The Courage behind “Congratulations”

Sometimes even good things hurt.

My husband always reminds me “perception is reality.”  This is something I’ve thought about a lot.  It helps me remember the world doesn’t revolve around me. And it encourages me to not assume I understand how other people feel, or why they do and say the things they do.  But it also helps me find peace in my anxiety, as I over-analyze and try to apply my own experiences to someone else’s.  In the end, our experiences are our own, only our own- even when shared.  They are perceived through our own lens- our own perspective.  And they become our truth. 

I don’t know if you’re aware- but we’re in standing in the middle of a very large, very pregnant, “Baby Wave”. 

A “Baby Wave” is what many people call a period of time when it seems like everyone and their mother, (forgive me…I couldn’t resist) is pregnant and/or having babies.  It’s remarkable really. And it’s beautiful.  This phenomenon (I believe it’s phenomenal anyway) has the potential to create an instant bond between women, as they symptom-swap and exchange battle stories of past pregnancies.  Then one by one, they give birth to their beautiful little ones, and the cycle resets.  Then all is calm, until the next wave.

“Don’t drink the water!” is a joke commonly heard during these wave-times, exchanged between individuals who are not looking to join the preggo-club for a variety of reasons.  It’s a happy time full of wonder, swollen bellies, and hope. 

But there are some women- who aren’t making jokes.  Who quietly smile on the sidelines through the “Oh my gosh! When are you due?!” conversations.  The women who would give anything to drink the water, no matter how bitter the taste.

It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge that there can be pain even in the most beautiful times.  Especially when that pain is selfish, and that pain is our own.

So, in the interest of being transparent, here is my perception/reality: 

(hold on folks- it’s going to be a long, bumpy ride!  Go ahead and take your phone with you if you need to take a potty break. I won’t judge.)

I was naïve, 21 years old, and about to begin completing my three required internships to become an elementary school teacher. (spoiler alert: I never actually ended up teaching elementary school.) My husband and I didn’t have a real “plan”- but we’d been married two years and deeply desired to start a family.  Summer seemed ideal timing for a having a baby within my teaching schedule.  And so our journey began!

“Aunt Flo” was late that very first month- and I took a test. It was negative.  I cried.  A lot.

The next day I came home to flowers brightening our, tiny, dingy (seriously disgusting… but cheap) apartment; and my husband telling me he would love me no matter what.  My period still hadn’t arrived, and he convinced me to take another test. I did so grudgingly- and left it on the bathroom counter to process while I laid on the couch in despair.  (I wish I could say I became less dramatic with age, but it would taste like a lie.)

The next thing I knew- my husband was whooping and hollering for joy as he came bounding out of the bathroom to come shower me in kisses.  It was positive! We were having a baby!  For the next nine months, I felt like I was glowing.  I felt set-apart. I have never known as much joy as I did in then.  There were a lot of tears, but far more smiles, and I walked on clouds.  I was so proud- and so excited.

Pregnant with our first baby!

Four days past our due-date in June, we delivered our oldest- (a boy!) via Cesarean Section at 9lbs 3oz.  I hadn’t progressed, 0cm dilated 0% effaced- without a single “real” contraction.  He was “sunny side up” (meaning his face was out toward the front of my belly instead of back toward my spine) and his head was lodged in my pelvis making progression unattainable. 

I didn’t handle the C-section well.  I was still only first-learning how to cope with the anxiety/depression cocktail that is my mental health, and had an anxiety attack on the operating table.  Technically, the surgery still went flawlessly, but emotionally, it sent me spiraling into a depressive state.  Because of my sensitivities, I struggled with the juxtaposition of pain and numbness that followed, and to hold my baby.  At times everything was dark, and I felt angry.  I was so tired.  I was in so much pain. And I just wanted it to end. 

Eventually I began to heal, and feel like my old self- but I was terrified to experience that feeling again. 

The pain faded, and my desire for a baby outweighed my fears.  When I was 23 (working as a Middle School Science teacher) my husband and I found ourselves planning for another baby!  We were aiming for May to maximize the amount of time I would be able to spend with the baby.  That first month I found myself in familiar circumstances.  My period was late, the test was negative.  I tried not to worry, because this had happened before, but the next day instead of flowers and a dance for joy like my first pregnancy- I broke into a new box of feminine products.  I wasn’t pregnant.

I braced myself for the storm.  There were tears- but I tried to put my circumstances into perspective. I realized it wasn’t realistic to expect a positive pregnancy test right away.  It was amazing that it happened the first time with my oldest, but I needed to practice patience. I knew better than to assume things would always go 100% according to plan. That particular lesson however was short-lived, as the following month found us reading two pink lines and expecting another June baby! 

Pregnant with baby number two!

My second pregnancy was a little more difficult than the first. I felt cautious.  I was happy- but I was also scared.  Over the last two years I had many friends who experienced miscarriages, birth defects, or other complications.  I felt convinced something was going to go wrong.  As the due-date came closer, I began to feel a little more calm, but still anxious about what was going to happen.  I walked and walked and walked, and two days before his official “due date”- I delivered our second little boy, 7lbs 4 oz, with a flawless VBAC delivery.  (Vaginal birth after cesarean.) 

It seemed my fears were unconfirmed, and I allowed myself to cling tightly to this new little life.

Two years later- I was feeling empowered after my positive VBAC experience. I had been feeling strongly about having another baby, and secretly hoping for a “surprise” pregnancy ever since my youngest self-weaned at 8 months.  I was just SO sure we had another little one ready to join our family, and I couldn’t wait to meet them.  So at the comfortable age of 25, my husband and I decided to aim for an April baby.  We joked that was how we would get another summer baby to compliment my teaching schedule. (Since it took 1 month with our first baby, 2 months with our second baby- it would probably take 3 months with our third baby, and we’d get all three of them in June!)

We played it cool, but after the third month irrational worry started to creep in.  I kept my fears to myself, because I knew with my anxiety I wasn’t being logical.  But as time passed- I started to internally panic, and it became harder to keep to myself.  I asked a few close friends and family members to pray for us, but still no baby.  I felt guilty for mourning each month.  I felt I didn't have a real right to complain after having it "easy" with my first two.  After 6 months we decided to take a break.  My niece had be diagnosed with Morquio (MPS IV-A), and my husband was going to have some genetic testing done before we continued trying to conceive.  We couldn't afford IVF, so I was terrified a positive result would mean postponing having another baby indefinitely.  Thankfully- his tests came back clear- so we resumed our baby-trying.  Everything always seemed to work out just right for us. Except, no baby.  I couldn't wrap my head around it.

I went to the doctor who ran some standard blood work, but assured me I was young, and because we had two successful pregnancies before “the plumbing worked”.  I offered an uncomfortable courtesy-laugh at his joke, but I didn’t feel like it was very funny.  He told me I shouldn’t be concerned.  It had been a year since we started “trying” for baby #3, but because we had taken a short break- I didn’t qualify for additional fertility tests, and he was confident I didn’t need them.  In fact, I was told that pursuing unnecessary tests could actually hurt my chances of conceiving so it was best to just keep trying and waiting.  “Next time I see you, you’ll be pregnant!” he told me.  I smiled hesitantly in my paper gown and waited for the room to clear so I could get dressed.

I was 26 by now.

And then I was 27.

I was struggling.

I watched the baby waves ebb and flow.  I told myself to relax.

Everyone told me to relax.

• “You have two beautiful boys, be grateful for them.”
• “It will happen as soon as you stop trying.”
• “You haven’t been trying that long- just be patient.”
• “It will happen when you least expect it.”
• “I had real infertility, you’re not infertile.”
• “You’re so young, don’t rush it.”
• “It took us X amount of time to get pregnant, everyone is different.”
• “Two is a good number.”
• “So many people have it much harder, they never have a baby at all.”
• “Are you really trying? If you haven’t done XY&Z for ___ amount of time you’re not infertile, you’re just not trying hard enough.”

Truth blurred with doubt and I was miserable.  I began to spiral.  I hated my job.  I pushed my husband away.  I felt like an awful and unworthy mother, like I was neglecting the blessings I had been given by wishing for something more.  There was nothing physically wrong, so it had to all be in my head- which meant it was all my fault.  I became angry with myself, frustrated at the cycle of worry I had both created & become trapped in.  I tried to remind myself that my children needed me.  I told myself I was being selfish.  I pushed myself to wake-up, get dressed, and do the things I was supposed to do.  I all-but invested in stock for home pregnancy tests, as month after month I peed on those stupid plastic sticks.  I'd forgive them quickly though, always convinced I was just testing too early, or that next month would be different.

I went to the baby showers.  I sat on the theoretical shore as a supportive, smiling face, for the passing baby waves- but I quietly hid the feeds of my pregnant Facebook friends.  Especially the ones who “Oh my gosh- we weren’t even trying!” 

It wasn’t their fault.  After all- I’d been there.  Both our previous babies were meticulously planned, but they had come so easily.  It can be surprising (and even scary!) when you get the news.  Surprising, scary, & exciting!  They wanted to share- and that was their right.

But here’s what I realized. 

Here’s where I remember that “perception is reality.”

That same beautiful moment, from a single pregnancy announcement, has been shared, copied, and even tainted.  While the emotion of happiness surrounding that experience is genuine & overwhelming, the ripples through perception are not uniform.  My lens of unfulfilled dreams took my ripple of joy and welcoming for this new life, and laced it with pain.  The news was full of light, but also shadows of bitterness. 

These moments aren’t fair.  But they are real.  They are individual, and they are all valid.

In the beginning of 2016, I decided to quit my teaching job, and work from home as a LuLaRoe consultant.  I wanted something flexible & low-key so I could focus on myself, and my little family.  I joined a gym- and began making time for the things I enjoyed.   I was making peace.  At the time I was preoccupied with the life-changes I was making, and to my surprise- just as everyone suggested of course- I finally got pregnant! A year and a half since our journey’s start to baby #3, but only one month after deciding to take this crazy leap of faith, we were finally expecting! 

My third pregnancy.  My three year old was the photographer- hence the cropped head.

“Expecting” is such an appropriate word for pregnancy.  Hopes and dreams are immediately whirled into action as quickly as those two pink lines appeared on the home pregnancy test.  I had expectations, and these particular expectations had been under construction for a long time.

Unfortunately, the foundation wasn’t quite set.  Our baby girl was diagnosed with Trisomy 18 (also known as Edwards Syndrome) and after 17 long, heart-wrenching weeks of pregnancy filled with tests, fear, and unanswered questions, we lost the heartbeat.  I delivered her tiny unfinished body on my oldest son’s 5^th birthday.

They say when you can talk about something without crying, you’ve healed. 

I’m not quite there yet, but it's happening slowly.  I’d like to write a post someday about everything that miscarriage has taught me, but not today.

That Fall, after a couple of familiar disappointing months, we experienced a “chemical pregnancy”.  The pregnancy test was positive on a Monday, and I began bleeding on Saturday.  I had two  LuLaRoe “pop-up” boutiques that day.  In the morning I prayed it was some kind of harmless spotting.  I pushed through the party, unwilling to believe that I could really be miscarrying again.  But the bleeding didn't stop. I took a pregnancy test on my lunch break, and it was negative, so I knew the pregnancy had not been viable long.  I smiled, and laughed and complimented ladies as they tried on clothes that made them feel beautiful while I was falling apart from the inside out. 

Every loss is significant, but to me, it just felt like one long, painful blur.  This would have been another summer baby.

It’s been almost 3 years since we first started trying for baby number 3.  Many of the ladies I surfed the “baby waves” with during my first two pregnancies have since had another little one.  Many of them had the sweetest most beautiful little girls. It's so strange to feel so happy for someone else while still feeling so sad for yourself.  Sometimes I worry my sadness is blemishing their happiness, but I'd like to think it has the opposite effect.  Seeing those little ones reminds me of hope- and that good things happen.  It stings to watch with empty arms- but my heart still feels full. I scoop up my own little ones and hold them a little tighter.

This week I went to Walmart with my youngest to search for some coordinating clothing for my men-folk because we had family pictures coming up.  I decided to do some light grocery shopping while I was there, and I was in the bread aisle when the modern marvels of technology delivered the news that another one of my friends was pregnant by surprise, one of the friends who had two children the same ages as mine, but also already had a gorgeous little girl since. I kept my composure & continued shopping for about ten minutes before breaking down in front of the Oreos.

The right thing is to say “Congratulations!” when something good happens to someone else. 

But what do you say when your heart aches, and the words feel hollow?  What do you do when their something good is your nothing?

You sob in the middle of Walmart like a crazy person while an old man awkwardly tries to get to the Nilla Wafers behind you.  You take a deep breath and let yourself feel everything for just that moment.  You wipe your tears and realize that there’s an appropriate time and an inappropriate time to share your heart.  You remember the times when good things have happened to you too.  You remember life isn’t fair, and that’s ok.  You choose to make room for happiness right beside the sadness in your heart.  There’s room for both.  You acknowledge that this is their moment, and you will have your own turn in your own way to interpret those ripples and process your own residual experience.  Even if it isn’t when, or how you thought it would or “should” be.

You take courage, and find strength in the face of grief.

You say “Congratulations!”

My sweet boys playing at Grandma's house this weekend. 

Working on Staying at Home- Guest Post by Robyn

" Stay at home mom. "

          For some, this term brings up feelings of guilt at having to be a working mom, for others it may bring up feelings of confusion as to how someone could “sit at home” all the time, and for yet others it is simply the term used to describe what they are. 

The decision on whether to be a stay at home mom or a working mom is a very difficult one to make. No matter which decision you choose to make, there are judgments cast against you. Working moms are criticized for not being around to raise their children, for not being home enough. People say things like, “I don't know how you do it.” or “How could you leave your baby?” Stay at home moms are criticized for not helping to provide for their families and for sitting around all day doing nothing. People question how you don't get bored or joke about how nice it must be to have so much free time. The truth is, there are sacrifices to be made in either decision, and they are sometimes very hard ones to make.

            When I had my first son, there was no question; I was staying home with him for as long as I could. I stayed with him for nineteen exhausting and amazing months. It was a very tight, difficult time for my family, but I absolutely cherish every second I was able to spend with him, and in many ways they were the best nineteen months of my life. My son and I bonded in such a special way that I just don't think would have been possible had I spent all of those days at work rather than with him. Sometime towards the end of those months, though, my husband and I decided it would be best for everyone if I went back to work. We wanted to buy a house, so the money would be nice, and I needed to do something “useful” for my own sense of self worth. Going back to work was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I cried for weeks beforehand, and every time I dropped my son off to daycare for almost a year. I felt so guilty that I was spending more time at work than with my child and that someone else was essentially raising my child instead of me. Every bad habit that was brought home from daycare, and every new thing he learned was a reminder that someone else had more influence on him than I did.

           Shortly after I started working, my husband and I got pregnant with our second child. I was so excited, but with that also came the dread of telling the superiors at my job. Being a teacher to middle school children, I did not have the pleasure of hiding my pregnancy or breaking the news in my own way. My students were kind enough to call me out in class one day, something along the lines of, “Are you pregnant? You used to be really skinny and now you're not.” Thanks so much for noticing. By the way, I was only about eight weeks along. Fortunately, a lot of teachers are women so schools seem to be pretty understanding and accepting of pregnancies. It wasn't very long before the gossip started, though. While walking through the office one day, I overheard two coworkers talking about me and how they were certain I wouldn't come back to work after the baby was born, saying, “It must be nice to have money like that, wish I could just stay home”. This sort of judgment has never made sense to me. Lets face it, unless you are in someone's everyday life, you have no idea what their finances are or what sacrifices might be being made to make something happen.

            My second son was born in September. I stayed home for 8 weeks, though I received some grief for that from a few coworkers, including an email that was highlighted and done in bold stating the average maternity leave is only 6 weeks. I knew before he was born that I wanted to stay home with him for at least his first year. For various reasons, I returned to work after my 8 weeks off, with the intent of only staying for 5 weeks. I enjoy my job, but I enjoy being a mom more. I have come to the conclusion that it is impossible to give your all to both your job and your children. In the end, one or both ends up suffering. The hardest part about my decision to once again be a stay at home mom, was giving my resignation.

            I don't care how old you are, the principal is scary. Having only worked at my school for a little over a year, I did not know my principal well, other than that she did not go out of her way to talk to me, and she made me nervous any time she did. I decided the best thing for my nerves would be to send a resignation letter via email. Call me a coward if you like, but it was much easier that way. Much to my surprise, my principal was not only very understanding of my decision, but during one conversation she told me that in twenty years I will look back and know that I made the right decision. In another conversation she suggested that I could return to my job when my kids were in school, and in yet another she told me I was welcome back any time I like and asked if I would be willing to substitute once in a while.

            It has been three weeks since my return to stay at home mom status, and in so many ways it is different than the first time I held that title. I do not get to spend hours just gazing upon the face of my little baby, and I do not get to spend all day laughing and playing with my little boy. Life with two children is a little more chaotic than with just one. But it is also that much more beautiful. I have the pleasure of watching my boys interact, which can be one of the most heart wrenching, amazing things I have ever seen. I get to watch my sons grow and learn each and every day. I really don't believe a day goes by that I am not amazed by my toddlers intelligence, compassion, sense of humor, and imagination. The baby gets bigger by the minute I think, and is learning and talking and becoming his own little person as well.

            While I am sure at some point, perhaps even multiple times, during my time as a stay at home mom, I will feel unappreciated or useless or invaluable. See, we as moms are very hard on ourselves over everything. I am not sure that we can help it. As I have felt in the past, I am sure I will have pangs of guilt when I am spending money that I did not earn, or doing something fun with the kids while my husband is at work. Then I will remind myself, or likely my husband will remind me, that I am valuable and I do have a purpose and my job is important.

Milestone Monday- Caps and Gowns

I was eighteen and cruising in the car with one of my best friends from high school- Andrea Gill.  Approximately T-2 hours until graduation.  I was wearing the light pink dress I had insisted I "needed" to wear under my cap and gown. (We were supposed to wear white but when Walmart proved unfruitful, light pink was the next best thing.  Because obviously wearing a white shirt and tan skirt or something practical from home that I already owned was not acceptable.)

I was sitting in the front seat painting my nails a light pink while Andrea glanced anxiously down- eyes darting between the bottle of polish in my hand to her car's (then) pristine interior.  I guess the nail painting wasn't entirely necessary, but they needed to match the dress that would ultimately basically remain unseen the two times I wore it (as it was covered by my forest-green graduation robe) and the rest of the time it hung in the back of my closet until it's relocation to Good Will.

In a few minutes my nails were done and we resorted to trying on our caps and dancing while "I'm Bringing Sexy Back" by Justin Timberlake blasted through the car.  Occassionally we'd pass another car full of almost-graduates and we'd laugh and point at each other from beneath our cardboard caps. We thought we were so cool.  We were on top of the world.

I remember high school fondly.  I had an amazing group of friends with similar standards and goals.  It was full of after-school clubs and performances, late nights on AIM, sleepovers with philosophical conversations where we all ultimately agreed and couldn't understand why no one else could see how life was so simple.  We had drama- both the Shakespeare kind and the regular teenage-brand; but the arguments were generally short-lived and our laughter was commonly heard both on and off campus.

Here some of my friends and I sit during lunch in the round concrete courtyard called "The Dogbowl" after our bull dog mascot.  We called this spot "The Wall".  I'm the one rocking the pink skirt and black high-tops.  P.S.  Yes that's an old-school flip-phone, but it isn't mine. I wasn't that cool.

Near the end of my senior year I remember some of my friends becoming anxious and withdrawn as college acceptance letters arrived and the countdown until graduation began.  I didn't understand what the big deal was.  What could possibly change?  These people were my life.  They knew me better than anyone else.

Yeah...that's us.  I'm the super immature one in the back climbing on Lindsey's back.  You can see my pink-shoed leg peeking through the front.  (Pink has never been my favorite color but this blog post sure makes it seem otherwise...lol)  I actually wore those pink converse to graduation- but someone caught me and made me switch with one of the spectators who was wearing white shoes.  I didn't even know the other girl and I had to wear her shoes... it was weird.  Then I had to go to the school the next day to pick up my shoes from one of the girls in choir who agreed to hold them for me.  I guess I drove home barefoot?  That doesn't make sense... I'm sure I was wearing shoes.  Maybe the white shoes belonged to the choir girl and we just traded? Man... it hasn't been long enough for me to forget so much has it?  Also this is way too long for a caption but oh well.

I met graduation warmly and excitedly.  I remember it in tidbits.  Andrea and I got there early because we had to sit in the front- since we were in the choir and would be singing the national anthem.  I graduated with honors- summa cum laude (Not to brag... ok maybe to brag a little.)  It seemed to last forever.  Going first means you get all the fun exciting parts over with right away and you spend the rest of the time clapping and acting happy for all the other people in your graduating class as they stomp across the stage.  Our school had placed little tiny rolls of crepe paper under our seats for us to throw when graduation was over.  I guess they didn't really explain it every well though because half the people had thrown their crepe paper before graduation was even officially over.  My friend Jeff was valedictorian but I don't remember his speech.  Andrea was dating him at the time.  I wonder if she remembers his speech?  The salutatorian mentioned cookies in his speech- but that's all I remember of that one too. hah

After graduation I couldn't find my family.  We were supposed to meet at Cracker Barrel but they had some car trouble and needed to go straight home.  I sat at Carrabas with Andrea and Jeff and their families instead and waited for one of my parents to swing back around and get me.  Sitting there with my friends- not hugging my family and posing for pictures with my diploma- things felt pretty normal.

There was no defining "moment" where I realized I was about to move onto the next phase of my life.  At some point... I just looked back and realized it had.

This picture was taken with some of my closest high school friends over the Christmas break after our graduation.  I remember it being such a bitter-sweet reunion.  My friend Alyssa made us all mix CD's and I listened to it in the minivan as my mom drove me back to college and I bawled my eyes out so sad to leave my friends.

I was only at college for a few months when I met my future husband.  I graduated high school in May 2007 and by November 2008 I was married.  My life was suddenly on fast-track.  The people had once known me so well quickly began to slip and fade out of my life as Brandon and I began our new life together.  It was a hard transition for me.  None of my friends were married.  They didn't quite know how to react.  I didn't quite know how to react either.

Suddenly I wasn't coming "home" every break.  We weren't having sleepovers or talking for hours late at night on the phone.  I was more concerned with figuring out how exactly you cook a casserole and how to be more responsible when washing my loads of white laundry because now they were "our" loads of white laundry and my husband was slightly more affected by a pink-tinged wardrobe than I would be.

Eventually I began to make new friends.  Friends with the people in my classes, friends with other young married couples at church.  The hurtful comments many of my high school friends had made when hearing about my young engagement began to fade and I focused on getting my degree- and in a couple of years starting a family.

Soon... sooner than I think I had expected- it was time to graduate again.  This time I had earned a Bachelors of Science degree in Elementary Education.  I was graduating with honors again- (only cum laude this time... lol) but this time I wasn't jumping at the bit to find the perfect outfit for under my graduation robe.  In fact I had considered not even walking at all.  I had so many other things on my mind.  (The fact that I was 8 months pregnant with my first child was one of them) But my husband Brandon pushed for me to go ahead and walk.

As I think back to that time- I consulted a blog entry I had written about the experience.  Below I've recounted parts of that post with a couple of additions.

I met the evening of Cinco de Mayo by putting on some nice church clothes, and gingerly placing my black cap and gown over top of them.  I had only tried them on for the first time the night before, despite the fact that I'd had them for an entire week.  I think part of me was afraid they wouldn't fit over my protruding belly.  lol I seriously felt in a daze.  When we got to the St. Pete Forum (the USF Sundome where graduations are usually held is under construction.) I was immediately surrounded by a feeling of excitement and joy.

But those feelings weren't my own.  I wasn't feeling excitement or joy.  I was in a daze.  So much had happened in the past four years.After all that hard work, all the confusion, all the cramming before tests, all the classmates I'd worked with, and all the late-night tears as I tried to figure out how in the world I was going to not only register for all the classes I needed, but PASS them as well....it was over.

I couldn't find any pictures from my actual college graduation- but this is the week before at the graduation ceremony for the honors teacher-training program I was in at the university.  My belly seems deceivingly small front-on like this but let me assure you it was pretty big at this point.

It couldn't be over.  I was about to have a baby!  I needed to get a job!  I'd been going crazy trying to make it there... what do you mean I actually did it? My entire life I've been snug inside some sort of "safety net"- whether it was my parents house, high school, a dorm room, or even just a four year college program.  And here they were handing me a pair of golden scissors, telling me it was time to snip a hole in that safety net.  Snip snip.

Slip through and join the "real world".  I wasn't ready... but ready or not- my college experience was officially over.

The ceremony didn't take too long- something I wasn't expecting after remembering the high school graduation that had seemed to drag on and on.  The speakers were brief and they went through names like Speedy Gonzalez on fast forward.  I chatted a little with my classmates, but mostly I just stared blankly around at everyone.  At the stage. At my peers.  At my lap.  The St. Pete Forum is where they play Tampa Bay hockey games, so they had covered the ice with some kind of thick foam flooring just for our graduation.  I took off my shoes and put my swollen pregnant lady feet on the ground and I could feel the cold seeping through.

When it was my turn to go on stage, I know I walked quickly.  I smiled- I shook hands- I posed for pictures.  (The pictures didn't trn out very good... lol I'm big and shiny and blinking.)

And at the end, after we turned our tassels to the other side- I threw my hate.  Just like in the movies.  Only like three people did-and I have to admit I almost knocked one of the deans in the head but I caught it just as she was walking by.  Smooth.  I think she understood because she just smiled and said "nice catch".  I quickly put it back on my head and pinned it back in place.  (one size fits all? really?) I felt like I needed to throw my cap.  As long as things were so surreal- why not add another little touch of "cliche" in there?

I had more than one person tell me that if they were as pregnant as I was they wouldn't have walked.  I don't know why.  Like I said before- I had considered not walking but it had nothing to do with being pregnant.  I just wasn't sure it was that big of a deal- but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't.  Just like I knew I'd regret it if I didn't throw my hat.  It was important to me that I go through the motions, to make it a little more real.  I went through my last semester and a half of college and two internships pregnant- I sure as heck wasn't going to let it stop me from walking across a stage.

I'm glad Brandon convinced me to walk.  I'm glad Graham (my oldest son) was "there" with me.  It was nice to have a little (well...big) reminder that I wasn't alone.  I couldn't see Brandon and his mom from where I was sitting, and my family and extended family were watching the graduation stream life online from their homes.  But it's nice to know that no matter where I go in this life... no matter what happens now that I've outgrown my "safety net"- I'm not alone.

Lessons from Lamb's Ears

 "€œWhy couldn'€™t I have been born with that infamous green thumb?"€ I wondered to myself. After all, it was certainly a family trait. Virtually everyone on my mother's side of the family was a gardening guru. I wondered why this knowledge had not been implanted in my brain at birth. While weeding in my garden, I had noticed that my lamb'€™s ears (which are my absolute favorite of all plants) were starting to brown and wither at the bottoms. I had marveled all summer at how much they had grown, now almost as tall as my azalea bushes. I had never seen lamb's ears grow that large, they were amazing! It surprised me to see that they seemed to be struggling as tall and glorious as they were.

I consulted a gardening friend who suggested to me that the plant might be getting too big for its root system to support. The only solution was to cut back the long stalks and remove some of the base plant. I am sure the look on my face expressed my feelings adequately. "I'€™m sorry, perhaps you
didn'€™t hear me. They are as tall as azaleas! They are amazing and beautiful, how could I ever cut them back?!" €œUm, okay. Gulp.
After delaying a bit I decided it was time to trim them back, knowing that it was the only way that I would save my lamb's ears, which were becoming increasingly brown and withered by the day. It was a sad sight, all those beautiful stalks laying in a pile on the ground, huge sections of lamb'€™s ear up-rooted and removed. What was once so beautiful now looked so pitiful. Ugh, what a mess. For a moment I contemplated reaching down and ripping up the whole plant, roots and all and just calling it quits. After all, the poor thing would probably die now anyway, might as well make it quick. I clenched my fists in frustration at the wreck that had once been my beautiful plant and then sighed. I turned and trudged into my house with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes. So much for Mother Nature knowing best! It seemed all that she did was pick and choose what could live and what would die and there was nothing that I, or anyone, could do about it. My interference certainly had done the plant no good; at least, that was how it appeared at the time.

My demolished flower bed seemed a perfect metaphor for the past year of my life. Like the lamb'€™s ears, I too had been cut and pulled and left alone. My lamb'€™s ears and I were now only shadows of our former selves. For about the eight hundredth time that year I wondered, "€œwhy"€?

As I sat on the floor in my bedroom, still donning my pair of gardening gloves, the memories of the past year came galloping back at me, uncontrolled, wild and in full stampede mode.

It had only been a few weeks before last Christmas when I had made that first trip to the hospital. I had already take notice of the fact that my five-month-pregnant belly was not as large as I would have expected, my appetite was no where to be found and I had not felt so much as a nudge from my little belly dweller. It wasn'€™t unheard of but for my fourth pregnancy, it was strange. When the bleeding started I knew, still I don'€™t think I'€™ll ever forget the fear I felt as the nurse struggled to
find my babies missing heart beat.

The ultrasound confirmed that our baby had died a few weeks earlier. I was sent to the hospital to deliver. I decided that I didn'€™t want to see the baby afterwards. I didn'€™t want to hold it. I didn'€™t want to know the gender. I didn'€™t want to know the weight or the time of---, time of what? Birth? Death? Delivery? It didn'€™t matter. I felt like knowing those things would only cause more pain.

 It was almost four in the morning when my theory was confirmed. The medication I had received after the delivery had helped me to sleep soundly and I awoke to an empty hospital room. Everyone had gone home. There was not a nurse in sight. Down the hall I could hear the sweet sounds of newborn babies crying out to their mothers. I desperately wanted to rip the IV from my arm and run full speed down the halls and out the doors, miles away from that room and from the pain. As I sat on the bed crying I noticed a small table covered with the flowers, cards and candy that my friends had left for me. Next to one of the vases was an unfamiliar yellow box, with a flower on the top. I wondered which of my friends had left that for me. I went over and opened it, only to find the unwanted answers to all my questions. I curled the tiny hospital bracelet around my fingers, trying to be angry at the nurse who had left that box, after I had made my wishes not to know anything about the baby clearly known. Instead of anger all I felt was overwhelming sadness.

As I left the hospital delivery room later that day I remember thinking, "€œthis just isn'€™t fair. I should leave with an empty belly or empty arms; I shouldn't have to leave with both."€ All that came home with me was my little yellow box with that tiny hospital bracelet and a little blue card, "€œBaby Boy Ramsey, delivered December 10th."

What followed was six long months of trying: trying to heal, trying to be normal, trying to get pregnant again and finally succeeding. The first seven weeks of my pregnancy were flawless, maybe a little too flawless. I felt absolutely perfect, normal, as if I weren't pregnant at all. Then the bleeding started again, the same way it had last time.

Again, I found myself on that drive to the hospital. I will never forget sitting at one particular stoplight. It was red, of course, another small delay on my seemingly endless drive, and truly the longest ten minutes I have ever spent. My stereo, as if feeling my surge of emotion, seemed to be speaking to me. All the sudden the lyrics of a favorite song, one I had heard a million times, were written for me, for this moment in my life: "€œI'€™m not okay. I'€™m not okay."€ How very appropriate I mused. I allowed a small and strained chuckle to escape at just how true those words were. I was most definitely not okay.
By the time I finally reached the doctor’s office I felt so dizzy I could hardly see. My entire mental energy was innately focused on keeping the room from spinning. I could hear the nurse but it sounded as if she was talking to me under water. "€œI'€™m so sorry dear, there is no heartbeat." No heartbeat. No heartbeat. Would I still have one when this was all over? Could I actually die from a broken heart?

 I tried not to look at my husband, though I would not have been able to see him through the tears even if I did. This could not be happening, not again. This had to be a dream. I hoped it was a dream.

 After all of this how could I possibly be back at this awful hospital, getting ready to go home with no baby? This time there would not even be a box; there would be nothing to have of my little precious baby except the emptiness I would feel without it. How much could my one little heart really take? How were we going to tell our other sweet children at home that the baby that they were so excited for was not coming after all? Why was this happening?

The two miscarriages were one day shy of seven months apart. For everyone around me, these two days would be entirely opposite in every way. For me, however, these days were marked with the same overwhelming sadness.

For weeks after the second loss I tried to focus on the good things. I had a wonderful husband and three beautiful, bright children. I had been assured, re-assured and overly assured that there was nothing wrong with me, that I was, by all accounts, normal and healthy. I had been given every pearl of wisdom ever collected and stored for these very circumstances: "€œYou are so blessed to have the children you have.", "€œYou are so young, there is plenty of time for you to have more babies."€, "€œThere is a time and season for everything."€, "€œMother nature knows best."€ These words, spoken with love and concern, and being quite true, still they did not console my aching heart. Truly what could they have said? Nothing short of, "€œoh I am so sorry, there has been a terrible mistake, your baby is just fine" was going to ease the sorrow.
Reminders stared me in the face from the cover of every magazine, every advertisement on the television, every novel and every film. Had there always been this many pregnant women roaming through the grocery store? I cringed at the image of times I had walked through the isles with my cart full of my fidgeting children, my pregnant belly a shining beacon in the eyes of some poor woman who had suffered a miscarriage, some aching heart that I wasn'€™t even aware of. The onslaught of emotions was overwhelming, not only sadness to cope with but also anger, frustration, envy and guilt.
I was angry for feeling so sad. How could the sadness of losing two babies that I never even met be so overwhelming that it clouded the happiness of raising the three healthy ones who were right there with me? At times, the emotions felt entirely overwhelming, like trying to swim with all of your
clothes on, seemingly impossible and yet somehow doable.

My mind was constantly engaged with questions that appeared to have no answers. What would happen now? Would I be able to get pregnant again and did I even want to? Would it just be followed by another devastating miscarriage? (For those who are curious, the answer was yes. We had a third miscarriage two months later.)  Now, sitting alone on my bedroom floor, tears streaming down my face I mourned my babies and my lamb's ears, two broken things that I could never put back together. I looked at my gloves, covered in dirt and thought of the baby that had been ripped away from me, the way I had just ripped away part of my lamb's ears. My stomach twisted and the back of my throat ached trying to contain the sobs from escaping my chest. I wondered if I would ever understand why these things happened.

It was not until a week or so later that I received an answer to that question. One day as I passed by my garden I started to notice the change in my lamb'€™s ears. They were gaining back their beautiful color; the leaves were reaching up and out, strong, vibrant and full. More startling still was what I found in the middle sections where whole parts of the plant had been removed. Little tiny buds were sprouting and reaching up for the sun. New life was forming in spite of what I had seen as insurmountable challenges. I had thought that removing part of the plant would mean the ultimate demise of its entire being. I was wrong. My lamb'€™s ear did not just decide it was not worth the effort and wither away. It did not turn away from the sun and stop absorbing water. It did what it was intended to do. It kept on growing, changing, becoming better. I had removed so much from it and yet, ultimately, it had to lose a part of itself in order to thrive and reach its full potential.

I too now felt prepared to overcome my personal tragedy. I found myself smiling again and recognizing things that I had learned. The loss I had suffered had given me new compassion and empathy for others, tender and soft like a new budding lamb'€™s ear. The tears I had shed helped build my  root system and reminded me of what I treasured most. When I finally let go of that painful part of my life, I was able to fill that space with something new and wonderful. In the end, my beautiful lamb'€™s ears grew even stronger than before, and so did I.

Six Sunny-Day Diaper Bag Items

Fun in the sun…

When I was little- I remember my stay-at-home-mom taking full advantage of the Florida Sun year round planning activities for my brothers and I.  We went to parks, the springs, lakes,  you name it!  We basically lived at the beach.  And for awhile- we even had SEASON PASSES TO DISNEY WORLD!!!!

I mean- holy cow. Can there be anything cooler when you’re a kid?  Methinks not.

{My brothers and I covered in fake snakes at Animal Kingdom- looking appropriately terrified.}

{This is when I was older and I actually had to save-up to go to EPCOT, but Disney never gets old. I'm the one on the right and my friend Skye is on the left- plus there's another TETO author Mandi in the middle.  We are so cool. She better not take this down.}

Now as a mother of my own- I work.  I lament not being able to attend playdates at the zoo, the splashpad, someone’s backyard.  When summertime finally rolls around I find myself sunken into my “me-shape” on the sofa and unwilling to get up for more than the occasional food/potty/toddler-screaming-and-needs-chocolate-milk-now break.  I’m sure a lot of this has to do with having a newborn. (That’s what I tell myself anyway) but either way I still feel pretty bad. 

My poor little toddler is corralled in our apartment watching the 1123^rd episode of Sesame Street streaming on Netflix for the 1123^rd time.  (At least he gets all the graham crackers he can eat…right?!)

Anyhow- we HAVE managed to get out of the house one or two times.  With two kids I’m finding it’s becoming even more important to really be prepared. 

When Graham was a newborn, I did the typical first-time-mom thing and went ALL-OUT with his diaper bag.  (I’m talking like five receiving blankets…kind of ridiculous.) By the time he was 18 months we were usually pretty good with an extra diaper and a thing of wipes shoved into my purse. 

During my pregnancy I found things started to be a little more difficult.  The first time I’d walked around the pregnancy block I didn’t have a toddler.  It is a totally different game.  The first time you’re tired because you’ve never done this before.  It’s all new.  Every ache, every discomfort, every flutter- it’s a big deal! And it’s exauhsting.  The second time around I worried less about whether or not my feet were swollen, and more about whether or not Graham was getting his basic food groups 4/7 nights a week. I worried less about my pregnancy-induced eczema and more about squeezing in those bedtime stories.  The second time around it’s not only about the baby in your belly- but it’s about the baby outside your belly too.  That leaves a lot less “about” for you.

But I’m getting off-track.  The point I’m trying to make, is that when I got pregnant we started to emphasize the preparedness factor again.  I needed more water- and Graham would see me drinking so of course he needed a drink too.  I walked a little slower so grocery-runs took a little longer and we needed some fruit-snack gummies to keep him occupied.  It took a little more time to get out the door, but once we were out, everyone was a LOT more happy.

Now that Xander is here, we’ve switched from an over-the-shoulder diaper bag to a backpack.  It’s nothing fancy (just the free one we got at the hospital) but can I tell you what a LIFESAVER it is having both arms free?!  This is especially true if Hubby isn’t around and I need to carry both boys. Amazing.

Now when we’re out and about, there are a few things this mama wouldn’t want to be without.

(…that kind of rhymes. I’ll pretend I did it on purpose.)

Six Sunny-Day Diaper Bag Items

1.)    A Clean Sippy.

Graham isn’t too thrilled with sippy-cups anymore,  but it sure makes my life a whole lot easier.  We should probably try giving him a straw-cup of some kind instead, but the sippies are still working for now.

Sometimes if we know we are going somewhere (like church or Grandma’s) we will just bring an empty cup.  But this post is about fun in the sun- so let me tell you I would fill that bad-boy up with some good old fashioned water.  Water is WAY better at quenching thirst, not staining clothes, and not going nasty in the diaper bag if you accidentally leave it in there after your sunshine-filled-fun is over.  (I won’t judge!)

And let me remind you, Moms and Dads get thirsty too so it’s always a great idea to bring a big water bottle of your own.  I have frequently had one that served the main purpose of re-filling Graham’s cup and ended up taking a few swigs myself.

2.)    More Diapers! (and wipes)

I doubt I need to tell any mamas out there that it’s a good idea to always bring one or two more diapers than you think you’ll need.  In reality- you won’t need them. You really won’t.  BUT if you don’t bring them- your child will magically become the fountain of youth in his or her pants and you will end up with a soaked carseat and a soaking-wet screaming child.  I  hear it happens.
Also, some of us aren’t too great at re-stocking our diaper bags and it’s always great to have a buffer of some extra diapers from the last time in case you totally forget to grab some this time.

3.)    Extra clothes

Something I actually learned as a teacher before I was a mom- is that it’s always good to have an extra shirt (and pants if possible) for YOU… just in case.  A lot of moms use common sense to stick an extra onesie in the diaper bag for their baby, but I go ahead and throw a t-shirt in there for me too.  Babies aren’t the only ones getting covered in spit-up or soaked when there’s a diaper explosion.  Being out and about is bound to be WAY less stressful if you’re comfortable, and I don’t know about you, but NOT being wet and stinky is always a plus for me.

And while I’m throwing clothes in the diaper bag, I stick an outfit in there for my toddler too.  I usually go with something simple and light that won’t take up too much space and will “work” in any location. (So probably not footie pajamas.  Think tshirt and shorts.)

4.)    Hand Sanitizer

Baby wipes are fantastic at giving you a quick hand-wash if you’re grabbing lunch, but sometimes it’s nice to have that extra “sanitization” factor- especially if you’re somewhere like a theme park and your child has been hanging off of every hand-rail he or she can reach; after every weirdo under the sun has wiped their snotty fingers all over it.  (I speak as the girl who set her hand in a pool of fresh mucus while waiting in line for Buzz Lightyear many years ago.)  There are tons of cute little mini versions available so this shouldn’t take up too much space or be too inconvenient.  You can even buy a big one to keep at home for refills when your to-go size starts running low. 

5.)    Snacks

Ah. My favorite.  Snacks snacks snacks.  They will save your child from apparent-starvation, and you from apparent loss-of-sanity.  We like to just have a few mini Tupperware containers of different snacks to help switch things up.  I like to have a variety of sweet and salty and we try to go for more filling options.  (Graham crackers broken into fourths, Nilla Wafers, Goldfish crackers, club crackers, dry cereal, fruity marshmallows, pretzels, etc…)  Graham loves fruit gummies but I hate having to deal with the wrappers after he’s eaten them.  (Remember what I said about valuable real-estate? Every nook in that bag is precious!)

6.)    Sunscreen

I really have failed on this one.  But I have the best of intentions and I vow to be better!  When I was little- my mom would always slather us in sunscreen before we went to the beach.  And I had to keep on my shirt.  That was lame.  I hated it.  But now as an adult who can clearly see the horrific effects of skin cancer,  I am SO GLAD I was forced to be lame. 

While I’m great at sun-screening it up for Graham at the beach (Xander hasn’t been yet), I’d really like to get better about making sure he has it on anytime we are going to be outside for more than a dash from the car.  I feel like actually having it IN the diaper bag would make it a lot easier for me to remember.

I used to keep some Aveeno baby eczema lotion in the bag when Graham’s skin was breaking out, but he seems to be growing-out of his eczema (fingers crossed!) so I haven’t recently. (That’s valuable real-estate! Be prepared- but don’t carry more than you have to mama!)

{There are two of my elementary school friends looking way cool in their swimsuits on the beach and my brothers and I in our t-shirts on over our swimsuits. I had enough sunburns in my teens to leave me cowering under a blanket and umbrella when we go now though. My boys are lucky- Graham has some of those cool new sunscreen shirts and I'm totes jealous that we didn't have those.}

 So those are the essentials.  With a newborn I also add a spit-up cloth and a receiving blanket in addition to the regular baby blanket I keep in the carseat for a swaddle/nursing cover. 

Honorable Mention Items:

-Hair-ties/clips for mom!

-Pacifier (my boys don’t usually take one but we have it just in case)

-Socks for the kids (addresses blisters and/or chilly feet if you get wet and they are riding home in the A/C)

-Cell phone charger (Maybe it’s just because I’m addicted to technology, but everything goes a lot smoother if mom knows she isn’t going to be stranded somewhere with a dead cell phone.)

-Gripe Water/Baby Tylenol/Band-Aids/Other meds  (Holy goodness. Yes. Yes. Yes. This should probably actually go on the regular list. Gassy babies, unexpected teething, allergic reactions- these are all major fun-killers.  Your day out will end quickly or be incredibly miserable if you don’t have the necessary remedies.)

-A favorite toy (for entertaining during car rides, lines, etc… Don’t go overboard on the toys or bring a REAL favorite because it is entirely possible it will get lost and be gone forever.)

Ok this post is getting ridiculously long and it’s close to midnight so I’m off!  Thanks for dropping by, please come back and read the rest of our Fun in the Sun posts this week!

Ah, summer...

It's that special time of year where everybody complains about the incredible heatwave... that happened at this same time last year... with the same temperatures...

This season has a habit of making people forget about things that happened before, as every summer tends to mush together in our brains. We habit forming humans create routines for the seasons, and hot weather in particular produces shorts, flip flops, sunscreen, cool drinks, and late nights. Many people can relate to this, but only a special few can identify a summer when your life was on the verge of change. Your last summer before becoming a mother.

Having an autumn baby meant that I was steadily becoming heavily pregnant during the time of year when the sun was threatening to scorch the earth. More often than not I felt like an overheated manatee left out on the beach to dry. Being a person who loves to hang out by the pool, that summer was unusual for me because I never stopped by, not even once to dip my toes in. Feeling rather self-conscious I was worried my burgeoning baby bump would encourage unwanted gawking, especially as I reminisced about the summer prior how I had enjoyed sunbathing slathered in coconut oil with a smooth, flat tummy.

I became rather focused on how my body was changing, and while I gave some consideration to how my life would be affected, there is really nothing to prepare anyone for parenthood. I would think to myself I should relish my freedom while I still have it, but the luxury of solo trips to the store and being able to come and go as I please would not be something I could fully appreciate until it was gone. Thankfully my fear of losing everything I came to understand as a self-actualized adult was smoothly replaced by my growing excitement and anticipation as flutters became kicks and people began to recognize me as pregnant and not that fat girl with a pretty face.

Admittedly there were some aspects of the change that were unpalatable for me because I was experiencing my pregnancy alone; At that time my husband was deployed to Iraq so I was left to fend for myself. That meant when I got 11pm cravings for Wendy's, I would have to be my own best friend and go get it. When my belly got too big to see my body from the waist down, a mirror on the floor became responsible for making sure I was wearing the same pair of shoes on both feet. And most importantly, late at night when I got a sharp kick to the bladder, I didn't have anyone to pre-warm the seat for me, so I'd have to suck it up and plop down on a chilly toilet. Although these are all things I would have loved to have experienced with him, the independence of it all became another defining aspect of that summer.

I have many fun and even some not-so-pleasant memories from that time, but collectively it was a season I will forever cherish. During that short phase even though I thought I understood everything, it is only in hindsight that I can fully comprehend what a special and unique time in my life it was. My experiences I had back then will always stand apart from all the heatwaves I have had and will have from here on out - even when it's old age that turns my brain to mush and not the heat.  For the rest of my life, I will always honestly be able to share how I am blessed to have a summer memory as distinguished as turning the page in my life from being simply a woman to becoming a mother.
-JLH

JLH is the devoted wife of an adrenaline junkie soldier of the US ARMY, and the mother of a quirky and sassy five year old girl. The author has a love for the absurd, a penchant for the strange, and enjoys walking on the wacky side of life.

My Deployment Baby

A couple of weeks before I found out I was pregnant with our first child we found out my husband was most likely going to Iraq. So when I saw those two beautiful pink lines I danced around, so excited. "I'm going to be a Mommy!" Then I immediately started crying, I wasn't sure I could do it all without Dust. A few months into the pregnancy it was confirmed that my husband was going to be in Iraq "For the duration of 12 months or until the mission is deemed complete". I didn't know many people in Kansas where we were currently stationed and I decided it would be best if I moved home to be with family for the pregnancy and birth.
Four days before he left we found out we were having a daughter! We decided to name her Zoey Mae. The day he left he kissed my barely showing belly and told Zoey how much he loved her.

 Shortly after he left I moved back home. I found a great doctor and we started planning when Dust should come home for R&R (a two week break from deployments that are 12 months or more to visit family) we found out his deployment was extended to 15 months, and he was going to meet Zoey when she was 3 months old.

During one of my appointments we found out Zoey was breach, my doctor could try to turn her or we could schedule a c section. The way she was sitting we decided to just go ahead and schedule the C section for June 21st ( a combination of my birthday and her Dads) we also got permission from the hospital to Skype the birth to Iraq, and Dust got it all set up on his end that he would be there for our call.

 

Well, Zoey had other Ideas, as she always does. On June 14 about 9pm I started contracting, my doctor had mentioned earlier that day at my appointment that I had a "bulging bag" and may go into labor soon. I'd been trying to call Dust all day, but of course he wasn't answering. I took a nice warm bath to try and calm them, but when I got out of the bath my water started leaking, I went and woke up my mom. We got in the car, picked up my sister, and headed to the hospital. When I got out of my moms car my water REALLY broke. It was running down the hospital driveway. Ha ha. I called my In laws and told them what was going on, and asked them to keep calling Dust for me. I also had a friend on Myspace waiting to see if he logged in.
We headed up to Labor and Delivery, where my mom and sister worked. They were so busy that night that My mom and sister clocked in and got to be my nurses! It was so much fun having only family in the room for the first little while. I was told the OR was booked, and the anesthesiologist was busy so I had to wait for my epidural, I was already dilated to a 7. When the OR was ready, they wheeled me down the hall and prepped me for delivery, and finally gave me some pain medication. It was all rather uneventful, they numbed me then got Zoey out. Not a very interesting story, but births are better when nothing too interesting happens in my opinion. :)

I was laying there waiting and when I heard her little cry, it was the most beautiful thing in the world. It felt like forever until I got to see her, but when I did, wow. I can't even explain the love. She was gorgeous, she was so special, and she was mine. I couldn't ask for anything more. She was born June 15 2007, 1:03 am, 6lb 5oz 19 1/2 inches of pure love.

Throughout the night I kept waking up my mom and asking her to hand me Zoey. I couldn't stop staring at her! We called the red cross to tell Dust that she was here, but I also had a friend message him saying she was born, and my sister emailed pictures. He said that he got on myspace, saw my friends message and thought it was some kind of cruel joke. Then he signed into his yahoo account, saw pictures labeled "Zoey" and ran for the phones.

 In his words: I ran in and yelled "I  need to use the phone, my wife just had a baby!" He found out approximately 9 hours after she had been born. We were both so excited, he said I sounded a little drugged, and I probably was. But he heard her little baby sounds over the phone thousands of miles away, isn't technology amazing!? And he fell in love with her too.
Three months later he finally got to come home and meet her, he held her almost constantly for those two weeks, he was amazed by her. He kept saying things like "look how little her hand is" and "I don't want to leave her" it was the best two weeks of my life up to that point.

 Zoey is now six years old, Daddy got home when she was 10 months old and we later went through a second, shorter deployment. Then added another little princess to the family. But those two are inseparable. She wants to marry him when she's older, I asked her what Mommy would do then and she replied "We can share". I'm so grateful to have a family that loves each other as much as we do.

 Zoey on her sixth birthday. :) She's such a sweet and funny little girl who brings so much joy to our family.

Momma Mia!

Unfortunately this is nothing like that movie.....at all!

I remember laying in my hospital bed after enduring 22+ hrs of labor that ended in a c-section to deliver my twins and the first thought that came to my mind was “God gave me two at once, because He knew I couldn’t do this again.” That thought plagued my mind for months after having the twins. Could I really not do this again? Is my body incapable of delivering a baby the “normal” way? I ended up with a c-section with the twins because I had what MANY women suffer from and many actually die from during child birth. Failure to Progress. I was prepared for this. During my many doctor appointments the doctor would always say “Your body is perfect for carrying them, but I’m not so sure it’s shaped for delivering.” Guess we can’t have it all, right?

So after the twins were born I was convinced that my dream of a large family just wasn't going to happen until……

The twins were 9 months old and I started having dreams of a little red headed girl who wanted to join our family. Even if we were meant to have more children and my dreams of having a large family really weren’t squashed it was a CRAZY idea to already want another baby. WHAT?!?! I had two babies still! I kept brushing off the thought. The dreams went on for a couple of months before I finally told my husband, Jonathan, about them. He agreed that it was "absolutely crazy" for us to have another baby right now.

One night Jonathan woke to the sound of a newborn baby cry.  He sat up in bed and listened, but it stopped. He told me about it in the morning and I completely laughed at him and told him he was crazy......all the while the thought of another baby in my arms was completely pulling on my heartstrings.......but then I would also tell myself that I was crazy for even thinking it.

The next night, the same thing happened to me. The sound of a newborn baby cry made me sit up straight in my bed. I knew I heard it, but I also knew that there was obviously not a baby in the house to cry like that so I brushed it off and went back to sleep. I told Jonathan about it in the morning and again we just laughed.

For the next few weeks we kept teasing each other about the thought of having another baby around and though it didn't even make sense to us, through prayer, we knew it was the right time. We agreed that if this baby was to join our family, then we would try for a month, and that if it didn't happen then we would put off the notion for a couple of years. Well it obviously happened.......pretty much immediately.

I remember calling my friend as soon as I took the pregnancy test. I was in absolute shock. I didn't know whether to cry and feel overwhelmed, to rejoice, or to praise God. I was so full of mixed emotions that all I could say was, "OH CRAP!” And boy did I say that over and over and over with my friend laughing at me. After calling Jonathan while he was at work and telling him the news I knew that everything was going to be okay. I thought he was going to be kind of upset, but he was so calm about it. He said, "Okay, that’s great, I love you." And the tone of his voice was so reassuring. He couldn't talk at that moment so he kept his response short and sweet so that I would know everything really was going to be OKAY!

On March 20, 2011 my husband had to take me to the emergency room. I was 18 wks pregnant and suffering from horrible contractions. I thought I was going to lose our baby. Test after test revealed that everything was fine and they couldn’t figure out why I was having such terrible contractions. I was given pain medicine and hooked up to a fluid IV and admitted overnight. I woke up the next morning feeling amazing!. Looking back at that experience I knew I was dehydrated, but the doctors wouldn’t listen to me. During that hospital visit we had several ultrasounds and that little stinker decided to show us who SHE was! We found out on March 21, 2011 that we were indeed having a girl and we knew immediately that her name was going to be Mia. I knew without a doubt that it was the right timing for her to join our family. It scared me to know that I would have three under the age of two years, but our family had already been so blessed because we listened to the promptings given to us by the Holy Ghost. I am so grateful that we listened.

We decided to name her Mia, because our daughter Anna would run around the play room yelling, “Mia, Mia, Mia” long before we ever thought about having another baby. When she did that we decided that it would be a cute story if the next child we had was a girl.

Mia’s birth was a scheduled c-section. I was prepared for it, but not. I kept having nightmares that something bad was going to happen. That I’d end up with an emergency hysterectomy or that something would happen and Mia wouldn’t make it. It was awful. I was a nervous wreck the entire morning before heading to the hospital. My husband accompanied me to the hospital and my parents stayed home with the twins. I cried as I hugged and kissed the twins “good bye” hoping and praying it wouldn’t be the last time I saw them.

Getting ready for the big day!

I went in early for blood work, then they took me to the prep room where I changed into my operating room drape, got hooked up to monitors and was given the epidural. I have a love/hate relationship with epidurals. The one with the twins was amazing, didn’t feel a thing! However, I let a resident administer the epidural this time and well….I shouldn’t have. She had to do it twice and even the second time it didn’t work well. Once I laid down the epidural only worked on my right side so they propped up my right side with pillows so it would distribute to the left side too. Well, HELLO I’M HAVING A C-SECTION AND I’LL BE LAYING ON MY BACK YOU IDIOTS! Fast forward to the c-section. I was incredibly nervous. I was transferred to the operating table, the drape was put up so I couldn’t look down. Then my husband was brought into the room where he sat right next to my head. He put his hand on my shoulder and stayed quiet. His face was pale and he looked scared. Once they cut open the incision on my previous c-section scar it all happened so fast. I felt them bear down on my rib cage to push Mia out as the doctor pulled her out. The next thing I knew the doctor said, “Her uterus won’t clamp down” and then an assistant put a pill under my tongue. Then……

The epidural wore off and I felt EVERYTHING! I started gurgling and thought for sure this was it. I was going to die. I yelled out and said “IT HURTS! I CAN FEEL EVERYTHING YOU’RE DOING!”  The next thing I knew I could see a nurse escorting Jonathan and Mia out of the OR. I didn’t even get to see my baby and Jonathan had no idea what was happening.  Everything went black and the next thing I know my bed was being wheeled into the recovery room where I saw my sweet husband holding our beautiful baby girl.

 I asked him to take off her little hat so I could see her hair. She had red hair and she was perfect.

Since my epidural had worn off, the time I spent in the recovery room was extended so they could get my pain under control. I wasn’t given any pain meds because they weren’t sure how much of the epidural was still in my system. I wanted to jump off that bed and sock a nurse in the face every time they pushed on my stomach to check my contractions and bleeding. It hurt so BAD I wanted to scream! The woman in the recovery room next to me was “Ooohing” and “Awwwing” about her baby and I wanted to yell and scream at her to “shut up!”. I cried and cried. Why couldn’t I have a beautiful experience this time around? I felt robbed.

Despite all that I even tried feeding my daughter while in recovery. She latched on perfectly and then the pain got worse and I had to stop. It was awful. I wanted my Mom by my side to hold my hand. My head was spinning and I thought I was going to lose my mind because the pain got so bad. And then……then the morphine pump came. Holy Moses there was sweet relief. Once my pain was under control they took me and our sweet new addition up to our hospital room. I’m so grateful for my sweet husband. I don’t remember anything else from the rest of that night. Our sweet Mia stayed in the room with us and my husband slept next to me in the guest fold out bed. He changed her first diaper and fed her some formula until I was able to try feeding her again myself. He always picks up where I can’t.

The next day I felt good. The morphine pump was taken away and I was given motrin which surprisingly was strong enough to cut the pain and I could get up and walk. Once I was able to walk I felt so much better. Even though I didn’t get the full effect of the epidural, I think not having it for the full 24 hrs actually helped me recover faster because I was able to get up and walk sooner.

The next battle: introducing Mia to Joaquin and Anna. My husband went home to get the twins and my Mom came up to the hospital to be with me for a few hours. When Jonathan finally came in with Joaquin and Anna I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. The twins looked like GIANTS! When I left them at home they were my sweet little toddlers and here they were in front of me as GIANTS! I couldn’t believe how OLD they looked. It made me cry. They grew up all of a sudden and I felt like I missed something.

Their reaction to Mia wasn’t really what I had hoped for. I hoped that both of them would be so excited to see “the baby” as they so affectionately called her when they would pat my belly. Nope. That’s not at all what happened. Joaquin wanted to explore the room. He didn’t want anything to do with me or the baby and it broke my heart. Anna on the other hand wanted to hold the baby. She thought it was a new toy and she just grinned from ear to ear.

It was complete chaos and it wore me out. They only stayed for 30 minutes. It was too much for me and for them. I felt like I had done something horrible and that they would never forgive me for it, especially Joaquin. How was I going to do this?

Even though the twins are 3 ½ yrs old and Mia will be 2 yrs old in August, it is still complete chaos….sometimes its fun, controlled chaos, but most days its just chaos and I still can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

Giving birth is scary, it’s unpredictable, sometimes gross, but it still amazes me what the body can do and can withstand. I fought hard for my baby girl that day. I will never let someone tell me that a c-section is a piece of cake….its obviously not….and neither is a vaginal birth for that matter! I wanted to share this story so that those of you who have or will have to endure a c-section will know that you will fight just as hard for your baby as anyone else will. Your journey of giving birth is just as valid and just as hard and difficult as the next person’s. Write it all down now and share it with your child when they are grown so that they will know that you love them so much that you fought for them….no matter how it happened.