At the very end of my pregnancy with Ryan, there appeared another daughter standing with him as I prayed.  This daughter told me that she had been taking care of Joshua and now that Joshua was going to come to our family, she would as well.

Joshua had already come and requested to be a part of our family.  However, this daughter did not make any request.  She simply informed me that this would be so.  She wanted to be able to continue to care for this brother in mortality just as she was doing there.

We have noticed that there is a difference in the way the babies and toddlers react to siblings close in age to themselves from the way they react to the older children.  Love is there for all of them but the younger ones are more playmates while the older siblings are more caregivers.  Cheyanne wanted to come early enough before Joshua so that she could continue caring for him.

Over the years and through blessings I learned that Joshua would be my grandson.  It leaves me to wonder if he will be Cheyanne's son or if she will be his babysitting aunt.  Either way it is a joy and testimony to know that life and relationships are something that extend before and beyond mortality.

In the summer of 1992 I found myself pregnant.  This was an unusual pregnancy because it was the only one that I knew right away that I had conceived.  This knowledge flooded me with a deep surety.  Then right at seven weeks I had another instant flood of knowledge that I was beginning a miscarriage.

I was unable to stop the miscarriage and it devastated me.  I felt a tremendous grief and my mind would yell the question of why did I know it so strongly only to lose my baby?  I turned to the Lord in prayer and Neil gave me a blessing.  In that blessing I was told that nothing is lost unto the Lord and that it was not the right time.

Then about eight weeks later I was pregnant again.  I knew that is was the same spirit and that spirit was Cheyanne.  I knew from the start that all would be ok with her and that the birth could happen at home.

I started seeing my midwife right away.  All was fine and my pregnancy was progressing normally for me.  It was certainly not the repeat of symptoms that I had experienced with Ryan.

When I was four months along, I saw my obstetrician.  He was the same one who had delivered Ryan.  He didn't blink an eye at my plan to have Cheyanne at home with a midwife just as I had the previous births before the C-section.  He checked me over and said that all was great and it was time for me to be homebound.

He is a great doctor with a lousy bedside manner but he really likes me because I like having babies.  He always has three questions for me.  "Are you happy being pregnant again?  Is Neil happy?"  The last question is, "What does Neil do for work?"   He is looking for possible emotional stress and when he sees that all is fine in these areas he is thrilled.

The very first time I ever went to him it was different because he was so quick and curt.  All the midwives assured me that it was just his personality and that as a doctor there was none better.  However the other times I met with him, we would visit and talk about large families and that he didn't see much of them anymore.

After I left the exam room a nurse told me that since I had a C-section with the previous baby I would be having the baby in the hospital.  I told her, "No, the plan is a homebirth if all goes well."  She insisted that I would need another C-section and I should take it up with the doctor.  I told her that he had already given me the go-ahead for my plans.  She was real put out about the whole thing.

This was the first pregnancy where I had honest-to-goodness morning sickness.  I could smell something unpleasant and then would run to the bathroom. Other than that, everything went in much the same way as the other pregnancies.  At 16 weeks I was restricted to the bed or the couch and there I hibernated.

Emotionally I was completely at peace.  I knew that this baby could be safely born at home.  I was certain that all was well.  Again I had the uninspired worry that she might not be totally healthy because of society's constant concern over a mother's age.  I recognized the same worry as what I had with Ryan and while the worry remained I didn't overly concern myself with it.
Occasionally while pregnant my urine would show a high sugar content.  Then in only an hour later it was again normal.  I started testing this daily to keep an eye on things and the peaking only happened a few times.  Otherwise, everything was healthy.

When I was about thirty weeks, I came down with bronchitis that was very similar in feel to what I had at the end of my pregnancy with Nathan.  I did not want to endanger either my baby or myself so I gave in and followed my doctor's advice to use an inhaler.  I was assured that there would be no harm.  Because my activity was strictly limited, I only felt a need for the inhaler when I tried to sleep at night.  So for nearly three months I used the prescribed medication once a day.

One big puzzle for me was why had I felt so strongly about the conception of the baby I miscarried?  I was certain that baby's spirit was the same one that was in my current baby.  Then I would wonder why the Lord had said it was the wrong timing.  There was less than eight weeks between the end of that one and the start of this one.  How much difference could those few short weeks make?

The summer of that miscarriage, we had discovered a place where we knew the Lord wanted us to eventually live.  We figured that because he told us about it then certainly it was time to make the move.  The practice would have to sell and then we would be on our way.  Some months later a buyer did come and was ready to make the purchase.  However, he wanted everything finished by a certain time and it was impossible for us.  We explained that we could not move then because of my being on bed rest for our baby.  If he could only wait another two months then all would be safe and we could leave.

He couldn't wait and found another practice to buy.  We learned that the “wrong timing” related to keeping us in San Diego for a few more years.  It was a comfort to have that confirmation concerning the miscarriage.  It was also a disappointment because we were ready to raise our family elsewhere.

The day came when we felt it was time to have our baby.  We had been tossing back and forth the idea of when would be a good time.  None of us like to induce except under revelation.  That revelation never really came and yet our midwife lived so far away that it was safest to have her already present when labor started.  So we decided to have my water artificially broken.
My two midwives arrived that evening and my blood pressure was taken.  It was normal and everything else was healthy.

While they were getting things ready, I began to think about my breathing and the labor.  We use a modified Bradley method in our labors.  I thought that I should take a dose of the inhaler that I had been using for the past three months.  I did so because I thought it would help.

When it came time to break my water, the midwife took my blood pressure again.  It was extremely high.  I had never had high blood pressure before and it came as a surprise to everybody.  I mentioned that I had just used the inhaler and my midwife told me that would raise my pressure.  She called another midwife and they discussed the problem.  She was told that it would take almost 24 hours for the effect to wear off.

That meant that every night for three months I had medically induced high blood pressure and it never showed up on the prenatal visits because the effects had worn off by then.  I remembered my strong feelings when pregnant with Nathan that I was not to use the medications or something would have happened to him.  It is true that not everybody has this response to the medication but certainly I was one of those who do.  I had allowed the opinion that all would be ok if I used the inhaler to override my sense of something being wrong.

We could not induce under these circumstances.  I was put to bed right away and we all hoped labor would not begin until after the medication had worn off.  I continued to have that incredibly peaceful feeling that all would be ok and that my baby would be born at home.

In the middle of the night I woke up to use the bathroom.  As I stepped from the bed, my water broke.  I had never had that experience!  At first I thought that my bladder had just rebelled and spilled it contents all over the floor.  Then it dawned on me what was happening and so we called the midwife.  By the time she arrived labor was well in progress.

My blood pressure was still high but not quite at a danger level.  I was progressing as rapidly as I always had.  My midwife ordered me to lie on my left side, as it was the safest position in this situation.  Above all I was to keep calm and very quiet.  Neil was at my head helping me stay focused.  My midwife was constantly ordering me to focus on my baby and being totally calm and at peace.  Everything was happening very quickly.

At one point the blood pressure had gotten so high that they considered transporting me.  However, since she had delivered so many of my babies she knew that birth was about to occur and transportation extremely unwise.  I would just have to stay put.
Right then second stage, pushing, began.  Again, she ordered me to not push.  This is not a new command for me because midwives have never allowed me to push more than one or two tiny nudges.  That is all it ever took to get the baby to gently ease out.  This was different though.  Now she was telling me to not push so that I wouldn't convulse because of my blood pressure. A few times my hands were trembling.  My midwife was right there in my face telling me to not let that happen.  I stopped it.  Later she told me that it was my willpower that kept everything from coming apart.

Second stage seemed to be taking too long.  I had never needed to push before and this time I couldn't.  Still, it had never been longer than a few contractions before the baby was out.  My midwife realized that this was not normal for me and so she asked her assistant what direction the hair was growing.  That was how we discovered that the baby was posterior, persistently posterior.  Then the baby was out!  It had been a two hour forty-five minute labor.

It was my Cheyanne, just as I knew it would be.  I was tired beyond belief.  The blood pressure problem had caused me to sweat profusely and exhausted me but things quickly began to get better.  My baby was healthy!  My baby weighed eleven pounds!  Eleven pounds and all I could think of was that a few evenings before I had been dancing the swing with Neil at a church function.  Dancing with an eleven-pound baby inside me!

When my placenta was delivered it nearly disintegrated in the midwife's hands.  This she showed me was the result of that nightly medication.  I will say here that in the next pregnancy nothing could induce me to use any medication and I returned to normal blood pressure ever after.

Cheyanne was the sweetest baby.  She was the best nurser.  She also never cried.  Like our other babies she slept next to me in our bed.  She would awaken me by making a little panting sound, like that of a puppy.  I would nurse her and she would happily return to sleep.  When she had her first crying spell, she was three months old and we were at a loss about what to do!

When Cheyanne was eight days old, I was nursing her and realized that she felt a little hot at my breast.  Not much, not hot on her skin but her mouth on my breast felt a touch warm.  I do not panic over many things but this time the Spirit prompted me in a loud warning.

I called my midwife.  She was surprised. She went over and over in her mind the birth and said she knew that it was a clean birth, no reason for a staph infection.  She also told me that I needed to take that baby to our pediatrician and that would mean a hospital stay.  I had already known that and as much as I hated doing it I knew it needed to be done.

The doctor could find nothing wrong with the baby.  Her temperature was elevated so little that the only reason I was aware of it was my experience as a mother.  She wanted to send us home but felt we should run the blood tests anyway.  So we were admitted to the hospital.

If I was with my baby, she never cried.  Nobody else could take my place.  If I was the one she smelled and heard then she relaxed and remained peaceful.  When they ran the tests on her, I was right by her head.  She remained quiet as I whispered to her.

They found right away that she had a urinary tract infection.  I had known for years that some babies utilize the nursed milk so efficiently that they hardly even poop.  I had never seen this happen with my children until Cheyanne came along.  She was several months old before she started having a normal poopy diaper.  It would come out in a loud foamy explosion.  And then when her diaper was check there would be almost nothing to see.  The force of the explosion must have backed up into her urinary track and caused that infection.

She was on I.V. antibiotics for a little less than three days and then home with just oral antibiotics.  As wonderful as our pediatrician was, our hospital experience was rather frustrating.  It helped to know the Lord sent us there.  They constantly asked me how I knew to bring her in?  They kept telling me that parents don't bring in the children till they were very sick, nearly dead.  Yet, I had brought my baby in at the earliest moment and how did I know?  The staff finally decided that it was my experience; after all, she was my eighth baby.

That night an intern poked his head in the door and told me that he was moving Cheyanne up to intensive care.  I asked him why and he said because she was a very sick little baby.  I responded that I knew she was sick and that I was the one that had insisted that she be admitted to the hospital to begin with.  I told him she was being cared for and was doing fine.  He told me that she was lethargic and could die any moment.  I told him she was not lethargic but was a very peaceful baby.  He told me he didn't care about my observations, about my experience, or about my training, he didn't care what I thought or felt.  He told me she could die any moment and upstairs they would be checking on her every hour and she could be on more advanced machines.  He gave not so veiled threats of neglect if I did not immediately consent to having my baby transferred.  I did.

They moved us to a room upstairs.  They put us into a room that cost a thousand dollars more per day.  They tried to hook her up to several monitors only to find that none of them worked.  The nurse finally said, “Your baby is doing fine so we'll just let her be.”  We were there eight hours and not once did another nurse check in on our baby.

In the morning my pediatrician visited the room.  She was rather irritated.  She asked when they had moved me upstairs and why.  I told her what had happened.  She said that they had never called her and that if she had been, she would not have given permission for the transfer.  She had me moved down to the regular care right away.

When it came time to go home, I had to sign paperwork.  We were a cash paying family and we had to pay half the bill before we could leave.  I told the lady who was discharging us that we were contesting the bill.  We were not going to pay the extra thousand dollars for those eight hours of enforced care.  She told me to just sign the papers and when we get the statement to take it up with the billing department.  I signed the paper but in small letters I placed “Without Prejudice” above my signature.

When the bill came, it listed the extra thousand dollars.  We paid the rest of the bill but not that full amount.  The hospital contacted us.  Despite our feelings about the enforced expense we were obligated under law to pay the full price.  "Mr. Logan," the collector said. "Your wife signed the papers and they are legally binding."

Neil calmly told the lady, "If you look very closely you will find that she signed it Without Prejudice.  That means that we retain all our rights including the right to refuse part of this bill."

We got a letter a few days later saying that it was the opinion of the staff that the baby needed the higher level of care.  However, because they had forgotten to check with the baby's primary pediatrician before making the move the hospital was graciously deleting that fee from the bill.

Just as Ryan was totally attached to his daddy from his birth on, Cheyanne was totally her Mommy's baby.  She only wanted me.  When anybody else tried to hold her, she started fussing after only a few seconds.  When she was in my arms, she was content and relaxed.  She enjoyed my singing to her.  She didn't want to be rocked in the swivel recliner.  Instead she wanted the chair to be rhythmically rotated from side to side.

Chamrie had been a thumb sucker and I had tried with each baby afterwards to get them to suck their thumbs.  I am convinced that a thumb-sucking baby is the easiest of babies.  None of the other children would do it.  During my pregnancy with Cheyanne, Chamrie kept insisting that she was sucking her thumb in the womb.  When she was born, she did suck her thumb and continued to do so.

Cheyanne was a unique little nurser.  From almost birth she had an opening routine from which she would not deviate.  She would put her thumb into her mouth, I would pull her thumb out of her mouth and then she would begin to nurse.  We would switch sides and again it would be the thumb to mouth, pull the thumb out of her mouth, mouth to breast and then nurse.  Then when she was finished it would be her thumb back to her mouth.

Heaven forbid that I should have tried to change the routine.  She would even get laughter in her eyes when she decided that the thumb wasn't in the mouth long enough before I tried to pull it out to nurse.  She would pop it back in and smile.

Sometimes she was so hungry or sleepy that the thumb lasted in the mouth for only 1/2 a suck but it got there nonetheless.
Cheyanne was the youngest of my children to wean.  It was so sad for me and now even years later I wish she had wanted that tender contact longer than she did.  Here is the account of her weaning.Mournful Monday

It is official, Cheyanne is not a baby.  She won't sit in a high chair.  She has to sit at the table like everybody else and use silverware instead of her fingers.  She joins in the children's imaginative play as an active part and not just in the baby role.  Saddest of all, she hasn't nursed for over three days.

Tonight as she was cuddled up next to me and getting sleepy she was sucking away on her dear little thumb.  I asked if she wanted to nurse. Quietly, from behind her thumb she whispered, "Huh Uh."

Knowing that she was sleepy I asked again if she wanted to nurse.  More firmly but still behind her thumb she mumbled, "Huh Uh."

It was beginning to sink in that something important was happening here and I wasn't ready for it.  I asked her one last time if she wanted to nurse with mommy.  My sweet angel, still from behind that precious thumb said loudly and emphatically, "Huh Uh, Huh Uh. No."  Then she actually leaned away from me as if to say, "Mom, if my words don't get the point across try understanding my body language."

I chuckled and said, “OK.”  Then I pulled her back close to me.  She still wants holding as she falls asleep only not in a baby position.  It doesn't matter how many children a person has it is hard each individual time to realize that they have entered a new and wondrous age.  I am so sad because I am sure Cheyanne has weaned herself.  She is only nineteen months old!  My heart cries that she is still too young.

The youngest baby to wean until now was Ryan.  He weaned at twenty-seven months.  I thought that was early. His last nursing was the morning before Cheyanne was born.

Cheyanne never wanted to nurse unless she wanted.  Sounds weird and I never could explain it exactly.  The other children would nurse anytime.  Cheyanne on the other hand from the time she was born would only nurse when she wanted to eat.  Later she would only nurse when she wanted to sleep.  Now it seems she's ready to say good-by to that relationship.

Baby led weaning is a desirable thing but Mommy isn't ready.  I know she is secure and happy and that it isn't rejection or sulking.  She has simply decided that it is time.  The tears have flowed from my heart tonight.

    That was how it was with Cheyanne.  When she was ready to do something, she did it.  When she wasn't ready, nothing could persuade her to attempt it.  Potty training was the same way.  We would suggest it and meet with a wall of resistance.  Then suddenly the day arrived and she had walked right out of the diaper stage.
    Cheyanne continued to be a quiet toddler.  She didn't talk much at all.  When she did begin to talk, she seemed to have a knack at finding the fewest words possible to clearly express herself.  With our very talkative Ryan only two years older ahead of her she didn't need to say much as he was quick to explain her needs to anybody who would listen.  Then along came Chalae two years behind her.  Chalae was so extremely verbal that it seemed Cheyanne started talking just so that Chalae would bowl her over with words.
    Cheyanne would be lost in play most of the day.  From time to time she would appear and let me know that she needed something.  She would stand patient while I would call the assigned child to help her.  Then she would happily go off with them because, "Mom said."
    She also would appear and want me to read to her.  Her favorite book was by Aubrey Wood and called The Mouse, The Strawberry and the Big Hungry Bear.  She would BOOM! BOOM!  BOOM! and Sniff!  Sniff!  Sniff! right along with the story teller.
    Cheyanne would attach herself to different children on different days.  She loved having a large family of people who totally adored her.  By the time she was three she especially adored Chamrie.  She would call Chamrie down to bed so that she wouldn't have to sleep alone.
    Cheyanne slept with us for a long time and then she moved to the portable crib in our bedroom.  When I became pregnant with Chalae, we moved Cheyanne into Chani's double bed.  Chani learned how sweet and tiring it is to have a little one sharing a bedroom.  Cheyanne was happy and secure in her sleep.
    She was easy going and adored Ryan.  She followed him and tried to do all the things he could do just as if they were in a constant game of Follow the Leader.  She broke her leg following him up the bed to the top bunk in the boys' bedroom.
    When it comes time for school, Cheyanne loves working the puzzles and enjoys learning the letters and numbers.  Most of all she likes to watch The Lion King which was an almost daily event come nap time.  She was lucky because her mother loved the music so was always willing to put the tape on.  What a breakdown from the strict only one movie a week of all the previous years!  Without really trying, Cheyanne seemed to quietly turn our hearts toward allowing the things she wanted.
    Then she became three and suddenly found that rules were more strictly enforced than she had imagined.  We have given her only one job at this time.  It is a giant job.  She has to find her own silky.  She is so attached to, "My Pink Silky," that she cannot sleep without it.  She was used to the entire house jumping up and rushing around trying to find that little piece of cloth.  When the day came that we all said no more it was quite a shock to her system.
    We then told her that it was her job to find her silky.  We started by everybody looking for the silky and when it was found we would leave it and go and tell her exactly where it was.  At first she would cry and refuse to even go to that spot to get it.  It wasn't long before she would do her job quickly.  She is even beginning to remember where she left it.  Soon we will add another job.  As in the past she adapts quietly and confidently when she is ready.
    When her sister came along, Cheyanne adored her.  She loved to sit with me and cuddle Chalae.  As Chalae grew and became more verbal and a very dominant force, our gentle Cheyanne was sometimes terrorized.  Chalae would be quick to pull Cheyanne's hair and then just as quick to cuddle right up with her in an attempt to comfort her big sister.  We had to protect her from the baby rather than the other way around.
    As I write this I have the church calling of being in the nursery with Cheyanne.   Chalae is there with us.  I am so grateful for this calling.  It has been good to be Cheyanne's nursery leader as well as her mother.  We know the same finger plays, the songs and we seem to find more time to cuddle while we read a book together.  Certainly, having that calling has poured out blessings in our home between my quiet Cheyanne and her busy mother.
    Cheyanne is as happy to play quietly alone as playing with other children.  In the church nursery she found a doll that she calls her special baby.  It belongs to the nursery and she understands that.  She looks for that baby and plays quietly.
    One of her friends in nursery is an active little boy named Raymond.  They seem to have an ongoing game of him being her little dog.  He is usually the child she chooses to play with.  She is comfortable with his active nature because it is so much like Ryan's, active and friendly.
    She loves to play with friends.  Then quietly, she loves her nap as well and leaves her friends to curl up on the couch with her thumb and silky and sleep the late afternoon away.

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