27 Months (Twice Over)

It's an inside joke between my husband and I.  Every time there is a task that we don't want to do - say change a diaper or clean a dirty pan that's been sitting in the sink or be the designated driver - I sing my little jingle.

27 months!

That's how long I was pregnant with our three boys.  3 x 9 (full term babies) = 27 months.  Twenty seven months of creating and living for another human being.  Of dealing with nausea and pain and blood draws and hemorrhoids and stretch marks and peeing 5 times a night.  And then somehow ejecting each of the three babies from my body.

So you want me to change some urine soaked sheets at 2am?

27 months!

And now, 27 months has new meaning.

Last night, I breastfed Colin for the very last time.  At 13 months, it was time.  I didn't want to wean, to be honest.  But for a number of reasons, I did it anyway.  I thought I was going to cry throughout the whole feeding.  After all, I sobbed with both of his two older brothers, both of whom I weaned at 7 months.

But I didn't.  Instead, I did some mental math.  7 months + 7 months + 13 months = 27 months.

Twenty seven months of pregnancy.  Twenty seven months of breastfeeding.

And now, it comes to an end.  I think the finality of it all is what kept my tears from flowing.  It was just too much - too significant.  If I had let my emotions run wild, I feared I would lose myself a bit.  I didn't really want to go that deep.  Because there will be no more pregnancies.  No more breastfeeding.  And no more babies.

A chapter is ending.

Two Kind of Crazy, Out of Character, Things I Did

I would not describe myself as a naturalist, holistic, granola type of person.  I do buy organic food when I can, but I still take my kids to McDonalds.  I recycle, but I don't really think about my carbon footprint. I'm into vitamins and homeopathic remedies, but I'm ready and willing to go to hard core meds when necessary.  I'm just kind of plain vanilla average in this regard.

But last week, I did some out of character things: 

1) I did a natural (as in, no epidural) birth.

I don't know why, but having a natural birth always appealed to me.  Perhaps because of a fear of sticking a needle in my spine, or a fear of escalating interventions that would lead to a c-section. But really, it just always felt, for lack of a better word, natural to me.  As in, we women are meant to birth babies.  It's how nature made us.  So why not do it the way nature intended?  

When I was pregnant with Braden, my first child, I took a Bradley natural birthing class.  My husband and I went once a week and learned about birthing positions, relaxation methods, etc. But halfway through the class I ended up on bed rest, having been diagnosed with placenta previa.  For this condition, I would have to have a c-section.  I was disappointed, but resigned myself to my fate, and stopped attending the Bradley classes.  Lo and behold, a week before my scheduled c-section date, my placenta moved, and I was cleared for a vaginal delivery.  By that point, I was so out of shape and in such shock that I didn't have the energy for a natural birth.  I did try, but after a pitocin drip and 5 hours of labor, I asked for an epidural.  

For the birth of Casey, my second child, I again wanted to attempt a natural birth.  I reviewed my Bradley class materials, and took a "Comfort Measures" class at the hospital.  When I went into labor and arrived at the hospital, I told the nurses that I was going to go epidural free.  I labored for a few hours, until it started to hurt - I mean, really hurt.  Just like in the movies, I recanted my prior request and begged for the epidural.  I was 8 centimeters dilated by the time I got it.  I was almost there, but the pain (and temptation) was too much.

Lets talk about pain for a second.  In my normal, non-laboring mind, my reasoning went like this: Sure, it's going to hurt.  Really bad.  But it's temporary.  It will only last a finite amount of time.  And if I can just take it, for a little bit, it will be over!  How bad can it really be?  

Lets repeat that:  How bad can it really be?  

Pregnant Woman Walking (Barely)

The weird thing about being 39+ weeks pregnant is that you never when the ball will drop.  When plans will be abandoned.  When people will scramble.  When life will be forever changed.

I walk around each day as if it's a normal day.  I do the preschool pick ups and plan playdates and make dinner.  I put the kids to bed each night as I normally do, never saying out loud what I am thinking - Is this the last time I'll put you to bed as a mother of two?  Will I be here tomorrow night to tuck you in?  

It's is truly amazing to me how much things are about to change, and how it all will happen so quickly. Broken water, strong contractions, whatever else sends me in route to the hospital.  I will leave my regular life behind, and return to a new one.

The unpredictability is killing me a bit, to be honest.  Always wanting to be in control, I have multiple babysitters/friends/family on call, and several contingency plans.  I have a list of numbers by the fridge, and several versions of the kids' schedule, depending on what time I have to leave and who will be here.  I have my suitcase packed, complete with baby clothes and a post-partum outfit and prescription for zoloft, should I need it.  I have gifts already wrapped for the kids from the baby, a BPA free bottle with a straw for my labor, and the camera battery fully charged.

I am ready.

But when????  How?????

What I Do All Morning

Since the beginning of September, I have had my mornings "free."  By "free," I mean that both of my kids are in school.  They leave the house with my husband at 8am, and I don't need to go pick up Casey until 11am.  That is three hours sans kids.  Free.

I was VERY much looking forward to this time.  It would be, after all, the first time in five years I would have no children to look after on a regular, consistent basis.  I also had the pregnancy card on my side.  I find that many times, when stay at home moms send their kids off to school, the first question they are asked is:  "So what are you going to do with all of that time?"  It's a stressful question, and one that comes with all sorts of expectations and judgments and stereotypes.  But my pregnancy allowed me to avoid this pressure, because my "free" time is obviously finite.  In fact, in approximately three short weeks, I'll have a newborn at home, and it will be another three years until I can look forward to any sort of "free" time.  

I had all sorts of visions for this time.  I envisioned perhaps sleeping - getting up to help the kids get ready, and then coming back to bed once they were out the door.  I could doze for an hour or so with the Today Show on in the background, or watch the DVRed shows from the night before.  

I envisioned getting housework done - the kind of thing I usually put off and then have to face at 4pm. I would empty the dishwasher, put in laundry, go grocery shopping, and perhaps even prep that night's meal.  Maybe I would even make the beds - something  I have not done in five years. Or maybe ever. Actually, now that I think of it, I have never, ever been a regular bedmaker.  Maybe I would turn into one.

My Soon to Be Middle

It's amazing to me how much guilt creeps into parenting.  It's insidious.  Guilt for working, for not working, for yelling, for being too lax, for turning on the TV, for not serving veggies every night, for getting drive-thru McDonalds.  There are no perfect parents, to be sure, and I'd venture to say there are very few parents that don't feel guilty about their lack of perfection.  I've gotten used to this guilt, and in many ways, accepted it.  Though it at times rattles me.  And right now I am dealing with the most irrational, ridiculous guilt, that just won't go away.

I feel guilty for having a third child.

Yes, I know this is absurd, especially since I have dealt with this guilt before.  When my second, Casey, was born, and I came home from the hospital, Braden was not happy.  He was downright pissed, actually.  He was merely two years old, but he tantrumed, he screamed, he cried.  He wanted mommy all to himself.  In the midst of sleep deprivation and hormones and PPD, I let it get to me.  I felt awful for ruining his life, for taking myself away from him, for shaking up our perfect little family of 3.

I laugh at myself now.  What is more irrational than being guided by the emotions of a two year old?  And obviously, Casey's birth was a gift to Braden, and a gift to the whole family.  I can't imagine it any other way.

But for the past month or so, I look at Casey - the very child that was the source of my guilt for his other brother - and I feel guilty for adding another baby to the mix.  For taking away some of the little one on one time I already have with him.  For making him a middle child.

Tending to My Nest

Pregnancy Weekly defines nesting as:

“[A]n uncontrollable urge to clean one’s house brought on by a desire to prepare a nest for the new baby, to tie up loose ends of old projects and to organize your world.” 

Yeah, I think I know something about that. 

Prior to getting pregnant, I always thought this nesting thing was a bit of a farce.  Along with PMS and baby blues and all sorts of other “hormonal” behaviors.  After three pregnancies, I’ve been proven wrong.  Very wrong.  And I am here to attest that the nesting instinct is alive and well. 

It started for me back in June.  I had just finished a seven hour drive from North Carolina back to DC – just me and the kids.  I was exhausted.  I unloaded the car, got the kids situated with a show, and then, instead of unpacking or relaxing or checking the mail or starting the kids’ dinner, I decided it was the perfect moment to update Casey’s baby book.   I spent 45 minutes cutting out pictures and filling in information about his first birthday party.  Yes, it had to be done that minute. 

That was my first hint that the nesting was being kicked into overdrive.  

Memorializing a Family of Four + a GIVEAWAY!

These past few weeks I have felt overwhelmed by nostalgia for our cozy little family of four.  Soon, there will be five of us.  And while that is great, and wanted, and will make life all the more interesting and amazing, I feel it's okay to get sentimental about the loss of what is right now.  The four of us.  Just us.

I've been wanting to get family pictures done for a couple of years now, but I just haven't gotten around to it. Once I got pregnant, I figured it would just make sense to wait until after the baby was born - after all, any family of four photos would soon need to be replaced by family of five photos. But then, a few weeks ago, a local photographer (Anna Carson Dewitt) reached out to me to see if I was interested in doing a complimentary photo shoot and giveaway on my blog (view her website here).  Given my nostalgia and sentimentality and pregnancy hormones generally, I jumped at the opportunity.

We did the photo shoot a couple of weeks ago and got the photos back a few days later.  Anna did a phenomenal job.  Of course, she did have some cute subjects to work with...

These two boys... brothers.  Soon another one will join their clan.  But for now, for today, they are two peas in a pod.

They love each other so much, even if they don't show it all the time.  And knowing that they have each other, with the inevitable shift in my attention in a couple of months time, is a relief.  And a gift.

Today, these boys are my babies.  My everything.

And today, I feel like luckiest person in the world.

I love my family of four.

But it will only get better...

I'm so glad I have these photos to memorialize this "in between" time in my family's life.  Perhaps once my pregnancy hormones go away I can manage to look at them without crying!

And now for the giveaway...

One lucky reader in the DC area will be able to experience Anna's talent firsthand!  Anna is giving away a 60 minute photo session, with 30-50 digital images for you to keep!  To enter the giveaway, please do two things:

1) Like my Facebook page (click here), if you haven't already AND
2) Leave a comment either here or on my Facebook page with your email address.

I will select a winner at random, and the giveaway will close on Tuesday, September 24th at midnight.

Good luck!

Keep Thine Head Down

My last ultrasound was at 24 weeks pregnant (about six weeks ago).  At that time, my wee one was sitting pretty in the transverse position - head at my right side, feet at my left side.  NOT the prime, head down, ready to birth position.  I didn't think much of it at the time.  But as the weeks have gone by, and I have continued to feel the kicks at my left side, and a big hard ball at my right side, I have started to get a little concerned.  Is this baby going to be breech?

Here ye, here ye, I will not have a c-section (the method of delivery for a breech baby).  I simply WILL NOT.

It's not that I'm so against a c-section in theory.  It's just that I've already had two pregnancies, with two head down babies, with two uncomplicated vaginal births.  I know what it's like to go through that kind of pain, and to mess up things down there.  I am prepared, yet again to go through pain and mess up things down there.  

I shouldn't be going through new things this pregnancy.  This pregnancy should be straightforward and standard.  The three hour gestational diabetes test was change enough.  No c-sections. No complications.  No thank you.

Just as it Starts to Get Easier...

I don't know if I write about it enough, but being a stay at home mom is HARD work.  I'm not saying it's harder or easier than working, or doing anything else.  But in and of itself, it is a hard and exhausting job.

I have found that the level of difficulty ebbs and flows according to a number of factors.  Age of child is probably the most important one.  0-4 months is very difficult, 4-9 months is easier, then it gets difficult again as the child gets mobile, with the level of difficulty peaking around 18 months - 2 years of age, particularly if said child is what I like to call a "runner."  In my experience, things start to get calmer around age 4, and after that, I can't tell you.  I'm still living it.  

Having two children only further complicates things, as you are dealing with different ages, and different levels of difficulty, at the same time.  My kids tend to yo yo off of each other in terms of who gives me the most trouble.  For a long while there it was Braden (see post about his hitting phase) - he gave me a serious run for my money for a year or so, until he slowly became cooperative, accommodating, and the most loving kid in the whole world (see post about the sweet nothings he whispers into my ear).  Casey, on the other hand, was our "angel" baby, until he wasn't anymore (see post about his transition from angel child to slight terror).  He hasn't yet grown out of this "terror" stage, and his terror is now, sadly, directed at other children who dare to come within two feet of a toy he has claimed as his own.  But generally, he is getting more manageable.  He is no longer a runner, he sometimes follows direction, and overall he's just a joy, so I can ignore the other stuff.  

The boys' first official day of school was today.  It was anticlimactic, really.  No tears.  No separation anxiety.  Just hugs and goodbyes and anticipation.  Their new schedule means that I have my mornings to myself - from 8am-11am.  Three whole hours.  It is the first time in five years that I haven't had anyone to answer to for a regular, set time period.  To say it is freeing is an understatement.  I can go to a doctor's appointment without worrying about child care.  I can watch the Today show.  I can get some work done.  I can play the suburban housewife and shop at Target and get my nails done.  Or I can just lay in bed for a couple of hours.  The luxury of it all!

Sugar Fail

I hate failing tests.  Especially when they involve gross sugary drinks and needles and blood draws.

I heard the news this morning.  I FAILED the most annoying test in the course of a pregnancy - the one hour glucose tolerance test.  And what reward do I get for FAILING this test?  Yet another test!  Three hours long!  (Plain english translation - there's a small possibility that I have gestational diabetes - further testing is required).

First, lets go over the joys of test #1 (which I FAILED).  At around 26 weeks, we pregnant ladies get to chug a ridiculously disgusting sugary drink, that sits like a pit in the bottom of our stomachs. Then we get to wait, exactly one hour, in a gross and overcrowded medical lab, and get blood taken.  Then, some of us, I don't know, like myself, reward ourselves afterwards with a cheeseburger and fries.  (I was craving salt).  Approximately 80% of us will pass this test and never look back.

That means 20% of us aren't so lucky.

I have done this test twice before, one with each previous pregnancy, and passed.  I assumed this time would be no different.  In fact, yesterday, as I was chugging down my sugary drink, I took solace in one thing, which I confirmed with my OB:  So assuming this test goes well, is this the last time I have to get blood drawn during this pregnancy?  

Why yes it is!  he told me.

Why, oh why did I ask that question?  I jinxed myself right there.

Old and Pregnant and Sober at a Bachelorette Party

Pregnancies always seem to be ill timed with major events - perhaps because in a nine month period, there are inevitably some.  But this pregnancy, there is a major, major event - my younger sister's wedding.

One of my first thoughts when I got the positive pregnancy test was - will this conflict with my sister's wedding?  Thankfully, no.  I will be 34 weeks pregnant when my sister gets hitched.  I will be a fat, sober bridesmaid, but I will be there.  Huge sigh of relief.  

But I will also be fat and sober for the events leading up to the wedding as well, one such event being this weekend - the bachelorette party.  

As my sister's maid of honor, I was in charge of organizing the bachelorette party and corresponding shower. I took on this responsibility with excitement - after all, I am a planner.  I invited all of my sister's friends, booked hotel rooms in Chapel Hill, NC, made dinner reservations, and picked out shower invitations.  I have to say, it was fun!  

But as the bachelorette party approached, reality hit me - I am old, pregnant, fat, and sober.  In a college town.  At a bachelorette party.  

First the old.  

What This Pregnant Girl Fantasizes About

This is going to take a bit of imagination (and an appreciation for science fiction).  But bear with me.

Scientists have invented a pill for pregnant women.  It's a special pill that only works for 24 hours, and in those 24 hours pregnant women can do whatever they want without hurting their fetus. Aka, they can drink whatever they want, eat whatever they want, and sit in a hot tub for as long as they damn well please.  All pregnancy side effects cease on this day, as well - no aches and pains, no constipation, no reflux.  The pill can be taken any time in the pregnancy - beginning, middle, and end, and it is entirely up to the woman.  No side effects.  Just a day off.

This pill has resulted in a cultural phenomenon in modern society - the pregnancy party.  Much like a bachelorette party, or a "hen" party as they call them in the UK, pretty much all pregnant women have such a party (where they take their pregnancy pill).  It's a rite of passage, particularly for a first pregnancy.  (It's similar to weddings in that way - the first one is a super big deal, and subsequent ones are a bit more toned town.  Aka, it's bad taste to make people travel and spend a ton of money on more than one pregnancy party in your honor).  

These pregnancy parties run from tame to wild.  Some women, who never really drank in the first place and have always kept a vegan diet, simply have the equivalent of a modern day baby shower.  Cake, punch, presents (boring).  Other women take it to the other extreme.  They go out on the town with personalized t-shirts and tiaras and slutty outfits with their big bellies hanging out. They walk around with an entourage and are loud, obnoxious, and drunk.  If you're out at a nice restaurant, and see such a group walk in, you want to leave immediately.  Ugh, another one of those wild pregnancy parties, you say.

Outdoor Showers

I love taking a shower outside.  It's always been one of the staples of my Cape Cod vacations.  In the house that we rented the past few years, there was a FANTASTIC enclosed outdoor shower - brand new with nice tan wood, a shelf for the shampoo/soap, and a hook a safe distance away for the towel so it didn't get wet.  It was as clean as an outdoor shower could be.  I took every shower out there, and relished my time in "nature."  There really is nothing as refreshing as stepping out from an outdoor shower and having a nice warm breeze wash over you.

This year, we rented a different house in Cape Cod.  We arrived on Saturday, and are loving it - it is spacious, secluded, has cable TV in all the bedrooms, and even has central A/C (a rarity in the Cape). But there's one downside...  Though there is an outdoor shower, it's not enclosed.  It's a "naked" outdoor shower, so to speak.  No walls, no hook, no shelf.  Bare bones.  Here it is:  

I figured that my days of outdoor showering on the Cape were over.  But yesterday, right after the rain cleared out, I had an urge.  Why can't I take an outdoor shower?  I thought.  I mean, come on, we're in the woods!  Who's going to walk in our backyard?  Why should I deny myself this luxury?  

Halfway

This week marked the halfway mark of my third pregnancy.  20 weeks down, 20 weeks to go.

It hasn’t gone by fast. 

If this third pregnancy has solidified anything for me, it’s that I don’t like being pregnant.  It’s not that it’s awful per se, and I am so very grateful that so far this pregnancy has been complication free.  It’s just that apart from the whole miracle of birth and the kicks that I’m starting to feel (which I do love), it’s not that much fun.  It’s a denial of things I would normally indulge in (oh margaritas and raw oysters, how I miss you).  It’s an overindulgence of food and desserts to make up for the denial of my normal indulgences, resulting in a steady weight gain that I swore wouldn’t happen to me this pregnancy.  It’s a welcome of all too familiar discomfort – of not being able to sleep on my stomach, of heartburn, of back pain, of headaches I can’t cure with advil.  It’s the dawn of a new kind of anxiety – a kind I had forgotten about – where you pray and beg the weeks to go by until your baby is viable, until his lungs are developed, until he weights more and more – so God forbid, should you deliver early, he will be okay. 

Notwithstanding the fact that I’ve been through this before and I know what’s to come (aka, my life won't be all that easy upon giving birth either), I find myself breaking a cardinal rule of mine and living outside of the moment; of counting down the weeks.  Only 20 weeks left to go, was my mantra throughout much of this week.  Only 20 weeks until I get my body back, until I get my life back, until I am not pregnant anymore. 

Only I WON’T get my life back in 20 weeks.  My life, and the lives of my husband and family, will be forever changed.  It will be a positive change, about which I will someday say, “I can’t imagine I ever had a life before this little boy” – exactly what I say about my first two boys.  But the fact is, this life I have now, that I have gotten used to, embraced, and found comfort in, will never return to me. 

Crying Uncle with Antibiotics

It started over Memorial Day weekend with a scratchy throat.  I think I'm getting sick, I remember mentioning to my husband, as we drove back from New York.  I remember saying it out loud, just in case I needed to remember it for dating purposes, or in the rare instance of death (my husband could tell the coroner - She did say she wasn't feeling well.).  

Little did I know....

It morphed from a scratchy throat to a sore throat to a cough.  A bad, bad cough.  The kind of uncontrollable cough that kept my husband up at night and had me keeling over in involuntary fits and had my kids yelling, Stop it!!!  The kind of cough where I didn't cough hard enough to break a rib, but where it didn't seem so outlandish that people do.

After a week of this, I had had enough.  I went to the doctor.  Not the minute clinic, not my OB - my regular doctor.  I forget I have one of those every once in a while.  I usually only go once a year (if that) for my yearly check up.  Otherwise, I tough my illnesses out.  I am busy enough taking my kids to the pediatrician's office to ever take myself.

But this time was different.

Warning - Pregnant Lady Bitching

When I found out I was pregnant a couple of months ago I made a promise to myself not to turn this blog into a pregnancy rant.  I mean, who wants to read that?  For leisure?  I have stuck to it. Until today.

Allow me to bitch.  

1.  I REALLY WANT A GLASS OF RED WINE OR A MARGARITA OR A CORONA.  HELL, I'D EVEN TAKE A SHOT OF JAGER AT THIS POINT. 

Look, I don't want to appear to be an alcoholic.  But as some of you long time blog readers will know, I really enjoy a glass of wine or two.  Not just for the nice relaxing buzz it gives, but also for the taste of it.  The feel of it.  The aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh you get after a long day and you finally get to sit down.  As far as beverages go, for me it's a staple.  

Fine, I get it, I'm pregnant, inx-nay on the wine.  But with this nice weather and vacation coming and walking past people sitting in sidewalk cafes having cocktails... I am getting a major hunkering for a margarita.  Or a nice cold beer.  Or something that indicates celebration and summer and adulthood and the chance to numb my stresses if only for a few minutes.  And the fact that I CAN'T have it, that I SHOULDN'T have it,  that it's PROHIBITED just makes me want it more in an almost frantic, psycho way.  

Placing an Order

When one gets pregnant, one of the first thing one is asked by friends, family, co-workers, and random belly touching strangers is:  So what do you want?  A boy or a girl?  

It's almost like placing an order in a restaurant. Yes, I'll have a boy this time, please.  As if we have any say in the matter.

Most people will play the game, though most will answer coyly - It doesn't matter to me, as long as the baby is healthy.  (As if we won't love our children if they aren't healthy, but that's a topic for another day).

This is generally a lie.  Usually there is some kind of gender preference.  And I haven't conducted any research on this, but from what I can tell, in America today, that gender preference is generally for girls.

Why?  The typical reasons are draped in gender stereotypes: Girls are so much calmer than boys. Boys are wild.  Girls clothes are so much more fun!  Boys clothes are boring.  Girls will stay close with their families.  Boys will stray.  Girls will be their mother's best friend (eventually).  Boys will never talk to their mothers (eventually).  Girls will share their emotions, express their love, and show vulnerability.  Boys will be aloof and cold and strong.  Girls are sweet.  Boys are rough. Snips and snails and puppy dog tails.

I certainly felt the pull for a girl.  Coming from an all girl family, for my first child, if I were placing an order, I would have ordered a girl.  When I found out it was a boy, I wasn't upset per se, but I wondered what it would be like.  What am I going to do with a boy?  I thought.  Eventually I got used to, and embraced, the idea.  I went crazy for blue bedding and baby suspenders and figured I could do all the frilly stuff with my next child.

Hello from...

In the midst of everything else going on lately, I neglected to mention the fact that we were going on vacation...

Today, I write to you from Disney World.  Well, actually, I write to you from a pitch black hotel room where I am sitting in silence while Casey naps.  But, that's how it goes.

I did a post on our last trip to Disney World where I chronicled our Disney trips over the years, starting with a trip with just my husband, then a trip with Braden, and then our last trip, with Braden and Casey.  I ended it by saying: "Who knows what our next Disney trip will bring?"

Well, it brought two boys more excited for the flight than Disney World itself:

It brought RAIN (ugh), ponchos, and rides on Dumbo.

It brought meet and greets with Mickey.

It brought family photo attempts, with swords weilding.

And it brought a growing belly (seriously, it's out of control).

We have two days left to make some more Disney memories until we are back to reality.  Until then, I shall bask in the Disney magic.  Who doesn't love Disney World? (Don't answer that.)

Two Secrets

I've never been a good secret keeper.  In fact, I'm pretty damn awful at it.

But since March 6, I've been keeping a really big secret.  

On the evening of March 6, my husband and I were up late packing for a road trip to Cincinnati to visit my best friend.  We were a bit tipsy - we always crack open a bottle of wine before a trip, to make the packing a bit more entertaining.  I was in the bathroom packing up my toiletries, when I glanced under the sink and saw a package of pregnancy tests.  I honestly don't know WHAT enticed me to take one.  Sheer curiosity?  Tipsy-ness?  The fact that I was sure to be tipsy during my weekend away?  

I don't know, because we certainly weren't planning anything pregnancy related that month.  But for some reason, I took it.  And this happened: