All About Reagan, Part VI: The Birth (by Bill!)

Part I: Introduction
Part II: Conception
Part III: The First Trimester
Part IV: The Second Trimester
Part V: The Third Trimester

It's been a while since my last "All About Reagan" post. I left you with going into the doctor's office and hearing that the baby was going to have to come today...as quickly as they could get it scheduled. Most of what happened after that point was a blur to me. So, I have something very special to offer today. My wonderful husband, Bill, graciously agreed to write the birth story from his perspective. He really put a lot of thought and effort into this. I really appreciate it and I know Reagan will too, oneday.

I love you, Bill! Thank you for writing your side of the story.
So without further ado, here are Bill's words...

It was May 4th and Bridget had another one of her twice-weekly checkups at her OB’s office. She had been going in for these checkups for several weeks now because of general health issues, e.g. high blood pressure, diabetes, stuff like that, all pregnancy related. These checkups usually went pretty smoothly as far as I could tell. On this particular day the doctor performed a non-stress test and she didn’t like the results. Apparently Reagan’s heart wasn’t accelerating (or was it decelerating? I forget.) like it was supposed to and she had decided that something needed to be done about it.

Bridget called me at my work sometime in the mid-afternoon. She was very upset and crying. My male intuition immediately told me something was wrong. Naturally I asked if she had wrecked the brand-new van or bounced a check but she just told me “no”, that it was a little more serious than that. Bridget told me to get to the hospital ASAP because we were having a baby that very day! Needless to say I wasn’t mentally prepared for that little piece of news and I immediately started to get both nervous and excited at the same time.

Well, being the super-organized family that we were at the time of course we had not packed either of our hospital bags. It was too late for that now. I told my boss what was going on and then I jumped in the truck and headed to the hospital. I think it was a Thursday.

I got to the hospital and found Bridget in a bed in one of the rooms in the Women’s Center. She looked terrible. I could tell she had been crying and she was extremely nervous about the upcoming emergency c-section. I calmed her down as best I could. I’m pretty sure I have her a hug and a kiss and said some comforting things like “it will be OK”, and “the baby’s only 3.5 weeks early, which is not too bad for a girl”, and “the doctor has done a bunch of these c-sections before so I’m sure it will work out all right.” Honestly, I was trying to calm and reassure both of us at this point because I was starting to get pretty nervous myself. I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell Bridget she looked terrible. If I did tell her that I don’t remember doing it, so she can’t really hold it against me.

Anyway, after sitting in the room with Bridget for a little while we both started to relax and it was then that we realized that we didn’t have a camera. We wanted to take pictures of Reagan’s birth and we were missing a somewhat critical component. I called my good friend Dave and asked if I could borrow his camera and if he would mind bringing it by the hospital. I explained what had happened and what was going to happen and he was more than happy to help us out. I promised Dave I would try to get as little of the birth-goo on his camera as I could. He laughed and looked at me funny, but he still let me borrow his camera. Did I mention what a good friend Dave is?

At some point in the process the anesthesiologist came in to the room to brief us on what was going to happen and to make sure Bridget was prepared. He gave Bridget some nasty looking goo and told her to drink it all down. It was supposed to stop Bridget from vomiting in the operating room while she was under anesthesia. From the face that Bridget made it tasted even worse than it looked. I was just glad that they didn’t ask me to drink any of that stuff.

I remember asking the doctor about how much longer it would be before it was show time and he said we were only about 30 minutes away. Everything was happening so quickly. I started to get nervous again but I tried to hide it. I didn’t want Bridget to get any more upset than she already was.

Soon after that a nurse brought in one of those blue disposable paper suits and handed it to me. I would need to wear that to go into the operating room. I didn’t have to take off my regular clothes, I just had to wear this paper suit over my regular clothes. Apparently it represses germs. I think they made me wear it just to make me look goofy. Regardless, I quickly dressed and Dave took a few pictures of me. I looked so silly. Like a 6’ tall smurf. I don’t know how many apples that is but it’s a lot. About that time Dave decided he’d had enough fun and wished us luck and left.

Soon after that the nurse came in to take Bridget to the operating room for her spinal block and to get her ready for the grand finale. She helped Bridget out of bed and noticed that Bridget wasn’t wearing any socks. I thought that was funny. I mean, how did the nurse not see Bridget’s butt all hanging out the back of that hospital gown? But no, all she cared about was that Bridget wasn’t wearing any socks. I guess you get desensitized to bare rump after working in a hospital after a while. The nurse went and got Bridget some socks, which I helped put on her feet since Bridget wasn’t really in much condition to do it herself. In fact, I’m pretty sure Bridget hadn’t even seen her feet in several weeks at that point. But I digress.

So the nurse walked Bridget and I down to the OR and then they made me wait outside while they put the spinal block in and then got Bridget all strapped down. It took about 2 hours, but the clock on the wall must have been running slow because it said only about 15 minutes went by. I was really starting to get nervous and excited at this point.

Finally the nurse came out and said it was OK for me to come in to the OR. I walked in and it was pretty much just like on TV, except the room was smaller and the nurses were bigger. Someone told me to stand up at the top of the table, up near Bridget’s head. They put up a screen that was about 6’ wide and maybe 2’ tall, and it kept Bridget from being able to look down and see anything. That was a portent of things to come, as I would find out soon enough. Someone slid on of those little round chairs you see in a doctors office my way, but I decided I was going to stand so that I could see the action. I’ve been deer hunting a few times and have seen more than a couple of deer get field dressed so I was pretty sure that I wasn’t going to pass out at the sight of blood.

The doctors came into the OR at that point, and started poking and prodding and smearing some antibiotic liquid all over Bridget’s stomach. Then they put some sort of sticky plastic coating on her stomach, I guess to help prevent the skin from tearing. It sounds gross, but it didn’t really look all that bad.

So the doctors get out a scalpel and they start cutting into Bridget’s lower stomach region, making fairly delicate incisions. They were using some sort of hot glue gun looking thing after each cut, and from the god-awful smell that thing was making I could tell they were using it to cauterize the surgical site to help reduce bleeding. Holy cow does burnt flesh smell terrible.
So the doctors are cutting away slowly but surely, stinking up the room as they go, and before too long they get to the point where it’s time to cut Reagan out of the uterus.

At this point I’m standing at the head of the table, looking down to where the doctors are doing their work, and everything seems like it’s been easy as pie. So the doctor makes the cute into the uterus, and OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!! there is a freaking HUGE rush of fluid and what appears to be watery blood that come absolutely pouring out from Bridget. It looks like there are gallons of this stuff. I have never in my entire life seen anything close to anything like this. I am holding on to the top of that little barrier that prevents Bridget from see anything, and I go absolutely white knuckled. My heart stops. My breathing stops. I am sure that something has gone horribly wrong and I am now watching my wife and baby die right in front of me.

I almost, almost shout out “Oh my God is that normal?!”, but then I remember Bridget lying there on the table and I don’t want her to panic. I manage to hold my tongue and I pray that either this is normal or, if it’s not, that the medical staff will know how to handle it and they’ll save my family.

Well, apparently what I saw –is- normal, because the staff just started cleaning up the fluid and then started working on getting Reagan out from inside Bridget. I started to relax. My heart started beating again. I’m not sure when I actually started breathing again.

One of the doctors worked on positioning Reagan’s head for exit while the other doctor started trying to push the baby out. Apparently you push the baby out by having a doctor push down as hard as they can on the chest/upper stomach region of the mother. I could tell it was really putting Bridget in a lot of pain because she started groaning and making a lot of noise. I just hoped that it wouldn’t take too much longer, because I was sure that Bridget was going to have either some cracked ribs or a crushed chest.

After only a few seconds I could see Reagan’s head, and after that it was only a few more seconds until they had Reagan completely delivered. She looked like a little gooey alien. But she was mine and she was beautiful.

Reagan Laura Fitzgerald

May 4, 2006 8:02 PM

6lbs 2oz, 18.5 inches

No, this isn't the end, this is merely the beginning. To be continued...

All about Reagan, Part V: The Third Trimester

Part I: Introduction
Part II: Conception
Part III: The First Trimester
Part IV: The Second Trimester

By the time I hit my third trimester, I think I finally started to relax a little. I could feel Reagan kicking like crazy and I had plenty of appointments to assure me everything was ok. I had a beautiful shower hosted by my friends Cristie and Shiela and everything was good.

Some pictures from the shower:




I should mention, the women on my mom's side have a history of medically necessary csections. We don't go into labor and even when forced by two days of pitocin, we don't dialate (my sister, Tara, can tell you all about that fun without an epidural). Even after evicition notices have been formally served to our babies, they still refuse to come out without the coaxing of surgically removing them.

So I wasn't worried about pre-term labor and knew I was probably going to have to have a csection too. I was prepared for that. My OB didn't want me to go later than 38 weeks, not because of fear of a huge baby, but because there is a much higher chance of having a stillborn baby for a diabetic when they get closer to full term. We scheduled the day; I actually put it into my Microsoft Project plan and worked everything backwards from there. I was leaving my job after the baby and wanted to leave everything wrapped up in a pretty bow and now I knew my date to work from. I was pretty excited that there was finally something in this pregnancy I seemed to have a little control over. I knew when she would arrive.

But then things like high blood pressure, carpal tunnel syndrome, round ligament pain, ongoing morning sickness, and finally preeclampsia set in and I was reminded I'm not in charge or control of anything, including the date. I was put on complete bed rest. I was allowed to get up every few hours to pee. Otherwise I had to be flat in bed. I continued to work with my headset on and my laptop balancing on my belly. Reagan protested my working by continuing to kick my laptop hard enough that she would often knock it off my belly altogether. I was glad I had taken care of the nursery and many of the details early enough so that I wasn't quite so worried about being on bedrest. I was just bored. Occasionally when I couldn't take the boredom anymore Bill would take me to the mall or to Babies-R-Us for a short trip in a wheel chair. It would be the highlight of my week.

Here are some pictures of Reagan's nursery. We actually moved again before it was all complete, but I had it mostly finished.










When I would go in for my appointments, I was monitored for my preeclampsia. It was remaining mild enough that as long as I laid completely flat, my blood pressure would stay ok and my protein levels weren't going too terribly high. I was swelling like crazy though. In one week I had gained over 10 lbs. I think it all went to my hands and feet. My OB warned me that there would probably be a time very soon when they would have to admit me for the preeclampsia and I would remain there until I had the baby.

I would also do a non-stress test (NST) several times a week. They would hook me up to a monitor to see if I was having any contractions and to see how Reagan responded. They would also do an ultrasound where they look for very specific things like fine and gross motor movement, fluid levels, etc. and come up with a total score. Reagan always did fine on the ultrasound, but the NSTs always took forever. She never really wanted to cooperate, bu eventually they would find the results they wanted and I was good for another few days.

This pattern continued for several weeks until I hit 36 weeks. I had gone into yet another appointment expecting to go home like I did every other time. At the worst, I figured I would finally be admitted to the hospital and have to ride it out there another few weeks. Never did I expect to go to a doctor's appointment feeling good, having no trouble, only to be told, "you're going to have a baby today, we'll be scheduling the surgery within the hour..."

To be continued...

All about Reagan, Part IV: The Second Trimester

Part I: Introduction
Part II: Conception
Part III: The First Trimester

The day after getting out of the hospital from my gallbladder surgery, we moved. I was mostly sitting in a chair directing the movers to various rooms of the house. Now that we were in a new house and I new I was having a girl, I was already thinking of what I was going to do for the nursery.

Just a week later, I finally bought my first baby items. I bought a little pair of Ugg like boots (yep, I'm all about the practical in infant looks) and a little outfit that Reagan ended up wearing for her six month pictures. It seemed surreal to me that after 2.5 years I was finally buying my first little pieces of baby clothes. I hung the items over the closet door in the room we chose to be her nursery. I found myself going in there a lot those first few weeks and just sitting in the empty room envisioning what the room would look like, what she would look like, what she was going to be when she grew up...

Baby names came next. Our first name we both really liked was Madeline. We decided to call her Madeline for a bit to see how it fit. It didn't. When I think of a "Madeline" I think of a sweet, demure girl who says, "yes poppa" and "no mother" and drinks from delicate porcelain play tea sets with her teddy bears and dolls. We knew this wouldn't be our baby. We knew that with all that I had gone through (and would yet to go through), our baby had gone through it too. She had already beaten terrible odds and overcome great diversity, and she hadn't even seen 20 weeks gestation yet. She was a fighter. Our baby was going to be tough, spunky, spirited. She would be the one to wear a girly dress paired with combat boots and jump through the mud puddles after a fresh rain (after being told not to). When I came across the name Reagan and threw it out, it stuck. That seemed like the name that fit our baby girl. So from 15 weeks on, Baby A had a name. She was Reagan.

Because of my PCOS, my doctor tested me for gestational diabetes early at 16 weeks. I chugged down the nasty orange litre of syrupy kool-aid, took the test, and failed hard. I didn't even have to take the three hour test or pass GO. I was sent straight on to the perintologist where I was told precisely what I would eat for the next 24 weeks and how to stick my finger four times a day to monitor sugars. I begrudgingly gave myself the first test prick. Dang! That hurt more than I thought it would. Well, by my calculations I had only 671 more fingers sticks left to go this pregnancy. I started wondering how accurate the results would be if I moved on to toes when my fingers refused to give any more blood.

A few weeks later I got a nasty bout of Bronchitis. I figure it was from all of the traveling I was still doing. Only it just wouldn't seem to go away. I couldn't breathe and just kept coughing. I was sent to a pulminologist where he informed me that I had pregnancy induced asthma. Huh? They have such a thing? Leave it to me to get that. He gives me a bunch of steroids and inhalers and I have to be on them the remainder of my pregnancy.

Amazingly, I am now breathing again and the cough goes away. Only all of the steroids and inhalers wreak havoc on my blood sugars and I'm now insulin dependent. Bill faithfully gives me my shots whenever I am home and I suck it up and stick myself in the gut when I'm traveling.

My doctor found out I was still traveling and put the kibosh on that at about 24 weeks. I can't say that I was disappointed. I worked from home the remainder of my pregnancy and began to pour myself into all things baby: the nursery, buying clothes, registering for items. I was getting so excited for Reagan to make her debut! I would play disco a lot around the house and in the car. Whenever YMCA or Celebration came on, Reagan would start kicking away and things were finally starting to feel real. I could feel her, she had a name, she had a nursery, we were really going to have a baby!

Me at 28 weeks and counting, in the start of Reagan's nursery

To be continued...

All About Reagan, Part III: The First Trimester

Part I: Introduction
Part II: Conception

"The child must know that he is a miracle, that since the beginning of the world there hasn't been, and until the end of the world there will not be, another child like him."

~Pablo Casals

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I was beyond excited about being pregnant with twins. Shortly after finding out, we we went on a 7-day cruise to the southern Caribbean that we had booked long before I got pregnant. The day I turned six weeks pregnant, I was in the shower at the hotel, getting ready to board the cruise ship. Out of nowhere I thought, "I think I'm going to be sick." I didn't even have time to get out of the tub. I hurriedly pulled back the curtain just in time to hurl into the unsuspected toilet while still standing in the shower. That marked the start of the all day sickness that plagued me through most of my pregnancy that no amount of prescription medications could alleviate. By the time my first trimester was over, I would have lost 17 pounds during a time when most women are gaining. But I didn't let a little morning sickness get me down on the cruise. We all had a great time on the cruise anyway.

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When we got back from the cruise I settled back into life and started to get used to the idea of life with twins. I immediately started buying maternity clothes justifying in my mind that I was going to start popping out sooner than singleton moms. Never mind the truth was I was just excited over the plausibility over this actually being the real thing this time. This is the furthest I had gone in my pregnancies without any big red flags or scythes of doom reaching for my womb so I was almost starting to feel comfortable about things and starting to believe this was the real deal.

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I continued my appointments with the infertility specialist and everything seemed to be going exceptionally well. I kept up with my 20 pills a day, 2 vaginal suppositories, and the blood work tests three times a week to make any modifications. The highlight was at least once a week my appointments would also include an ultrasound check. Baby A seemed to be measuring a bit ahead than Baby B most weeks. But it was never anything of large concern and there were a number of healthy plausible reasons why this could be the case. But by week 8, Baby B was a super star. Baby B's heart rate and growth had caught up and everything looked right on target with Baby A. It looked like Baby B was just a slow starter and Baby B was going to be just fine after all.

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But then it happened. During the ultrasound on week eight, one casual little sentence of one seemingly insignificant measurement, and all the sudden Baby B looked like he may no longer have a future. Had that sentence been said to anyone but me, it probably would have gone without notice. But I heard it and with my obsession for research, I turned to the internet. The tech mentioned that the yolk sac was measuring a little big and gave the precise measurements. I took mental note of them. I also took mental note of the look of concern on the doctor's usually perfectly preserved poker face. I wasn't understanding why a yolk sac measuring 2mm bigger than they would like would mean that big of a deal, it wasn't even part of the baby. I could see my little bean floating perfectly inside, its heart beating strong. Before I left I got a talk from the doctor that felt like he was starting to prepare me for losing Baby B in his own way. I didn't hear most of it. I didn't understand the problem. I wasn't ready to hear Baby B wasn't going to make it.

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I spent the next three days doing very little actual work related work. I mostly cried and poured over the Internet into every professional journal I could hack and understand and every PowerPoint presentation and any resource I could get my hands on that talked about the issue of having a yolk sac being 2mm too big. I found very little research on it. Most just don't measure it. Where I did find measurements I found nothing but despair. It all came down to those 2mm. Everything I read told me that because my baby's yolk sack was 2mm too big, he will die, and soon. There was nothing to do but wait. A familiar problem in an all too familiar scenario.

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There had been no fanfare, no drama, no severe cramping, no massive loss of blood to mark the passing of this little life of Baby B. There would be no D&C or visit to the doctor to remove the baby. Baby B just quietly stopped his heart beating during the night at 8wks 3 days and became another angel baby. That following morning, I had woken to no morning sickness like I did every other day. Instead of the violence of sickness I felt only peace. I was still lying in bed when Bill told me "tell the babies bye-bye for me" as he was getting ready to leave for work. I calmly told him there was only one now. It was the first time I hadn't been crying since I left the doctor's office. Bill said "you can't know that." I told him that I do know that and it's going to be ok. And I am ready to move forward with the one little one that I know is still alive and well in there.

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Bill went with me to my next ultrasound appointment just a few days later since we were expecting the bad news. It confirmed what we already knew. Baby B slipped away and stopped growing at 8wks 3 days. But Baby A was doing really well. I laid on the ultrasound table for a bit, gaining my composure, letting myself have another cry. Then we walked out together as our new, smaller family: Bridget, Bill, and Baby A. Baby B will never be forgotten. Baby A will grow up knowing that there was another. Another who waits in heaven to be reunited with its twin and the rest of its family one day.

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We had mostly recovered from loss of Baby B and tried to get into a routine. We were looking for a new house, and I had taken on a new job, but it unfortunately required me to travel to New York City as much as I was able.

It was during one of those trips, at 11 weeks I woke up in severe stomach and side pain. It was so bad that I was crawling rather than walking to the bathroom for my morning barfing routine. It was about 4am and I had a flight at 10. I asked Bill to drive me to the ER so that I could get some decent pain drugs that would hold me over and still let me make my 10 am flight. I don't know what I was thinking. I didn't make that 10am flight. I didn't check out of there until a week later. It turns out I had a diseased gallbladder that no longer wanted to fight. They had me on a IV and drugs and allowed me to eat nothing but chicken broth and jello for a week in an attempt to make my angry diseased bladder happy again (clearly they have no experience in hostage negotiation- I've never seen chicken broth and jello on on a terrorist's list of demands). My gall bladder responded to my diet even angrier than ever. With no hope of it getting better, after a week they made the difficult decision to remove my gall bladder.

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The only way to remove a gallbladder is under general anesthesia. When I go asleep, Baby A would go asleep. We still hadn't completely gotten over losing Baby B and I wasn't sure I could live with losing yet another baby. In the end, they assured me my condition was bigger danger on the baby as is than to undergo the surgery. I didn't like the odds, they told me there was a 20% chance Baby A would never wake back up. But I didn't see that I had a choice.

I was wheeled down into surgery and had one of the most panicked moments of my life. My fear wasn't for me, it was always for the baby. I only had a few moments to say goodbye to Bill and tell him I loved him and all I could think was how sorry I was that I kept failing him like this and losing his babies. I cried my way down to surgery with Bill standing in the hallway saying goodbye.

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I pulled through the surgery. I woke up looking like a snowman with four little button like stitches and cover bandages going down my belly. They told me that I could go home now. I told them I'd be happy to go home. But I insisted I wasn't leaving until I saw an ultrasound of Baby A and saw a heartbeat.

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I was 12 weeks 4 days pregnant. I held my breath while the tech put the ultrasound goo on my stomach and attempted to moved the wand around for signs of life. Almost immediately, Baby A returned with signs of alive and well. Heartbeat looked well, good movement, good fluid. I breathed. Letting my color return to normal, I pressed the tech a little harder and said, "I've heard you can sometimes tell gender on really good equipment at this age. I won't hold it to you, but what would be your guess?" The tech hesitates for a moment and says"it really is still awfully early. but if I had to make a guess today, I'd have to say you are going to have a......GIRL!"

To be continued...

All about Reagan, Part II:Conception

I read a study once that said that parents who suffered from infertility issues made better parents than those that didn't. Their conclusion was that parents that had to go through infertility issues wanted their children more and had more time to get used to the idea than those that didn't. I don't know if their study is correct, but I can tell you that Reagan was very much wanted and loved, before we even knew her.

I wasn't always sure I wanted children. I spent most of my 20's and into my 30's being a child myself. Bill will be the first to admit he spent his entire adult life ensuring that he would not have a "little Bill." But after we had been dating a while the subject of children came up and I knew I wanted children and Bill admitted he could see us heading that direction one day.

About six months after we were married I convinced Bill it was time to start trying to have children. I wasn't getting any younger. He wasn't so sure but he went with it for my sake. My first month off the pill I was so excited about the possibility I took a pregnancy test even before my period was due. It was positive! I couldn't believe it! Bill couldn't believe it! I was in a panic. Bill was in a bigger panic, almost to the point of hyperventilation. Bill said, "I know we agreed to start trying, but I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't expecting this so soon."

Just a few days later, our panic of an impending bundle of joy turned to panic of impending doom. I was having a miscarriage and we both spent several days in tears and agony. It was at that point that we knew we wanted a child and we had already loved the one we lost only a few weeks in my womb.

We decided to keep trying and it led to several more losses and a lot more heartache. We turned to an infertility specialist and he did every test under the sun on Bill and me. While all of Bill's soldiers proudly checked out fine, I was diagnosed with PCOS, blod clotting disorder, low progesterone, luteral phase defect, and endemetriosis (which I had a surgical scrape for). By this time we were two years into trying and during the process while my initial problem had been staying pregnant, all of the sudden I stopped ovulating and could no longer get pregnant either. So I had to take even more pills (20 a day), Bill gave me shots in the butt, and then we were going to start with Intrauterine Injection s(IUI), or as Bill fondly refers to it "The Turkey Baster."

We were on round one of IUI. It's not exactly the glamour you envision for the conception of your firstborn, or anyborn for that matter: Bill spanks into a cup, we have to rush down to the doctor before the soldiers refuse to fight the good fight (30 minute window), they spin it in some high tech thingy (medical term) and put it in a solution and put it into a syringe (aka "the turkey baster"), I lay on the table, and an 80-year old man squirts Bill's soldiers into place with the turkey baster while Bill holds my hand. Nothing to do after that but hope that two weeks later I'm pregnant.

I was pretty sure that wasn't going to work. We were two and a half years into the process and that just didn't seem like that was going to be the magic bullet (no pun intended there). But two weeks later I hop up on the ultrasound table, they examine me, and what do you know? I'm pregnant! With TWINS!

To be continued....

All about Reagan, Part I

In my last post, Joanna astutely called out the fact that although I talk about what Reagan does all the time, I never really describe her and talk about her. My character development of Reagan has been flat and weak and I've let you infer things about her instead of really telling you about her. I did this for several reasons, but frankly I thought I was being more coy than apparently I was. What a dummy I am. But never mind all of that now. I'm going to tell you all about Reagan. I mean really tell you about Reagan--the good, the bad, the ugly, the silly, the indifferent, all of it.

My friend Cristie summed up Reagan quite well the other day. She said "Reagan is a six year old trapped in a two year old body." Although congitively Reagan could probably be ready for Kindergarten, her maturity is very much that of a two year old. And therein lies the fun. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Before I tell you about Reagan now, indulge me please by allowing me to tell you about Reagan from the very beginning and take you on a journey through her last two years. We are talking starting way, way, way, back where Mr. Spermie met Mrs. Egg and said "wanna get a party on tonight?" I didn't have a blog back then and I've never talked about my pregnancy on my blog so I want to take this opportunity to show you that Reagan had personality and spunk even from inception. I'm also taking this as an opportunity to play catch up on many of the stories and things I've missed of hers over the past two years. So I'll be doing a series of posts--All about Reagan. By the time I'm done, you'll know her so well you'll feel like she's been living next door to you for the past two years...like it or not.