On the last day I'll ever be pregnant

There is something kind of special about knowing that this is the last day I will ever spend housing another human inside my body.

March 10, 2010

I've often wondered, through the years, how I would feel on reaching this milestone.

Because, though intellectually I've always known this day was coming - let's face it, I'm not a Duggar, and 6 or 10 or 19 children are definitely not in our future - I've had a hard time imagining that a day would come when I would ever truly feel that sense of closure over growing our family.  Babies are a blessing, and I was pretty confident that a I would ever feel done.

Well, that was before adopting.  Before regularly single parenting four children for large stretches of the year.  Before having a pregnancy that has taken me off my feet for literally months.  Before having two with special needs at completely different ends of the spectrum.  One with trauma, one who is incredibly gifted.  Plus, you know: soon-to-be three more.

This morning?  I awoke with only a sense of joy and finality.  I'm so ready to meet this boy.  So ready to let him complete our family.  I know that it is time to focus on the big job of turning really fantastic little people into kind, compassionate, awesome adults.  I also recognize that this is no small task.

Eaaaarly, early morning, August 28, 2012

We had rather a lot to do before this baby arrives, and because of all our hospital fun, there is only one week between bringing Livvy home and embarking on our own hospital adventure.  So we had to prioritize.

I took Leah on a date to see Beauty and the Beast yesterday, something I've been wanting to do since before the hospital.

We also needed to to stock the freezer, knowing that I'll have to be off my feet after surgery.  Casey and I spent about three hours yesterday stockpiling food.  We made 9 big meals - hopefully enough to feed even our big crew and still have left overs.

Because of the way our house is situated, the baby will have to share our room for the foreseeable future.  Eventually, we'll have to finish the basement so Jake can move down there.  Livvy will move out of the nursery and into Jake's room, and then the baby can move to the nursery.  Hopefully (ideally... maybe) sometime this summer (HA!  We'll see!).  For now, though, there was significant cleaning and organizing that had to happen in the Master bedroom.  Baby items that needed to come up from the basement, take a spin in the wash and get set up and ready to use.  Just general readiness, particularly since I'll be spending more time in that room with the baby after tomorrow.

I'd also been wanting to get a pedicure since.... I don't know.  Last year?  I was going to do it when Casey initially got home, but then the world got crazy.

Luckily, Jess offered to have one last best friend outing before this baby is born, so we took this afternoon to do that.

August 4, 2014

Which is when all the BIG fun really began.  Because, at about 2:30 this afternoon, I had a HUGE contraction.  Or, you know, a contraction that felt huge to me, because I've only just come to grips with the idea of NOT having any.  I was SO not in a space to have to have contractions!

I got through it.  One contraction... no big deal.

And then, before too long, another big contraction.

And before I knew it, we were tracking them.  10 minutes apart, solid and decently heavy labor contractions.  OY.

There was nothing left to do.  They were either going to go ahead, or stop (remember days and weeks of prodromal labor with Olivia?  Because... I DO!), so we went and did our toes.  And I am pretty sure my best friend was on the edge of a heart attack the entire time as the contractions went from 10 minutes, to 9, 8, 6, and 5 minutes apart.

She is so much smarter than I am, because I would have been yelling, "YOU'RE IN LABOR, YOU CRAZY FOOL!!!"  She kept her mouth shut until I actually asked for her opinion.  It was both scary and reassuring to watch her eyes well up with tears when she told me how much she didn't want me to repeat Logan's delivery.  She's been to all of mine.  She knows what I've been through.  I scared her four years ago when I couldn't get him out.  I scared her even more in the aftermath, when I was hemorrhaging and they were talking about doing a blood transfusion or taking me to surgery.  Luckily, neither of those came to pass, but she clearly remembers.

Yeah.  If I had any doubts about taking him C-section, there was no greater confirmation than in my best friend's face.

I came home and Casey convinced me to get in the bath.  I didn't know what to do.  Call the hospital and tell them I needed to do a c-section tonight?  Let it progress, wait and see?  

My water hadn't broken, and I hadn't yet crossed the great divide into what I would consider to be true labor, so I decided to lay down and take a nap.  I was still having some light contractions when I woke up, but they were noticeably less intense, although still coming about 6 minutes apart.  By 8:00, they had disappeared altogether.

Crisis averted.

So we went back to it: packing hospital bags, finalizing schedules, writing notes to the kids and organizing the few little gifts we'd bought for them to wake up to in the morning when Mommy and Daddy are gone.  

We're leaving for the hospital at 5:45... and there will be a baby very soon thereafter.  And I am so, so exited I can hardly stand it!

Decision Tuesday

Oh, my sweet little son.

I am so happy you are in there.  So, so happy that you are safe, healthy and strong.

And... big.

I had another doctor appointment today.  Last week, during all the craziness and worries of hospitals and sick everybody, we had a glimmer of hope and good news: I was measuring - for the very first time pretty much this entire pregnancy - on schedule!  37 weeks exactly.  Waaahoo!!!

And, for the first time since week 33, I hadn't had any pre-labor scariness.  Very few contractions.  Less pressure on my downstairs.  No more weird discharge or losing of my mucus plug.  Despite the stress that was happening all around me, pregnancy-wise?  I felt better than I have in months.

But this week, well... I measured 41 weeks even though I'm 38.  This week, we did a size ultrasound that estimates he is 8lbs 13 oz.  His head was over the 100th percentile, estimated at 15 inches.  The ultrasound tech said that sometimes the estimates are wrong, but even allowing for that, she's confident he wouldn't be less than 8 and a half pounds if he were born today.

His ultrasound photo - which looked pretty good at 35 and a half weeks when it was clear and precise - looked unrecognizable today at 38 weeks.  She couldn't get a shot because he's so smashed in there.  He literally looks like he doesn't have a nose, it's that flat against his face, and his hand is inseparable from his head.  His ear is sticking out of his shoulder.  It was comical to watch her try to get any good photos.

Obviously there are women out there who can carry 9 or 10 pound babies; I am not those women!

After this news, the doctor asked me about  my preferences moving forward.  I answered immediately that we'd like to proceed as planned, and give natural a shot.  I wanted to do a membrane sweep to see if we could help give him a jump start so that he doesn't get too big, and she was willing to honor all of those requests.

However, now that we're definitely in the category of "big" baby, there were a few things she had to warn me about: 1) I would have to go into labor spontaneously prior to 41 weeks, and women with big babies can struggle to do that because the babies are so big, they don't engage in the pelvis. 2) The number one risk associated with birthing a big baby is shoulder dysplasia, which is one of the more dangerous complications on the delivery table.  Shoulder dysplasia is when the head has been born, but the shoulders are too large or get stuck behind the pelvis and significant intervention is called for to dislodge them.  There are a number of things they can try, but she had to warn me that if nothing works, they will break baby's arm and collar bone in order to get him out in those critical moments.

I talked to my husband.  I called my mom.  Both of them were pretty clear that I am crazy.  Why? they asked after I'd laid out the pro's and con's, Why are we even having this conversation?

And the more I thought rationally about it, the more it became obvious to me.  I've written here that I know my body, my pregnancies and my labors better than ever before.  Wanting with all my heart to change the rules of the game doesn't mean that suddenly my body will respond differently.

1) I already struggle - can't, in fact, to date do it on my own - to get baby's head to engage in the pelvis.  Now I have a baby whose physiology makes it extra difficult.

2) I vividly remember that desperate, hopeless feeling of having Logan stuck, and knowing with everything in me that I would not be able to get him out on my own.  It was one of the most awful feelings I have ever experienced in my entire life.  It was downright dangerous, and I swore I would never again put another child of mine in that position.

3) Shoulder dysplasia.  I mean, really?  I would never - could never - knowingly take a risk like that.  Not ever.  I understand that so much of hospital speak is CYA, that they have to inform me of this even if the risk is minuscule.  But, really?  It was over from those words.  I'd never knowingly put my baby in harm's way if I had it in me to control the outcome.

4) The very last straw was my own, dysfunctional body.  When the doctor attempted to sweep my membranes, my cervix was sitting so high that she couldn't reach it.  A combination of very uncomfortable shoving and  actually pushing down on the top of my uterus to bring it into range was the only way we finally accomplished it.  The lesson?  When I say "high up," I really, really mean it.  In fact, things were lower at 33 and 35 weeks and have progressed up rather than down.  Cool.

So, you've probably gotten there by now too...

We're going back for one more!  Which also means that we are having a baby on Friday!  Quite the nice way to bookend all these pregnancies, really.

It would be easy to feel a little sad that I am never going to have that natural labor I've sought for more than 7 years.  Instead, I'm feeling really happy.  He's going to come out.  He's going to be safe.  I have four beautiful, healthy children when 100 years ago - or perhaps even as little as 50 or 60 - I would almost certainly have lost them or died myself.  I'd never have gotten Leah out safely.  Game over right there.

We are so blessed - so very, very blessed - to welcome our beautiful man into the world.  I can't wait to see you on Friday, Baby Boy!

Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

Some trials in life leave you beaten.  Broken.  Unable to endure the heavy weight of what you've had to carry, usually after a day or a moment so defining, the world simply looks different on the other side.

Other trials are softer.  Not so traumatic on the surface, yet the daily grind of walking through them  day by day, sometimes minute by minute, steals the joy and energy out of life and makes it feel... wearying.

Our family has been walking through the second kind.

It seems, in some ways, like we are continually waiting to get our feet back underneath us.  It is a slow process, like facing a never-ending hike through the desert.  We keep pushing, putting one foot in front of the other, but it is a slow trudge through unfriendly territory and we're all pretty desperate to soothe our blisters, find respite from the hot sun and have a drink of cool water.

These last few months have been a lot like that, as I've slowly watched my body become more and more overwhelmed and it became clear that I could do less and less.  With my mom here in these last few weeks, we were kind of in survival mode until Casey could come home and help relieve us.

He got home on Monday night (3/13) , and we all breathed a sigh of relief.  We had one great day on Tuesday, getting doctors appointments and long-standing baby errands out of the way.  We started the process of getting our feet underneath us.  We had a little girl's seventh birthday coming up over the weekend, and 9 months of baby stuff that all needed tending to over the next four or five weeks.  But it was do-able with two of us there to tackle it.

And then the coughing started.

By Wednesday night (3/15), it was clear that we were in for something else.  Casey and I took turns pulling nursing duty.  Leah skipped school on Friday, and we made the tough decision to cancel her birthday party as she was looking pretty bad.  By Saturday, both Leah and Logan had it, and I spent most of Saturday and Sunday night nursing two kids whose hacking coughs had them up literally all night long.

Monday morning (3/20), we took our little sickies to the pediatrician, where it was quickly determined that there was a bigger problem: Leah's oxygen was only at 86.  In other words, dangerously low.  The pediatrician finally convinced me how low when she told me that if it was her child, she wouldn't let her be in the car without oxygen even for the length of time it takes to get to the hospital.

So, an ambulance was called.  My baby was loaded into it. Off we went to Children's Hospital.

I am so lucky that we have worked hard to normalize doctors, police officers, firemen and ambulances.  We take them cookies several times a year, yell "THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE!" as they go by with their sirens blaring and regularly stop them at the grocery store to thank them as well.  It pays off, people, because Leah was not remotely scared of being in the ambulance.  Sick as she was, she lay there quietly and calmly and had sweet discussions with the firemen.  Mom, you see, was not allowed to sit in the back with her.

I didn't take any pictures of all the scary stuff - I didn't get my wits about me enough to take pictures until the third morning, by which she was mercifully looking much better.  Her O2 was low for the first 36 hours or so, and she required about 3 liters to keep her numbers north of 90.

It became clear very quickly that she was turning a corner.  She was still sick - viral pneumonia was the final diagnosis - but her numbers rebounded after 2 nights on oxygen and we were discharged on Wednesday afternoon (3/22).

We went home, exhausted (the hospital is not a place for anybody in their 36th week of pregnancy.  You can't sit.  You definitely can't lay.  You can't sleep.  Everything in me was sore and full of worry until she turned that corner) but so thankful that what she had was so easily treatable.  One of the respiratory therapists had passed on a list of classes and resources which also included "End of Life Transition" and "Sibling Therapy for End of Life"... it was humbling reminder of how easily we were taking our baby home.

Leah, Logan, and by this time, Casey and Olivia too were all in bad shape.  I spent Wednesday night going back and forth between the bedrooms, nursing children, giving breathing treatments, changing cold rags and trying to give Casey a chance to sleep and recoup.  I know that night, I didn't sleep at all until sometime after six a.m.

They all had a follow up appointment at the pediatrician the next morning, which Casey took them to so that I could sleep.

But it wasn't long before my phone was buzzing.  Livvy's O2 levels were at 83, and they needed me to pack a bag and come to the office.  We were about to repeat what we had just been through with Leah.

So off I went, watched her be taken out by stretcher and loaded onto an ambulance and we went to Children's North, supposedly for the same process big sister had just undergone.

It quickly became obvious that things were not going to be quite so neat and tidy.  She stayed Thursday night at Children's North, on three liters of oxygen as sister had been, and she was getting worse, not better.  The decision was made to transport her to the main campus, and off we went in an ambulance again.

Poor little pumpkin.  When she got there, we climbed the intervention ladder quickly.  First, they upped her 02 from three to eight.  That didn't work.  They put her on the next level intervention: heated high flow at 8.  That didn't work.  Next, they went to a pressurized oxygen mask called a Bi PAP.  The next step was a breathing tube... fortunately, by the time they got the BiPAP turned all the way up, she was getting some relief.

Meanwhile, I was taking a turn for the worse.  This was Friday - 37 weeks pregnant, coming down with whatever nastiness the kids had, and having slept something like 12 hours in six days.

It was determined that Livvy would be going to the ICU, and if I thought the regular hospital was inhospitable to pregnant ladies, the ICU was even worse.  No in-room bathrooms.  Constant monitoring.  A crib instead of a bed, so I had to be on my feet even to support her.  I was done.  And terrified.  What if Baby Boy should happen to make his appearance in the middle of this mess?  What would happen to him?  I was sick.  Dad was sick.  All his siblings were sick - enough to end up in the ICU!  I couldn't even begin to think of how awful it would be.

Thankfully, my mom stepped in to give us some relief.  She bought a box of masks and came - again - to run my house and care for my kids so that Casey could go to the hospital and take ICU duty and I could come home and attempt to rest and care for myself and the baby.

God bless that husband of mine.  God bless that mother of mine.

I came home late Friday night.  In tears.  I cannot describe how deeply it hurt me to leave my precious baby behind me, inside that hospital because mommy wasn't strong enough to keep going.  I knew my body was beyond what it could handle.  I knew I was getting sick and had to stop and care for myself.  I knew I was 37 weeks pregnant.  I knew Casey would take excellent care of her.  AND... it broke my heart to be leaving my sweetheart in her time of need.

It was awful.  

She had already been given an IV.  We were already on a regular deep suctioning schedule.  They would add to that fun a feeding tube, continual EKG monitoring, blood pressure cuff, pulse-ox sensor and the full-time BiPAP mask.  Poor little sweetheart.

Meanwhile, Leah had started an antibiotic that turned things around miraculously for her.  She'd had no improvement in her symptoms for nearly 10 days; she started on an antibiotic and in 24 hours she was showing significant signs of improvement.

Logan was still coughing much of the way through the night and unable to find relief.  I was getting worse all the time.  And had given myself pinkeye in both eyes, because I am absolutely stupid.  I had been wearing masks all week at the hospital with the girls, but it never occurred to me to seal those babies up along the nose and cheek line.  So all week, as I was getting sick, I was breathing those germs directly up and into my own eyes.  Say it with me people: DUH.

Sunday morning, I went to the doctor.  And, mercifully, was given a good regimen: antibiotic for pink eye and sinus infection, steroid for bronchitis.  If this baby was coming, I HAD to get well.  I had to have some peace of mind that at least he would be safe in the arms of his own mother.  I didn't know where we would go or how we would figure out any of the next steps, but I couldn't risk giving my little guy something with his first breaths that could literally kill him.

On Sunday, my sister showed up unexpectedly as I was getting ready to go to the doctor.

My cavalry.

In the absolute kindest, most generous and wonderful act of service anyone has ever done for me... she cleaned my house. 

Cleaned it from top to bottom.  She put toys in the washing machine and in the dishwasher to sterilize them.  She sprayed and scrubbed every single hard surface: banisters, cabinet fronts, every piece of furniture, baseboards, in between banister railings, window tracks and as many of the walls as she could reach.  She wiped every fan blade and ran all the curtains on a hot cycle in the dryer. She washed all the sheets and every blanket and pillow in our entire house. That woman was determined that I have peace of mind and know that - whatever else might happen - at least my house was safe and germ free for the little guy of ours.

Holy moly.

It's hard to explain in words, but she literally brought light and life back into our home.  Walking by Livvy's empty room hurt my heart.  But after Kelsey got her hands on it?  Suddenly it felt like we were anticipating her return instead of mourning her absence.  Instead of feeling sad and overwhelmed, I felt hopeful again for the first time in days.  That clean, fresh house said: everything is going to be okay.

Livvy was still dicey, but by Monday morning she began showing signs of improvement. They disconnected a few of the bigger items (IV, feeding tube) and began weaning her down from the high level interventions to lower ones.  On Tuesday, they moved her out of ICU and into a regular hospital room.

We petitioned our pediatrician to give us the same antibiotic for Logan that had worked so well for Leah.  I was showing signs of improvement, and went to relieve Casey so that he could go to the doctor and have a full night's rest at home.  My mom continued to man the fort, and somehow, everyone was getting through.

I have to mention: I am so humbled by the responses of my children through this whole ordeal.  We've worked really hard with them to help them practice self-control from a young age; to understand that sometimes in life we have to do painful and hard things, but throwing fits, screaming and crying just doesn't help.  They are not usually squeamish about things like getting shots, they love the dentist and their doctor and they all take the attitude that there isn't anything to be afraid of.  Logan literally had his tooth extracted and shed only one single, silent tear.  They're tough.

Our kids were absolute champions in the hospital.  Both of them, but particularly Olivia.  Every single nurse we had commented, in genuine awe, about the fact that she is so obedient, strong and willing to sit still and allow them to do those awful things to her.  She would cry, and she would tell them how much she didn't want them to do it.  And as long as the doctors and nurses would go slowly, validate her protests and tell her what they were about to do, we almost never had to forcibly hold her down for any of the procedures she had to endure.  She would willingly lie down, squeeze my hand and look in my eyes, and be comforted through these awful procedures.  It was truly amazing.  And so humbling that such a tiny girl is even capable of that kind of poise and self control.

They were both amazing in the hospital, and everyone did just as well at home.  There was serious disruption to every single aspect of their lives, and they not only got through it but did so with flying colors.  I could not have been more proud of the way this family pulled together.  We needed so much support, but our village rallied around us in a really huge way: meals, house cleaning, cards and messages and prayers, my mom giving up everything - her entire week and everything she had planned - to help us when we needed it most.

It was a really difficult experience.  Some of the most difficult, uncertain, scary and emotional weeks of my adult life.  But there were also so, so many tender mercies.  Starting with the fact that Casey was home to begin with - this was the trip he cancelled because the baby was measuring so huge.  I didn't go into labor (thank goodness), but it was worth all that uncertainty from the previous weeks to have him here with me.  We absolutely couldn't have done it without him.

And, on Friday (3/31) - 9 days after she left - we got to welcome our little Olivia home.  We were all back under the same roof for the first time, really in two weeks.

I could not have been happier, more relieved or more grateful.  I cried all day that day.  Tears of joy and gratitude.  There is such great peace in having all the little duckies back in the nest; in knowing that we were all safe, healthy (for the most part) and together.

Liv is still on oxygen through the night and at nap times, but it is only a quarter of a liter.  She has a follow up appointment on Monday, and we'll see if she gets the same antibiotic that has been so helpful for everybody else in this house.

And now... after literally months of waiting, of marking time, of overcoming obstacles... we can begin to go forward.  I am 38 weeks pregnant, so how far we'll get remains to be seen.  But I'll get to sleep in the same bed as my husband for the first time in almost three months.  We'll get to enjoy our family, together.  And, we'll get to do a few of those things that will help us choose joy and celebrate the little person who is joining our family.

It has been a wild ride.  One we're thankful to say we can put behind us.

60 days: Update

Okay... it has officially been 60 days since I began my weight loss and exercise program.

Are you ready for this?

I'd say it's going pretty well!  

I am down a grand total of nearly 24 inches.  As I have mentioned before, I'm not keeping track of my weight loss.  Weight is such an insignificant factor for me... I can lose a ton and look completely different without changing my weight very much, and I did not want to be discouraged.

It has been so, so wonderful to watch the changes in my body, attitude, strength and energy.  I am getting so much stronger!  My endurance is up, and I'm really beginning to recognize the person I'm accustomed to seeing when I look in the mirror.  Obviously, at only 7 months old, Miss Olivia is still nursing away.  I'm a little bit apprehensive as to whether I am actually going to see much additional change after this point, but I am so proud of myself.

And, it's worth noting that for the first time EVER while still nursing, I am in my pre-pregnancy pants.  I tried them on this morning, and they fit.  Nicely.  That's a little crazy to me in the best kind of way.

I know that I still have a long way to go, and the truth is that I may just never fully get back to my "before."  I am actually completely okay with that - I have had three babies, have a husband who loves me and am exactly where I want to be in my life.  This program has been so wonderful for me because it has given me 20 minutes a day to reclaim who I am, and do something that's good for me.  I have fallen so far off of my own radar over the past nearly five years, and I've come to the realization that it is important for me to be important - even if it's just for the time it takes to do these exercises.

That little bit of self care is the biggest gift I can give myself, and probably my children, too.

So cheers to those almost 24 inches in 2 months.  I do not miss you!

We interrupt your regularly scheduled crazy to bring you: Extra Crazy.

Things have gotten a little Alice down the rabbit hole at my house recently.

In fact, it's kind of a wonder that I haven't already had an enormous hole dug under my garage to fill with one of those overlarge doomsday bunker types, complete with dozens of jugs of water and 300 cans of spam.  In fact, to listen to the news, we're pretty sure the Zombie apocalypse will be breaking out any day now.

Everybody is sick.  Sick, sick, sick.

As far as I'm concerned, the entire world is breaking out in mysterious fever, and green snot flows rampant in the streets.  If you haven't heard, you'll probably want to panic now.

In our house, Logan was the first to go down with a fever and a cough.  He was lucky; he got antibiotics on account of an ear infection.  Unfortunately, he took me down pretty quickly after that, and I get no assistance.

I have to admit, I've been sick during the first trimester of each of my pregnancies.  To the advice of no one, I got H1N1 with Leah after being told sagely by every doctor and several random bystanders, just don't get H1N1!  Whatever you do!  Otherwise the space-time continuum will collapse and the world as we know it will be over! (As if any teacher is capable of "just not getting" whatever her snotty little students have.  I'll get right on that.  For the record?  A little Tamiflu and everything was fine, poo-poo to those catastrophic H1N1-is-the-end-of-the-world predictions.)

With Logan, I had the stomach flu, which was exactly as fun as you'd imagine.  It's okay, it's just morning sickness.  On steroids.    

Second to the stomach flu, though, this was was the worst.  I didn't have a fever, but I felt absolutely miserable.  I could hardly get out of bed and walk downstairs, it was rough.

Just as I thought we were in the clear, Miss Leah got it too.  First the cough.  Then the fever.  And then things really started going south.  When we took her to the doctor, they were unsure about the possibility that it might have turned into pneumonia.  She had two nights where she couldn't sleep at all because her cough was so persistent and miserable; by the third night, I watched her sleep and her labored breath, interrupted by violent coughing spasms and decided she was really in big trouble.

We're lucky that there's a Children's Hospital just a few miles from our house.  We brought her in, which is a blessing and a curse all in one.  Because, once you get into the hospital, it's not always easy to get out again.

It has been so hard to watch my sweet little girl sit in that big hospital bed and have to endure all kinds of things that are weird and uncomfortable.  It's definitely a reality check: how do people endure this long-term?  How do you get through it when it's something much more serious than slightly low oxygen levels?

So, even though we've been here for two nights and Leah is getting anxious and frustrated with the situation, even though Logan has been at home without Mommy, Daddy or Sissy and I haven't seen much of him in two days, I have to say that I'm grateful for all this craziness. Grateful that we live in a time when fixing these "simple" ailments is easy and not a potential death sentence.  Grateful especially that this is the first time in nearly four years that we've been to the hospital, and that we'll get to leave in a short amount of time.

All of this has been a bit surreal.  I certainly appreciate how lucky we are to be able to go back to our reality, rather than having this be our reality.

And maybe that doomsday bunker isn't such a bad idea after all.  Spam, though... that's never going to be a winner.

Confessions of a scaredy cat

When I tell people about Casey's new gig and the fact that he's going to be out of town a lot, I always get this reaction:

"I don't know how you do it!  That sounds really hard!"

Okay.  I guess.  But it is what it is, and you kinda just do what you have to do, ya know?  We all rise to challenges and figure out ways to overcome them.  And that's totally how I feel about Casey being gone.  I'm okay like 95% of the time on my own.

But (cue total moment of embarrasing admittance) I suffer occassionally from... wait for it... paranoia.  And, I might also be afraid of the dark.

Me during the day: calm, cool, relaxed, totally not worried.

Me at night: Human version of a chihuahua hyped up on 'roids convinced that that girl from The Ring is going to come out of the TV every time I change the channel and absolutely positive the shadow on my lawn is actually some Norman Bates wanna be serial killer coming to hack me with a chainsaw.

 

You know all those horror movies where the girl is washing her face, and then when she opens her eyes there is someone standing behind her, waiting to murder her?  That happened to me.    ....Alright, so it didn't actually happen to me, but God knows it could if I wash my face when it's dark and I'm home alone. 

 

 

 

It's a constant conundrum. 

 

What's that?  You think I should have outgrown such childish behavior?  Well, let me just remind you about what always happens to "that guy" who's all, there's no such thing as (insert scary horror movie character here).  Don't be such a scaredy cat.  That's right.  That guy always bites it.  Now you feel bad, right? 

 

So I find crazy reasons to stay awake.  Hmmm, interesting.  I seem to have placed Pride and Prejudice next to Anna Karenina.  Better stay up and re-alphabetize all these books.  OOOOOH!  Look what's on TV!  I could so totally use a set of new towels with cats on them. 

 

Anything to avoid turning out the light.  Because, you know, lights are total murderer deterrant.

 

 

And God help us all if a door should mysteriously (aka harmlessly because of air flow through the hallway) open or close.  That's an obvious sign of a ghost/demon/zombie/all three.

 

There's prescription drugs available for this, I'm fully aware.  It's just that somewhere in my formative years I developed a love of horror movies and mysteries.  Which is why, like a chump I watch the zombies even though they literally keep me up at night, most especially when my husband is away. 

 

I'm trying to filter out these types of movies and TV shows, because I'm pretty sure they're a lethal cocktail for my overactive imagination.  And I NEED SLEEP!!!  Of course, two nights in a row I watched Kevin Bacon take on a women-killing serial killer (darn you, Kevin Williamson) because I like it even though it's totally campy and makes me jump at every noise.  Gah. 

 

Evidently, I'll never learn. 

 

So if you're ever awake at 3 a.m., think of me.  Because chances are I'll be awake due to some nondescript noise that would never haven woken me if Casey was here.  And probably also biting my nails and hiding under the covers. 

 

Besides, if I pull the covers up, no harm can come to me.  That's the rule.

And whining wins July.

Well, it was news that pretty well took the wind out of my sails. 

One hurdle, and we were there.  One lousy little hurdle.  Unfortunately, that hurdle proved to be a 50 foot brick wall. 

It's been about 10 days, and I've thrown a pretty gigantic sized pity-party, complete with lots of self-medicating by eating more icecream than is good for me. 

Because, truth?  I'm heartbroken.  I liked the plan.  Liked it even better because it solved all my worries and truly seemed to come by way of divine intervention. 

Before the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad news, I had honest intentions of actually finishing that photo challenge I started.  That project has kind of died.  I haven't had the heart to worry about picture taking, and frankly I'm not sure when I'll get back to it.  Maybe randomly. 

Aside: I signed up for the photography classes, which were finally scheduled after 5 weeks.  Guess when they take place?  August 12 and 19th.  Yep.  I RSVP'd: I'll be there.  Unless I'm birthing a human.  Raincheck?

So, at least for now, we're back to square one.  A gap I know for sure won't be bridged until after the baby is born.  At this rate, it could be a while.

Will we be home for Christmas???  Oh how I wish I knew.

The long way home

In addition to processing verbally, I process musically.

I don't know if anyone else has this, but I am moved to my very soul by music.  It touches me in a way that so few other things in life do. 

I knew I was pregnant after 8 months when I heard this song on the radio.  I don't quite know that I can explain it any better than this, but I know in my heart: God spoke to me, right there in my car when this song came on.  I had to pull over and cry, because I felt it.  I knew that this time was different from all those other disappointing no's. 

It seems I have something of a love affair with Steven Curtis Chapman when it comes to big life messages.

So today, after finding out that we lost the house - the one I wanted, the one I felt sure was our next house - all I could think about was this song:

"'Cause our God has made a promise

And I know that everything He says is true

And I know wherever we go, He will never leave us

'Cause He's gonna lead us home."

I'd like to tell you that I've learned my lesson about faithfulness.  I hope it's true, and frankly I hope God never puts me to the test.  So this summer, I'm going to do what I should have done all last summer - I know that God is faithful and that He always provides.  I know that I've been blessed beyond measure, and that if this door has closed, there is a good reason for it.

I may not know what it is yet, but this time it's not going to shake me. 

Every single step of the long way home.  

No blood is always better than some blood.

...My doctor says sagely when I call to report what I'm seeing in my underware.

Yeah, you think? 

It started yesterday, and I have to say, although I've had some of this before, I was pretty alarmed at the amount of spotting I was greeted with.  Since I was at work, there wasn't much I could do about it.  I drank a ton of water, and I sat down.  It seemed to stop, and I didn't worry too much about it for the rest of the day.

But it started again when I got home, and by then I was pretty freaked out.

"We'd like you to come in for an ultrasound as soon as possible, given your history with loss."

So I scheduled an appointment for today.  And even though I could tell there was nowhere near enough blood to signify a miscarriage, it totally freaked me out.  Enough that I stayed home from work today.  The doctor says there's really nothing you can do; bedrest isn't actually a miscarriage preventer.  But it still made me feel better.

I waited all darn day for that ultrasound.  And I prayed.  I know there's nothing else to do.

When the image finally came on the screen, the first thing I saw was our wiggly little 9 week old fetus, which has now grown hands (and might have been sucking a thumb... or the arms just aren't long enough for it to look any different!).  Yes, that blob on an ultrasound has certainly changed amazingly in the last two weeks.

Heartbeat?  Strong and healthy 167 bpm.  Thank you, God. 

And so we're fine after our little scare.  I can't begin to express my relief and gratitude. 

As an added bonus, we saw Leah's birth announcement, which, almost two years later, is still posted at the patient check-in window for OB at Boulder Community.  I thought that was pretty stinkin' cool!  Though to be fair, everything looks sunnier after seeing that little healthy heartbeat... :)

Today is an anxious day.

I am learning so much about faith.  And darnit, I'm not good at it.  That's probably why God keeps giving me so many opportunities to practice.

Why is it that so many awful stories come out of the woodwork when you're pregnant?  How can so many terrible things happen on this road to baby?

Even though I'm totally sick today (which tells me that we're still cookin', this little one and me), I'm also nervous.  Anxious.  I can feel that threat of whatif breathing down my neck.

I have the faith.  Truly, I do.  This tiny one growing in me is our baby.  I can just feel it deep down in the depths of my being.  I will be seeing his or her little face in August (if I'm really being honest, I'm convinced this is a September baby.  Leah was going nowhere and hadn't even dropped at week 39; she only got out by way of being breech.  I suspect I'm not an early deliver-er). 

The unknown.  It's out there, and it is so hard to keep my focus off of the dark shadow of could and might. 

The journey into motherhood is the scariest one I've ever taken. 

Don't get me wrong, it's also the best journey I've ever taken.  So, so beyond worth it.  But there is nothing comparable to this experience that so powerfully requires me to willingly bare my soul and open myself up to the possibility of pain and sorrow.   To invite the coulds and mights and whatifs in, in exchange for the chance to have the greatest miracle of all. 

It's a steep price.  It's one I know I'll pay again, God willing. 

Today is an anxious day.  Tomorrow will be better.

Faith.  

It always turns out just like God planned.

There's a snake in our bush and other domestic occurrences

No, this is not some kind of sneaky, slightly-graphic euphemism for trying to get pregnant.

There really is a snake in our bush.  The one in the front yard.  The one that everyone has to walk by in order to reach the front door.  The one that's right by the garage door, prompting me to take the garage door opener on our daily walks... you know, just in case that tricky snake gets it into his ugly little head to slither into my garage.  God forbid.

No, seriously, I would die if that happened.  It's one of my nightmares.  You would see a very distinct Melissa-shaped hole in our garage door.  Hopefully I would remember to push the stroller along with me, but it's very possible that Leah might be on her own.  That's how much I hate snakes.  (Kidding... mostly.)

We had to buy snake repellent.  Didn't know there was such a thing, but it turns out, you sprinkle a bit of this strong smelling powder and all snakes will supposedly vacate the premises.  The snakes are Moses and our house is Egypt.

I'll let you know how that one turns out.

In happier news, I have a daughter who asks for kisses all the time.  It's bliss.

She is also beginning to string words together to create a single idea.  Mostly simple ideas like, "Hat." "On."  The intent of that one was pretty clear.

When we were at the zoo, she was absolutely in love with the peacock.  So she followed it around with her little arms outstretched repeating, "Peacock."  "Home." 

It took me a while to connect the two, but I'm pretty sure she wanted to take the peacock home. 

She has also made a pre-potty-training connection: she now announces each and every time she poops.  Yep.  There's a cute little squat-and-push-face that goes with it, which I have yet to catch on camera.  Then, she declares: "Poop!" which comes out sounding like "pup," with extra emphasis on the P.

Who knew that watching someone in the act of pooping would be so delightful?

So many things I'm trying desperately to etch into my forever memory.  So many things that bring my heart unspeakable joy.

The snake... notsomuch.

The one where mommy held another baby

If I had any illusions about bringing another baby into our family easily and without any fireworks, they are hereby dispelled.

Today, we went to visit Auntie Jessica and baby James. 

Leah is always a bit reserved when she's not in her comfort zone, but she usually gets along quite well with Auntie Jessica.  Sure, she's never her comfortable, relaxed, talkative self, but she tends to do okay.

Things went fine, until Mommy tried to hold baby James.

Then I had a totally different child on my hands.

She was easily upset, cried each time she fell (which she never, ever does.  She's usually so tough I'm amazed), walked around throwing things and generally creating chaos, and pulled on my leg while yelling "UP!" (completely breaking my heart, I might add).

And she has been off all day, even back home. 

It must be nice to be the only baby!  LMS 8 days old

Ahhh, things.  They are a-changin'!

All in all, big transitions will be in store for my dear heart, who, I'm sorry to inform her, will not remain an only child forever if I have anything to say about it.

Poor little pumpkin.  I think I traumatized her.  And probably Auntie Jessica, too.

Today

Today, I saw one. 

I've worried about it ever since this sign went up. 

But, I've run the path in the open space literally hundreds of times in the four years we've lived here, but I've never, ever seen one.

Today, I saw a coyote.  From a great distance, thankfully.  The timing of our afternoon walk was just perfect.  If I hadn't stopped to watch Oprah, Leah and I would have run right into it. 

After watching it walk by and go the exact opposite direction of where I wanted to be, I plucked up all my courage, sang songs from The Sound of Music as loud as I could (it must have been in my head since the cast was on Oprah today) - just in case there were any more around - and Leah and I went on our afternoon walk, regardless of the coyotes.

Leah wasn't perturbed by the possible presence of coyotes, or perhaps she just thought my singing was funny.

I'm a little proud of myself - I've come a long way in the past 6 months.  I'm a LOT braver than I was in April! 

...That being said, I don't know that I'll venture into the open space by myself much more.

Say "Ahhh"

Well, it's official: Leah had her first cold.

Not to be confused with teething, which, it turns out, she is not.  At least, not in the sense that teeth are actually peeking through those little gums.

Which we determined when we went to the doctor yesterday.  I missed all the signals - or misinterpreted them is a better way to express it.  The snotty nose.  The red, runny eyes.  The low fever.  The neediness.  The inconsolable crying when she tried to lie down.

Silly Mommy thought that was teething.

But, we went to the doctor to get the all clear, and Leah did just beautifully. She was cute, and enchanted by the paper on the check-up table!  Sitting up, looking in the mirror and smiling at Mommy like nothing was wrong.  Sweet, sweet baby. 

I also got to find out that, just a week and a half shy of her 6 month birthday (can that be right?  Where was all this speed when I was pregnant?!) she has officially (almost) doubled her birthweight: 14lbs 10 oz!

Leah handled her first real cold wonderfully, especially considering that her momma thought it was just irritability brought on by teething.  She's been very clingy, but delightful, content and smiley even in her clinginess.  Besides, Mommy doesn't mind a little extra cuddle time. 

Strike

All the way back in April when I was preparing to go back to work after my maternity leave, I worried about whether my baby would take a bottle.

Fortunately for me, Leah was pretty much gung-ho about anything that came near her.  Be they fingers, pacis or other odd assortments, if it came near her mouth, it was probably going in her mouth.

Suffice it to say, she took her first bottle like a pro and never had any issues.

Oh, how her tastes have changed in just a few months.
This time as I prepared to return to work, it never occurred to me to test out the whole bottle situation, because it was old hat.  We'd given Leah a few bottles randomly over the summer, and she took them without complaint or hesitation.  In fact, the only trouble was often that we hadn't loaded her bottle up with enough milk!

So when I called my mom to check in on my first day back to work, I didn't expect her to answer me in a concerned voice, "well... what time are you coming home?  We've had a small problem."

Of course, my mother's mind jumped into overdrive, and I sped home at something like twice the legal speed limit.

Leah had refused the bottle.  All day.  I fed her at 6 before I left for work, and she hadn't eaten a drop until I got home at almost 4. 

Worse (or at least, equally as bad) was the fact that she had been as sweet as pie all day long, without her momma and without any food.

I felt awful.  I cried all that afternoon and evening.  How could I have neglected to re-acclimate her to the bottle?! 

To my horror, it continued the next day.  Surely she would eventually get hungry enough to eat... right?  Finally on Wednesday my mom got her to take some cereal, so at least she had something in her system.  The pediatrician, however, told us the cereal wasn't good enough and didn't have enough nutrition to actually help her; although it did make her feel full, it was actually working against us as we tried to get her to take the bottle.

Instead, she suggested that we try milk in a dropper. 

I'm glad to say that this has worked relatively well, so at least poor Leah is getting something to eat throughout the day while I'm gone.  But that sweet little girl is also stubborn as can be (I wonder where she gets that from?), and for two weeks she has chosen not to take any of the wide variety of bottles we have offered her, nor her sippy cup.  For some odd reason, she actually seems to like the dropper. 

From her mommy's perspective, it has been an absolutely heart-wrenching two weeks.  Everyday, I pray that she will take the bottle or the sippy cup.  Everyday, I have TONS of guilt - not only the preexisting guilt I feel for leaving my little girl, but now, the added, extra weight of feeling like I failed her and hoping she's not hungry while I'm gone.  It's agonizing - I imagine for both Mommy and Baby. 

Strikes don't last forever, right?

Worries... I've got 'em

Anxiety.

First, it was that tricky first trimester. I thought that if I could just survive (and Leah did, too) those first 14 weeks, life would be golden.

Then, at 20 weeks, I started having crazy fears that she would come early... waaaay too early.

After that it was worry over labor; worry that there would be something horribly, life-threateningly wrong which couldn't be diagnosed in-utero.

When she was perfect, I breathed a sigh of relief, and thought my worries would ease up.

Unfortunately, there is that tricky thing called SIDS, where babies go to sleep and simply don't wake up (GULP).

And somehow, it seems that life is just more complicated and scary when you're a momma (says the girl who went to school at 14 and got shot at... shouldn't I be fearless? Haven't I already lived through the worst? Turns out, not even close.).

When I talk about anxiety, people automatically jump to the "postpartum" discussion, and I really don't think that's the answer. Perhaps, though, the hormones, lack of sleep, stress, new life situation, etc, etc are all in cahoots with each other.

Regardless, it's the kind of worry that keeps me awake in the middle of the night. And it's not just the big stuff that keeps me up.

I worry that I'm not stimulating Leah as much as I should.

I worry that I'm smothering her and she'll turn into a toddler who can't entertain herself.

I worry that I'm not fulfilling my role as a wife.

I worry that I'm not keeping my house clean enough.

I worry that I'm not eating well enough to feed my daughter.

I worry about our daycare situation when I go back to work in the fall. (And by "worry," I mean it literally makes me cry every time I think about it.)

I worry that Leah sleeps too much. Or too little.

I worry about driving with her in the car (partly because she hates it, partly because... have you met other drivers?)

I worry that Casey and I aren't communicating the way we did pre-baby.

I worry that Casey will get some rare, incurable disease, or that something awful will happen to him. How would I live through that?

I worry about my parents'... well, everything.

And then... I feel guilty for worrying, when everything in my life is so perfect. And because worrying is stupid to begin with. As if my midnight worries can change anything anyway.

So I remind myself:
Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.~Proverbs 3:5

But still, this thing called motherhood... it's hard. Totally worth it, but real hard.

Paranoia

My mother warned me that this would happen once I had kids, and I very bluntly and cavalierly disagreed. And yet, her we are...

- I have officially become paranoid. -

In addition to what I like to think are the "normal" paranoias of first-time-motherhood (waking up each and every time the baby makes a noise, no matter how tiny; worrying about whether or not she has enough blankets on; obsessivly ensuring that everyone who comes within a 5 foot radius of her has washed their hands; checking on her during nap time just to make sure she is still breathing...), I now worry about other, less "normal" preoccupations.

Like this:

This sign went up recently in the open space behind our house. Now, I know that there are coyotes in the open space; I have often heard their cool-but-erie cries, although I have never seen one myself.

But when I saw this sign for the first time - unfortunately, while taking Leah for a walk in the stroller - it gave me pause. Should I take my baby on a path where coyotes might be lurking? As I read the "if a coyote approaches you" section, I envisioned myself doing each of these things as I desperately tried to protect Leah from a coyote that had somehow become the size of a grizzly bear with a taste for human flesh.

It was a few minutes before it occurred to me that I have run this path literally hundreds of times on my own and with the dogs, and have never seen anything more threatening than a bunch of birds, let alone a genetically mutated, oversized, flesh-eating coyote.

It is interesting, though, how having a baby changes your perspective.