I Want The Badge. Engraved. And BIG. To Hang on my Front Door.

I have ALWAYS said that I do not need nor want the badge of birthing a child with no medication. It was just something I took no interest in. I mean, thousands of babies are born everyday while the mother is on some sort of pain medication and they are fine. So, why would I PURPOSEFULLY CHOOSE to put myself through so much pain if I had the choice not to.

Before I move on, let me take you back a few years. May of 2008 to be exact. Scott and I were in Mexico on a kayaking excursion. This was supposed to be a relaxing trip of leisure. Where we, along with about 10 other couples, would follow the guide to specific spots, stop and listen to him talk to us about all of the exciting things in the water.

What ACTUALLY happened?

The only thing I thought about was beating everyone to the guide. Sizing up all the couples on their paddling expertise all the while yelling at Scott to stop lollygagging and looking around and get to the front of the line!! It was awful. Scott wanted to take in our time together and get into a rhythm of paddling while I just wanted to GET THERE. and Win. There is NO TIME for enjoying ourselves here buddy.

See, I want to win at everything. Taking the dogs outside the fastest. Get out of the car first. Staple some papers before someone gets a chance to even pick up their stapler. Pick out a woman at the grocery store with a really long list and fill my cart quicker.

You may think I am just rushing because I am in a hurry or like to be efficient.

No. I just want to beat you.

So, it is BEYOND me how I didn't even see this next one coming.

Enter baby class. The two hour talk of going through a natural childbirth.

It. Was. Awful.

But, instead of me listening and taking in all of the information with a steady head, I just looked around at the room. All of the soon to be mommies...who were all smiling and nodding nervously at this new information and occasionally staring at their partners with a look of fear...suddenly became my competition.

And I could just picture it... all of us lined up in a row on our hospital beds in our blue robes with our legs straddled to the stir-ups..the doctors are all ready to make the catch of a lifetime and we are all ready to go.

The whistle goes off and I jump to the lead! (Now, enter slow motion effects) My breathing is perfect...the nurses are oooh'ing and aaaaah'ing...Every so often, Scott is squirting some Gatorade into my mouth, feeding me hard-boiled eggs and twisting a cold rag of water on my forehead (don't worry, I am, of course, wearing a sweatband..so my ponytail stays perfectly coiffed)... everyone in the sidelines are cheering wildly as I bear down and make the final push! And as soon as the baby comes out, I have her diaper changed, her feeding done and am watching her take her first nap before the other moms have even gotten to 10 centimeters. Of course, people are still cheering while Scott shoots champagne into the sky while proclaiming, "The bravest woman in history!". Oh, and there is a lot of fist pumping.

Ok, so maybe it won't happen EXACTLY that way. My robe could be pink or green. And Scott could use Vitamin Water instead of Gatorade. But, you get my drift.

Bottom Line is. I now want to win. And I now want that badge.

Never thought this day would come. Also, never thought I could be so oblivious to my own pride that I didn't think this day would come.

Also, REALLY hoping that God doesn't decide that childbirth will be the time He humbles me and gives me a 12 lb baby who would like to take 78 hours to come out.

But, on the other hand... I would then not only be the bravest woman in the world, but I would have birthed a 12 pound baby and handled 78 hours of pushing with ease!

Yeah...I may be in trouble here.

On No You Did Not.

I am furious. So furious that I need a second to just let this one out.

I have a child who happens to have a birth mother and birth father who were born and live in Ethiopia. I have not met this child and have no idea if she is a she or he is a he. I have no idea when they get to come home to me and Scott. I have no idea if they will be healthy or sick. Little boned or Big boned. Perfect eyesight or in need of glasses. Tall or Short. Shy or Feisty.

I know just ONE THING. This is my child. And I am their mother.

So do not for one second think that Scott and I are adopting internationally because it sounds glamorous. Because we want to emulate a celebrity. Because we haven't carefully and for a LONG time prayed about and thought about all of the other adoption options out there. Bottom line is, we both know beyond a shadow of a doubt that baby Jane has a sibling in Ethiopia and it is our responsibility to bring them home.

A child is a child is a child is a child. A human life in another country is JUST AS PRECIOUS as a human life in my own country.

I just spent the last 15 minutes on the phone with what I thought was a Home Study agency in Illinois listening to a man tell me that I am neglecting my own backyard and "as much as everyone loves Angelina Jolie..it is the people who adopt from their own country who are the unsung heroes'.

Cue hair on the back of neck standing on end.

To which I replied, "Have you ever adopted?" To which he replied, "No, but I work for an agency". To which I replied..."That's nice. But if you have the guts to tell me that my child isn't as important as anyone else's because of their geographic location? Then I really hope you also have had the guts to follow through with your own strong convictions and do something yourself. Now, please forward me to your manager."

Listen. Tell me we are idiots for spending a whole lot of money to bring our child home. Tell me we are foolish for choosing to wait possibly years to meet our child.

But, do not for one second tell me that my baby does not also deserve love and a home and a family JUST because they were born far far away from here.

Like I said, I know ONE THING. Well, now I know two things. 1) I have a son or daughter who will be born in Ethiopia and who Scott and I will work and wait for as long as needed until we bring them home to us. And 2) I have discovered what it takes to make my blood officially boil.

Hurry Up and Wait. Or Hurry Up. Or Wait. I Mean, Either Or.

The question I get asked the most during this pregnancy...well, besides the daily question of how I so closely resemble Heidi Klum (it's my long legs)...is, "So, when are you actually going to have the baby?"


This is the great question I am sure all soon to be mom's wonder themselves...when is this baby really going to come? I mean, nobody really knows anyways. It would be like asking if Heidi Klum ever gets jealous of being compared to me all of the time...there is just no telling what she might say.


I have realized that having a high risk pregnancy means many things. 1) You will have a gazillion dr. appointments. Thankfully, this also means that we get to have a gazillion ultrasounds. 20 so far. CanNOT complain whatsoever about that one! And 2) You will be told about 14 different "birthing" options that you "may or may not" experience and that every step of the pregnancy is a "take it day by day" thing.


That last point can stress me out if I think about it enough and sometimes makes me want to start sucking my thumb again.


See, I have Factor V Leiden. A genetic blood disease/disorder that at its simplest, makes it very easy for my blood to clot. This can come in the form of a pulmonary embolism, stroke or clots in your legs. During pregnancy though, the placenta can clot (either a big one or lots of little ones) and this stops nutrients from getting to the baby, which can be, and in my case, has been, fatal.


So, whenever I get pregnant, I go on a daily shot of a blood thinner to help keep my body from clotting. This drug does not reach the placenta, however, so the protection is really only for me.


For most woman and their babies, you want that little one in your womb for as long as possible. For woman with Factor V, it is often a safer environment for them outside of the womb than inside because of all of the potential clotting, the high risk for preclampsia and the risk of stillbirth. So, there are not many babies who go full term.


Then there is this other thing. The whole, you have one kidney thing. This fact hasn't changed what I do during pregnancy or the medication that I take, but it gives us some answers to our miscarriages...while also giving the doctors more reason to poke and prod at me whenever they get the chance during this pregnancy to make sure my lone kidney is staying in good condition and that the heightened risk for preclampsia is caught early if it occurs.


Where does all of that leave me now? I am 29 weeks pregnant. So far, with a few minor glitches that arent even worth mentioning, I have had a really wonderful and as healthy as can be pregnancy! Little girl is growing right on target and so far, there have been no clots and my kidney's engine hasn't run out of steam. This is all seriously great news. News I wasn't really expecting.


I was told in the beginning that we could have her at 25 weeks. We are ONE MONTH past this milestone!

Our last milestone was 28 weeks...haven't gotten my bloodwork back, but I feel great so I can't imagine anything happening.


Starting next week, I have twice weekly tests and ultrasounds that basically check the stress level of the baby and my body. If there is any indication that things are changing or decreasing in any way....baby comes out.

So, pack your overnight bag. And wait. Or maybe hurry up and get to the hospital. Or go home and wait some more.


Thus begins the next 10 or so weeks of our lives. I am trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I could have an emergency c-section next week and begin my daily visits to the NIC-U for the next 2 months. But, I am also preparing to go nearly full-term, get induced, have a natural childbirth and meet my little one in two months.


And truthfully, I don't care how it happens. Or when it happens. I just pray that it does happen. I dont want to meet her so that I can get my body back or so I can be more comfortable when I sleep or stop peeing so much. Those are so ridiculously trivial to me. It is hard for me to grasp that this is actually happening. And because of that, I just want it to be over so I can hold her and know that she is safe. I want to know her face and hold her little feet and put her to my chest and watch her sleep. And, while she is still inside of me, there is that chance that my body could fail me again and harm her.


BUT. This is what I choose to spend a very small amount of time focusing on. Instead, I thank God for everyday we have. I check craigslist daily for strollers and baby furniture. I make Scott stop doing whatever he is doing every five minutes to watch the baby morph my tummy around.

And I hurry up, pack my bags and prepare. And then slow down, breathe and wait.

Did We Just Become Best Friends?

I may or may not have cried with my plumber last week. And by may or may not, I mean may. He saw Addie and proceeded to tell me about having to put his Golden Retriever down a few months ago.

I cried. He cried. It was the weirdest moment I have ever had with a complete stranger. And yet, when it was over, I kind of wanted to see if he wanted to adopt me...or be my honorary uncle...or just sit and watch Marley and Me with a tub of ice cream and some kleenex. Maybe go get a tattoo of our dogs on our arms.

Scott has always told me that our pups are going to live forever. I have a sinking feeling that he did not, in fact, buy me magic dogs. And one day, some unsuspecting insurance client will call me and I will hear their dogs barking in the background and the floodgates will open.

I have to move on or I might just call in sick to work and spend my day trying to fit my dogs and me in Addie's crate and making some kind of cuddle time memory. Maybe sing them a song while they tilt their heads and put their paws around my neck. I mean, go big or go home.

Knowing my dogs though, Reggie will get confused and pee on me and Addie will think its play time and swipe me in the eye with her enormous paws. Yep. that is exactly what would happen.

Cute memory. Gone.

But, I still have my moment with my plumber. Who I may or may not refer to as my new best friend. And by may or may not, I mean may.

Like a Man.

My voice, that is. Expecially when I wake up.

Somehow, in the night, little tiny elves sneak into my throat...create an Adam's apple, all the while scratching and stepping all over my vocal cords...decide against the Adam's apple, remove it and scurry away before daybreak.

This is the only way I can explain how I go to bed with a female tone and wake up sounding like Jack Nicholson. Well, the only reasonable explanation.

But, no matter how manly I sound on the phone in the morning and how surprised you may be to find out you are talking to a Stephanie and not a Stefan...I am all woman.

And being a woman, there is a little bit of territory that I have conquered that I am not proud of. I may just be a little bit of a tiny smidge of an eency weency tadbit of a...One Upper.

I HATE to admit it. In fact, it is one of my largest pet peeves about people. But, Scott and I were talking last night and he was telling my about his observation about some woman, especially now that I am pregnant.

He said, "I think some woman just like to hear themselves talk."

Now, at first, I wanted to throw my oven roasted chicken and potatoes with steamed broccoli at him (oh yes...I cooked that...from scratch...had to throw that in there since this is a once a month accomplishment) and spend the next 10 minutes telling him why I thought he was wrong and give 17 examples of how I am not like that. But, I stopped myself...barely... And said, "go on..."

And he told me that since I have been pregnant, he has noticed that so many ladies ask me how I am doing and before I am done answering, they begin their next phrase with "When I was pregnant...." and THEN I answer with a "Oh, I know! Now back to my pregnancy..." And THEY respond with a " I so get that! When I was 6 months along...." and I say "Yeah, at my 24 week appointment..." And they say, "I remember my doctor telling me...." And so on...both talking about our own experience...hardly taking in the other's experience...

You get my jist. And as much as I hate to admit it. I do like to hear myself talk. And sometimes, when I listen to someone else's story, I am already thinking about my past experience and am bursting at the seams to share it with them.

ometimes, I am not even listening to what is being said because I am just waiting for someone to take a breath so I can start my topic....about my experience...me...me...me...

Well crap Scott. As annoyed as I wanted to be and as much as I wanted to walk away thinking how great I am at listening and really taking in someone else's story without interjecting my own details, I couldnt.

The truth is. I need to remember that conversation with people doesnt have to and really shouldn't turn into Stephanie's storytime. And when someone talks about their wedding...or their birth story...or their horrible boss...or their dilemma with a friend...or their dogs... I should really just listen. And listen. And listen. Period.

Unless, Scott asks me what we talked about...then, I can say, "Oh, this happened to her...remember when this happened to me???" Baby steps people.

Anyways, the lessons are being learned everyday. And my lesson for the week is to remember that the art of conversation has little to do with me. So, maybe, just maybe, I should do something that I hate hearing people say.

Just. Shut. My. Pretty. Little. Sometimes. Manly. Sounding. Mouth.