aahed, except Tanner, the 2-year old, who had a very concerned look on his face. After he saw that Katie was okay, he seemed fine with the situation. And has fallen in love with the baby.

We called our friend and neighbor, Jonelle, who has been to a number of births. We knew she wouldn’t freak out at being up to her ankles in…stuff. With the baby in Katie’s arms, the placenta in a bucket, and Chux pads on the couch, Jonelle to came over and helped me help Katie make the move from the bathroom to the living room.

Katie sat down on the couch and started nursing the baby right away. We cut the chord and called the backup midwife, but she was with another woman who was laboring. We called the second backup, and she was in Boulder City with another woman who was laboring. (Which, honestly, how long does it take? If they are like Katie, we should have had a midwife arriving in about 15 minutes.) But she sent her apprentice over. She showed up about two hours after the birth. We sat there for two hours like it was the most normal, Saturday afternoon thing to do.

When the Apprentice arrived she weighed the baby. According to the scale, she was 16 pounds. According to the Apprentice, the scale must be broken. So we had Abbie stand on a normal scale, and then handed her the baby, and then figured the difference, which is about 10 lbs and … something ounces.

We’ve named her Rebecca. (We call her Becca). She is lovely. I adore the smell of her newborn head and sweet breath. I love her dark eyes and quiet nature. As always, I am absolutely and in every respect overcome with wonder at Katie. She is powerful, soft, and warm. She is beautiful, secure, and poised. I wonder if we should have named the baby after her incredible mother. Or we could have named her “Weird Al”berta Craig.

P.S. I am leaving the Comments on, if you would like to wish Katie congratulations!