And then there were three.

Life continues to be good to us.  For those who don't know, we had our little Rhys (rhymes with "peace" and means "running") Tharin (which means "hunter") Myler.  He was born at 7:22 a.m. on Monday, April 8th.  We didn't get the dream start that we thought we would.  I had such a normal, easy pregnancy and then BAM!  The birthing process did not follow suit.  At about four a.m. Sunday, April 7th, I started to get pains, the regular kind that tell you you're in labour.  I waited a bit and then told Abe when they really started to hurt.  We took a beautiful, peaceful walk around Helaman and realized it was the real deal (this time).  So, happily anticipating our wonderful child, we called my mother and sister what was happening and went to the hospital. 
Cut to the hospital, the nurse we had must have just won the lottery or something, because she was very cheerful, but pretty absent-minded.  After monitoring me, she told me that I was just not far enough along and should go home.  However, because I was in so much pain, she gave me percoset with a cheerful, "Take a walk around the block and I'm sure we'll see you here in no time!"
Cut to my brother's house, us "watching" General Conference, and the drugs taking effect.  Cue vomit, dizzy spells, and lots of sleeping, not to mention slowing labour down for about five hours.  Thank you, Miss Nurse, who happened to still be on duty when I returned when the drugs wore off.  "I told you you'd be back!"  I wanted to cry at her.  My labour had essentially been paused for five or so hours.  
The other nurses, though, were quite effective, fabulous, and just so nice.  And so, after weakly admitting I'd rather have an epidural than be in pain, we got under weigh.  The epidural was fantastic, by the by.  It made what happened after pretty bearable, physically.
Rhys, however, had had different ideas.  By the time it came for me to push, we discovered that his head was stuck sideways in my pelvis.  I pushed for quite some time, the OB on duty thinking it would loosen up and we'd get him out.  So, after pushing for something like six hours (with a little rest in between), they told me that I needed a c-section.  I didn't want Rhys' heart rate to keep dropping, so we went on ahead.  I'd rather give birth completely naturally than have to go through a c-section again.  I was shivering all over (an effect of drugs and the temperature) and was dazed, but not enough to stop being scared.  I just hoped all would be well and voila!  It was!  We heard his little cry (which soon turned into a big cry.  His resonance is incredible.) and realized it was over.  Ish.  His poor little face was bruised all over and he had a sore on his head. We spent the next four days in the hospital, with a worn out Abe in and out (he still had a semester to finish up), dividing our time between worrying over Rhys' jaundice, breastfeeding, not having much family support around us at the time (my mom and sister had to go back to New York), and wondering if anyone was ever going to know how to pronounce his name.  Priorities, you know.  
We brought him home on Friday and the struggles continued.  Our apartment has two entrances: one through the office where I work, and one leading out to our car.  The one to the car (which was where I usually went because I was on leave) unfortunately has stairs, which is pretty difficult for a woman who's just had major surgery.  I'm still so grateful that Candy, Abe's mom, was available to help us.  I don't know what I would have done without her.
Now that I think about it, I think I suffered from postpartum depression a teensy bit.  Motherhood was, so far, not what I had anticipated.  Rhys screamed.  A lot.  And loudly.  I privately kept hoping someone would come and take care of him while I slept, like they did at the hospital. 
When I went back to work full-time, things got a little worse, because Rhys wouldn't go to bed until I came home (at 10 p.m.) and he wouldn't (still doesn't) take a bottle or pacifier.  Thank goodness we had such flexible schedules this summer!
Everyone kept saying, he'll get a lot better at two months.  Then they said, four months will be such a change, but if not, six months for sure.  Hint: no sleep-deprived mother who hasn't been able to get ready before 10 a.m. on consistent basis wants to hear that she has to wait four more months before things get better.
To be perfectly candid, however, I've always been a bit on the dramatic side.  I've loved my little boy since that first drug-induced day when I was so dizzy I could hardly hold him.  He's my little buddy and it's only gotten better.  The first night we brought him home and nursing was still such a struggle and we couldn't get him to stop crying, I just started to sing to him and he quieted down right away.  I could hardly sing because I was the one crying then.  He knows me, I thought.  He loves me.  Plus, as a singer, it absolutely suited my vanity.
We have come such a long way.  He still loves soprano voices (especially Abe's falsetto), hates bottles, feels like a big boy when he sits up on his own, and laughs when we play tickle spider.  I'm daily enchanted to see his love of destroying towers we build, just to see them fall down.  I can't help but laugh when I see the look on his face when he's learning something new; he is the most stoic child you'll ever meet.  We're already on the lookout for his future romantic endeavors, since he already seems to prefer females, except for Abe and a friend of ours.
Now that he's almost seven months old, I realize that I am not quite sure how to proceed.  I have been waiting so long for six months to come along, that I find I didn't think about what to do with him after that milestone.  I'm sure we'll work things out, as we always do.  For now, I'm grateful to discover that even though nothing came as naturally as I thought it would, it still seems as though Abe and I were born to be parents.
Now some pictures, which happen to be out of order...

One of his first ever pictures!

 

Our first family photo.

 

The little gloworm...  The mask is to protect him from the billy-blanket they used for his jaundice.

His first lullaby from Daddy.

Grandma Bush and Rhys

First outing!

Three generations: Lance, Abe, and Rhys

Coming home!

First baseball game.

The first time he tried his swing he fell asleep.

Little known fact: Rhys is actually a chameleon.  

Our first camping trip.

At Arches National Park.  It was in the high 90s.

You may think that he's just hot in this picture, but really, that's often how his face was at four months.

His first Highland Games/Scottish Festival!  (Behold the pipers in the background.)

We love story time around here.

The camera still surprises him sometimes.

It's hard to see, but that's the imprint of an airplane on my arm.  The airplane was a decal on Rhys' pajamas that imprinted itself on my arms after holding him for so long, trying to get him to sleep!

Bath time!  We have since discovered that, if he can sit up in the tub, he's much happier because he can splash around.

First trip to the Aviary.

This was one of my first nights back to work and I came home to this...

A visit to the Tulip Festival.

Rhys, being too cool for school at his baby blessing.

We often play a game where Rhys will "bite" a part of our faces, we'll scream in mock terror, and then we'll wipe the spit off of our faces onto his belly.  He thinks it's hilarious.

Playing/discovering Dad's foot.

Our First Annual First Sweater Walk.

First Sweater Walk

One can't help photobombing when when is not tall enough to be in the picture.

Excited to look like such a big boy for church.

At the pumpkin farm, Abe went down with Rhys strapped to him.  Abe loved it.  Rhys... well, we may never know how he felt about it; his expression never changed.

Spending time with Grandma Bush, Uncle Dan, and cousins at the pumpkin farm.

His First Thanksgiving pajamas probably won't fit him by Thanksgiving, so he wears them now, at the end of October.

Rhys, the tired Halloween Ewok.  But!  He tied for first place in the costume contest at the Ward Halloween party.

These family pictures were taken when he was about six months old.