So, I have hit that post pregnancy hormonal phase. Where you feel sort of out of control of your body? It. Is. Crazy.
The only thing is...this time...I have Emara. I get to see and feel the strange changes of post-baby WITH an actual baby. Which changes the entire scenerio.
Lately, because I am experiencing it again, I am recalling so many feelings that I had after each miscarriage. My body was adjusting back...my hormones were raging...but I had no bundle of joy to balance it all out.
For almost three years, my RSVP to a baby shower was always "no". I quietly listened and smiled as friends would share their pregnancy stories or birth stories and then cry on the ride home. I sincerely joined in the chorus of "SO EXCITED" when another friend became pregnant at the same time wondering if I would ever know what that kind of joy really felt like.
I remember being consumed by the thought of my lost babies EVERY single day for months and months. I remember joking with my husband about the what if's of having a child combining my big butt and his long legs...only to breathe a deep sigh afterwards wondering if that would ever even happen. Every pound I gained had a name. I remember talking with friends and pretending to be fine because I couldn't believe that I still wasn't actually fine. "That time of the month" was just another stabbing reminder of what was no longer there.
I say all of this to say. Struggling with infertility...getting pregnant and then losing your baby...can make even the incredibly strong...incredibly fragile.
Something that can be so profoundly joyful to you can remind someone of something deeply heartbreaking to them.
And so, if you are pregnant...or trying to get pregnant...and you have someone in your life who isn't jumping up and down with excitement for you and you don't understand why...
Please give them an extra scoop of grace... We have no idea if today began with a negative pregnancy test... or is a "would have been" due date...
I can never thank my sister-in-law, Leah, enough for her patience with me during her pregnancy with her youngest son. She got pregnant during my time of loss and was so incredibly kind and thoughtful to me. She gave me more grace than I deserved and she chose other friends to talk baby stuff with...for which I am eternally grateful.
And, on the other hand, if you are struggling to get pregnant...or if you have suffered through the loss of your baby...it is so easy to let resentment and bitterness overtake your heart...
Please give yourself and everyone around you an extra scoop of grace too...
For you....I hope you allow yourself the freedom to feel every single feeling you have...to get angry...to be sad...to feel guilt... Just, don't stay in those dark spots for long...work through them... I PROMISE you, you will breathe again..I PROMISE you, you will know joy again. You will come out on the other side and you will be ok.
For others...Believe the best in their intentions..in their words..in their actions... And if something is said that feels insensitive, let grace settle into your heart.
I heard the simplest of sentences at church a few weeks ago and it is something that I have carried with me everyday since.
Choose Love. Choose Kindness. Choose Grace.
This applies to obviously everything in life...but, because my heart is closest to this subject, this is the area that I am reflecting on today.
So, for whatever scenerio may be yours, I hope you can give out some extra grace today...
We all need it and none of us deserve it.
Showing posts with label Faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Faith. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
I Was Blind...Literally...
I started writing a blog about being J-Lo's overweight cousin and my only hope for regaining my ability to wear anything in my closet again was running...and how I feel like running is one of my closest, dearest friends and now, because of my kidney, I can no longer be friends with running.
I really wanted to spend some time complaining about how this wasn't supposed to be my path. How one of my life's goals was to run at least one half marathon a summer...to run the entire 13 Rock N Roll series Half Marathon's. I really wanted to spend some time pouting.
And then, I remembered something that my real-life dear friend, Lennox Barnett, said over the weekend. He was talking about being grateful and about how good God was and said "Guys...I was blind. I was literally blind. And there is no explanation for why I see today. None. And that is why I can't praise God enough..."
I am beyond blessed. I have a house. We have TWO cars. We get to mow our lawn with a motor powered machine that actually self-propels! I have shoes for every season and enough scarves to make a third winter coat (because I already have TWO winter coats). I have water at my disposal WHENEVER I want. I get paid well for the work that I do. I have a job to begin with. We have insurance. Beyond that, we have hospitals and doctors at our disposal.
I have a gorgeous daughter. and three more that probably look a whole lot like her waiting to meet us in heaven.
I can breathe without reminding myself to do so. My heart pumps blood to my body without question. My limbs move and my hair grows and my eyes can see. Heck, my eyes can blink without command and then when I need to command them to, they can blink even more!
I can sing. And sing loudly. And I can hear beautiful melodies and voices and laughter.
I am surrounded by love. By a husband who prays for me and takes care of me. By a family who believes the best in me and accepts all of my very strange and sometimes annoying quirks. By friends who tolerate weird voice messages and strange picture texts and long phone calls and love me without question.
I am not orphaned. I grew up knowing my mom, my dad and my three brothers.
So, if having one kidney is the reason why I can no longer do something that I love. If having a blood disease along with it means that we have absolutely no guarantees when it comes to having more children naturally. If I have to restrict my diet or go on medication or stop doing certain things.
WHO CARES. WHO CARES. WHO CARES.
I have Emara Jane, my miracle baby. And she is more than enough reason to be grateful. I have Scott, who again, more than enough. I have life. I have God. I could go on and on (and probably should on a daily basis).
And, even if all of this is taken away. my child. my husband. my health. my precious running (inserting sarcasm).
God is still good and I still believe in hope. And heaven is still coming.
So, Stephanie, take a big bite of perspective today. And be thankful that you have so much more than you could ever need or want.
I really wanted to spend some time complaining about how this wasn't supposed to be my path. How one of my life's goals was to run at least one half marathon a summer...to run the entire 13 Rock N Roll series Half Marathon's. I really wanted to spend some time pouting.
And then, I remembered something that my real-life dear friend, Lennox Barnett, said over the weekend. He was talking about being grateful and about how good God was and said "Guys...I was blind. I was literally blind. And there is no explanation for why I see today. None. And that is why I can't praise God enough..."
I am beyond blessed. I have a house. We have TWO cars. We get to mow our lawn with a motor powered machine that actually self-propels! I have shoes for every season and enough scarves to make a third winter coat (because I already have TWO winter coats). I have water at my disposal WHENEVER I want. I get paid well for the work that I do. I have a job to begin with. We have insurance. Beyond that, we have hospitals and doctors at our disposal.
I have a gorgeous daughter. and three more that probably look a whole lot like her waiting to meet us in heaven.
I can breathe without reminding myself to do so. My heart pumps blood to my body without question. My limbs move and my hair grows and my eyes can see. Heck, my eyes can blink without command and then when I need to command them to, they can blink even more!
I can sing. And sing loudly. And I can hear beautiful melodies and voices and laughter.
I am surrounded by love. By a husband who prays for me and takes care of me. By a family who believes the best in me and accepts all of my very strange and sometimes annoying quirks. By friends who tolerate weird voice messages and strange picture texts and long phone calls and love me without question.
I am not orphaned. I grew up knowing my mom, my dad and my three brothers.
So, if having one kidney is the reason why I can no longer do something that I love. If having a blood disease along with it means that we have absolutely no guarantees when it comes to having more children naturally. If I have to restrict my diet or go on medication or stop doing certain things.
WHO CARES. WHO CARES. WHO CARES.
I have Emara Jane, my miracle baby. And she is more than enough reason to be grateful. I have Scott, who again, more than enough. I have life. I have God. I could go on and on (and probably should on a daily basis).
And, even if all of this is taken away. my child. my husband. my health. my precious running (inserting sarcasm).
God is still good and I still believe in hope. And heaven is still coming.
So, Stephanie, take a big bite of perspective today. And be thankful that you have so much more than you could ever need or want.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
To You.
I think about you everyday.
Don't worry, little one. We have not forgotten about you.
You have a sister who you will just adore. And she will adore you.
You have two dogs who are wagging their tails a little too much and they would love another buddy.
You have a soft bed and a room and everything you could ever need waiting for you.
But, more importantly, you have a mommy and daddy who love you deeply. And who have spent the last 8 months praying for you. We are coming for you, sweet baby. We are coming to Ethiopia someday.
The timing is God's. And as impatient as I can be and as anxious I feel about rushing the process, I know that the story that God is writing for YOUR life is one of beauty and grace and is better than anything I could ever try and write. So, I wait for His chapters to begin.
But, until then, born or unborn, girl or boy....we love you. we can't wait to bring you home.
Where you belong.
Don't worry, little one. We have not forgotten about you.
You have a sister who you will just adore. And she will adore you.
You have two dogs who are wagging their tails a little too much and they would love another buddy.
You have a soft bed and a room and everything you could ever need waiting for you.
But, more importantly, you have a mommy and daddy who love you deeply. And who have spent the last 8 months praying for you. We are coming for you, sweet baby. We are coming to Ethiopia someday.
The timing is God's. And as impatient as I can be and as anxious I feel about rushing the process, I know that the story that God is writing for YOUR life is one of beauty and grace and is better than anything I could ever try and write. So, I wait for His chapters to begin.
But, until then, born or unborn, girl or boy....we love you. we can't wait to bring you home.
Where you belong.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Spitting Up Through Your Nose and Pooping Up Your Back.
I have a daughter.
Let's just start right there. I am constantly in a state of thankfulness for her. Scott and I have waited. And prayed. And cried. And pleaded.
And here she is.
She is a gift. Truly a gift straight from God. She is my constant reminder that He loves. and that He cares. That He embodies grace. That He carries hope. That He doesn't forget.
She is beautiful. And so sweet. Her demeanor is so calm and so pleasant. She hums a sweet melody when she starts to fall asleep and has an amazing growl when she is getting comfortable. Sings and Growls already. She is like my very own tiny Adele.
So far, we have gone through more diapers and wipes than I thought humanly possible. She has pooped through outfits and onto towels and in the bathtub and all over my hand. She has peed through outfits right onto our 2 day old new bedding and on our couch. She has spit up and bypassed the burp rag right onto our carpeting and couch again. She wakes me up a few times every night because she is hungry, putting me into a new state of exhaustion. Exhaustion where I have unintentionally done the following:
*Tried plugging my phone charger into her arm.
*Ripped apart my pillowcase thinking that I had accidently swaddled her inside of it and was smothering her. (thus the new bedding...because, I literally ripped apart my pillowcase)
*Attempted burping her backwards...patting her tummy instead of her back.
*Used my hand to wipe her thinking that I, for some reason, had a glove on. And when I realized that there was no glove, turned the light on (with my poopy hand) to realize there was poop on both my hand and the lightswitch.
And, I have LOVED. EVERY. SECOND.
I LOVE a couch filled with stains. Ripped Bedding. Complete Exhaustion. Loads of Laundry. Abandoned housekeeping attempts. Dirty floors. Poop and Pee and Spit Up everywhere.
I LOVE IT. We LOVE it. We have waited so impatiently for this season in our lives to begin. And now that it is here, I am not only thankful for her tiny fingers and tiny toes but I am thankful for every late night feeding and for every sleepless night. Thankful for days that go by where nothing gets done in the house or outside of it. Thankful for crusty goo on many surfaces. Thankful for her cry. Thankful for my newfound ability to be late to everything I commit to. Thankful for a very smelly garage thanks to old hot diapers.
Emara Jane Zibell has changed my life. Going through what we went through had already put a huge conviction in my heart to not complain about the typical complaints that can come our way with the new venture of children. But, I have yet to have to force myself to hold onto that perspective. I am well aware that future parents are going to bed aching for what I get to experience. And, that alone, keeps my mouth shut and my heart content.
So, back to blogging I go. This time, with a tiny tot sleeping on my chest while I type one handed. But, don't worry, it won't be all sap and cheese. I do have a few bones to pick with moms everywhere. There are some very SIGNIFICANT things that occur during and after childbirth that nobody told me about. And, well, a little heads up would have helped ladies. At least it would have softened the blows of "WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?!?" and "WHAT THE HECK IS HAPPENING TO MY BODY?!?" and "WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY TELL ME THAT I WOULD HAVE TO WRITE AN APOLOGY TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM FOR FLOODING THEIR ROOM WITH MY AMNIOTIC FLUID".
Oh yes. I will go there. Boys, you might want to stop reading for a bit. It could get a little graphic. I may use the word "leaking" a lot.
Ok, she is grunting now. And it's way too cute to do anything else now but stare at her. Dinner? I am working on hiring a few elves from Santa to take care of that tiny detail.
Peace out friends.
Let's just start right there. I am constantly in a state of thankfulness for her. Scott and I have waited. And prayed. And cried. And pleaded.
And here she is.
She is a gift. Truly a gift straight from God. She is my constant reminder that He loves. and that He cares. That He embodies grace. That He carries hope. That He doesn't forget.
She is beautiful. And so sweet. Her demeanor is so calm and so pleasant. She hums a sweet melody when she starts to fall asleep and has an amazing growl when she is getting comfortable. Sings and Growls already. She is like my very own tiny Adele.
So far, we have gone through more diapers and wipes than I thought humanly possible. She has pooped through outfits and onto towels and in the bathtub and all over my hand. She has peed through outfits right onto our 2 day old new bedding and on our couch. She has spit up and bypassed the burp rag right onto our carpeting and couch again. She wakes me up a few times every night because she is hungry, putting me into a new state of exhaustion. Exhaustion where I have unintentionally done the following:
*Tried plugging my phone charger into her arm.
*Ripped apart my pillowcase thinking that I had accidently swaddled her inside of it and was smothering her. (thus the new bedding...because, I literally ripped apart my pillowcase)
*Attempted burping her backwards...patting her tummy instead of her back.
*Used my hand to wipe her thinking that I, for some reason, had a glove on. And when I realized that there was no glove, turned the light on (with my poopy hand) to realize there was poop on both my hand and the lightswitch.
And, I have LOVED. EVERY. SECOND.
I LOVE a couch filled with stains. Ripped Bedding. Complete Exhaustion. Loads of Laundry. Abandoned housekeeping attempts. Dirty floors. Poop and Pee and Spit Up everywhere.
I LOVE IT. We LOVE it. We have waited so impatiently for this season in our lives to begin. And now that it is here, I am not only thankful for her tiny fingers and tiny toes but I am thankful for every late night feeding and for every sleepless night. Thankful for days that go by where nothing gets done in the house or outside of it. Thankful for crusty goo on many surfaces. Thankful for her cry. Thankful for my newfound ability to be late to everything I commit to. Thankful for a very smelly garage thanks to old hot diapers.
Emara Jane Zibell has changed my life. Going through what we went through had already put a huge conviction in my heart to not complain about the typical complaints that can come our way with the new venture of children. But, I have yet to have to force myself to hold onto that perspective. I am well aware that future parents are going to bed aching for what I get to experience. And, that alone, keeps my mouth shut and my heart content.
So, back to blogging I go. This time, with a tiny tot sleeping on my chest while I type one handed. But, don't worry, it won't be all sap and cheese. I do have a few bones to pick with moms everywhere. There are some very SIGNIFICANT things that occur during and after childbirth that nobody told me about. And, well, a little heads up would have helped ladies. At least it would have softened the blows of "WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?!?" and "WHAT THE HECK IS HAPPENING TO MY BODY?!?" and "WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY TELL ME THAT I WOULD HAVE TO WRITE AN APOLOGY TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM FOR FLOODING THEIR ROOM WITH MY AMNIOTIC FLUID".
Oh yes. I will go there. Boys, you might want to stop reading for a bit. It could get a little graphic. I may use the word "leaking" a lot.
Ok, she is grunting now. And it's way too cute to do anything else now but stare at her. Dinner? I am working on hiring a few elves from Santa to take care of that tiny detail.
Peace out friends.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Ripples.
I will post about our labor and delivery experience soon..but, I HAD to write this story down before the details got foggy on me.
This morning, a lady walked into our room (Scott was picking up our pooches, so wasn't around) and introduced herself. She is the nurse supervisor at Swedes...I thought she was just going to ask about my experience, so I waited for her to start.
"This is going to sound really strange..."
ok, good opener Ms. Supervisor...Could have been a little stronger, but hey....Im not the boss.
But, it got better, and less weird pretty quickly.
She asked if I sang at Heartland...she just wanted to be sure before she kept talking to me... I confirmed and this is what she told me (I am obviously paraphrasing because, well, I didn't have time to find a recording device of some sort, although now I am considering keeping one in my purse):
She said that four years ago, she started going to Heartland but before then, she grew up Jewish..so she was new to Christianity...something that she didn't really understand was hearing God's voice..and it was something that she never experienced.
Then, two years ago, she saw a video that I did at Heartland sharing our story...and this is what God clearly told her while she watched the video:
That girl will have a baby and she will deliver at your hospital and you will be working that day to tell her this when she has her baby.
She didn't know my name...my last name...if I would even go to Swedes or when the heck we would or if we would even try for another baby. But, she said that she found out my first name and for the last two years, whenever a Stephanie has come in and delivered, she would check to see if it was me.
Finally, three weeks ago, when I stayed overnight, she saw my name...and saw me...found out what my last name was and knew that this little whisper that God gave her two years ago was about to happen...
So, yesterday. Two years after hearing God's voice and wondering if what she heard was really Him....He confirmed to HER that He does speak directly to us. A 2 year faith journey where he used our story but didn't even involve us in the details because this part of our story was not for us, but for HER. Think about that for a second. It. Is. So. Incredible.
We both cried. I jokingly asked her why the heck she waited to tell me this information. But, I get it. God used little Emara in a way that is so indirect to build someone's faith in Him and bring glory to Him.
The more I think about what happened in that conversation, the more filled with gratitude I am and the more amazed I am at the complexity of our stories intertwined and the simplicity of God's goodness.
More to come later...like I said, I just HAD to write that down.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Updates and More Updates...
Well dear friends and family...it seems that this little girl is a lot like her daddy. And by daddy, I mean her mommy.
At 33 weeks, I went into what is called Pre-Term Labor...basically, I went into labor too early. So, after an overnight at the hospital, some medication and a strict order to bedrest...the labor was slowed down significantly, which was the goal.
Last Thursday, at 36 weeks, went in for my normal bi-weekly appt and my Dr. announced that things were moving along and this baby was on her way! So, he told me to go home and get my stuff together and meet him at the hospital at 5pm! Scott immediately went into crazy jittery mode and just started walking quickly around the house with no direction. It was really adorable actually. And at 4:30pm. Off we went!
Long story short.. Once we got to the hospital, things weren't moving very fast...which for any other pregnancy, the doctor would just induce or break my water or do anything else that would push along the labor...but, I'm only 36 weeks. And the risks outweigh the benefit of having a 36 weeks old baby, so my doctor will not do anything to help me progress in labor.
(SIDE NOTE: THIS is the MIRACLE of my strong baby Jane. Factor V babies are known to be safer outside of the womb than inside...my entire pregnancy, I have been told that I will have this baby very early...because of blood clots, etc...basically, she would need to come out because my body probably wouldn't be doing its job...but, this has not been the case...so, what an amazing and strange change of mind that they now want to keep her in because she and I are doing so well!)
Friday morning...went back in. Still progressing...but too slow to go back to the hospital for now. So, off to home I go to keep laboring. Go back Monday morning. And if things are moving along...back to the hospital! If things are slow, then back home I go. It's all day to day. My contractions havent slowed down...but, because I am not full-term, my Dr is having me stay on the natural path, which I am actually really happy about.
So, sweet baby Jane. 18 Days of contractions. And you are worth EVERY SINGLE ONE. And your mommy and daddy are so excited to meet you, but when you are at your healthiest. So, if that is tomorrow, wonderful. If it is two weeks from now, wonderful.
And that is that folks. I think she heard us talking about her entrance into the world and she said, "I do not follow your rules, people." Like I said, just like her daddy...and by daddy...well, you know who we are talking about :)
Thursday, May 26, 2011
And, Here We Go. Zibell Family Update
Called our doctor yesterday because I was not feeling the baby move as much. I diligently do my daily kick counts so she wasn't about to get anything past me! Because I was in Schuamburg at work, he sent me to Labor/Delivery at Swedes since his office would be closed by the time I got back.
Got to the hospital thinking that they would monitor the baby for a bit and then send us home. I had my normal Thursd morning appt with him anyways the next day..but I wanted peace of mind and had an intuition that something was off. So glad I listened to my body and we went to Swedes!
Because....I was having labor contractions 2-4 minutes apart! YIKES. 33 weeks and contracting? Having never had late term contractions, I just assumed because I was so early, that I was just having lots of Braxton Hicks for the last few days. I hardly mentioned it when they asked me why I came in...had NO CLUE. So, they hooked me up to an IV, checked my cervix (which is already thinned and further than what a 33 week cervix should look like...he felt her head!!! She has already dropped!), gave me a steroid shot for the baby and kept me overnight.
They did send me home today...my contractions are about 6 minutes apart now...but my cervix only changed minimally overnight so he didn't think that I needed to stay.
I am now officially on strict bedrest! No dishes, laundry, cleaning, stairs or cooking for me! Any other time I would be ecstatic...but I am NESTING! And all I want to do is clean my house. So, if you like to vaccuum...maybe you should call me? :)
I'm sure you know this, but contractions don't just stop without medication or help..and it really just holds them off for a bit....because baby girl is still doing so well and so far, no blood clots...they do not want her out this early. They were only going to take her soon if my womb was starting to go 'kapoot' on her. And its not...so, they will do whatever they can to keep me from having her.
That being said... we will definitely have an early bird because these contractions and my lady parts are def trying to get her outta here. I get checked again on Monday with my Maternal Fetal Medicine Doctor and we will see where we are there!
Scott and I are so thankful that she is healthy. We never even thought for a second that with all of the risks of my pregnancy, that I would go into pre-term labor?!?! We expected either they take her via emergency c-section early because she was in stress or they would induce me prior to my due date so I could try and have her naturally without posing a danger to her staying in for so long.
Crazy. But, like I said. We are so thankful for her, our gift. And whatever route is the safest for her, we will take.
If you pray, please pray for her sustained health. God knew this before anyone else and I believe that He really has put her on the growth fast track...she is so big already! But, with any preemie, there can be complications, so we are trusting and praying for a healthy baby from beginning to end! And pray for my body....no blood clots after her birth(which is my point of highest risk) and sustained health for my champ of a kidney!
Ok, this went WAY longer than I thought. I'm going back to bed :) Sleeping on a 3 tier labor and delivery bed with cords attached all over your body does not provide an environment for a good night sleep! Thank you all for your support, love and prayers....I can't wait for you all to meet our miracle!!!
Got to the hospital thinking that they would monitor the baby for a bit and then send us home. I had my normal Thursd morning appt with him anyways the next day..but I wanted peace of mind and had an intuition that something was off. So glad I listened to my body and we went to Swedes!
Because....I was having labor contractions 2-4 minutes apart! YIKES. 33 weeks and contracting? Having never had late term contractions, I just assumed because I was so early, that I was just having lots of Braxton Hicks for the last few days. I hardly mentioned it when they asked me why I came in...had NO CLUE. So, they hooked me up to an IV, checked my cervix (which is already thinned and further than what a 33 week cervix should look like...he felt her head!!! She has already dropped!), gave me a steroid shot for the baby and kept me overnight.
They did send me home today...my contractions are about 6 minutes apart now...but my cervix only changed minimally overnight so he didn't think that I needed to stay.
I am now officially on strict bedrest! No dishes, laundry, cleaning, stairs or cooking for me! Any other time I would be ecstatic...but I am NESTING! And all I want to do is clean my house. So, if you like to vaccuum...maybe you should call me? :)
I'm sure you know this, but contractions don't just stop without medication or help..and it really just holds them off for a bit....because baby girl is still doing so well and so far, no blood clots...they do not want her out this early. They were only going to take her soon if my womb was starting to go 'kapoot' on her. And its not...so, they will do whatever they can to keep me from having her.
That being said... we will definitely have an early bird because these contractions and my lady parts are def trying to get her outta here. I get checked again on Monday with my Maternal Fetal Medicine Doctor and we will see where we are there!
Scott and I are so thankful that she is healthy. We never even thought for a second that with all of the risks of my pregnancy, that I would go into pre-term labor?!?! We expected either they take her via emergency c-section early because she was in stress or they would induce me prior to my due date so I could try and have her naturally without posing a danger to her staying in for so long.
Crazy. But, like I said. We are so thankful for her, our gift. And whatever route is the safest for her, we will take.
If you pray, please pray for her sustained health. God knew this before anyone else and I believe that He really has put her on the growth fast track...she is so big already! But, with any preemie, there can be complications, so we are trusting and praying for a healthy baby from beginning to end! And pray for my body....no blood clots after her birth(which is my point of highest risk) and sustained health for my champ of a kidney!
Ok, this went WAY longer than I thought. I'm going back to bed :) Sleeping on a 3 tier labor and delivery bed with cords attached all over your body does not provide an environment for a good night sleep! Thank you all for your support, love and prayers....I can't wait for you all to meet our miracle!!!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Wanted: My Brain Back Please.
6 months pregnant. Yesterday, I was cool as a cucumber thinking we had all of the time in the world. Today, I got an email. 6 months, it said! Baby girl is over a pound and over a foot long and her lungs are starting to branch out and her fingernails are growing.
Fingernails. Learn to clip tiny baby fingernails. practice on Scott's pinky. Also, buy newborn mittens just in case you are really bad at clipping Scott's pinky.
Mittens. It will be June/July when you come. So, maybe fingerless mittens? But, that kind of negates the purpose? So, maybe keep you in a onesie or take your socks off to keep you cool?
Ok, Socks. Toenails...find out if it is possible to cut yourself with your long toenails. Im pretty sure you will be very bendy. If so, practice clipping tiny toenails. Use Reggie. He is little.
Or would you rather be warm and keep your socks on? Because, if you are like Scott, you would prefer that every outfit were lined in thermal long underwear. But, if you are like me, you would prefer to be naked whenever possible.
Naked. You are NEVER allowed to do that in the presence of a man. Well, we will discuss this when you are 30. maybe. Ok, I kid, but Scott looks really serious when we have talked about that.
Speaking of Scott. He always repeats sentences when he talks about you. Like, "I'm having a girl!!! and then....I'm having a girl..." The second sentence always being the "I am just realizing what I am saying" sentence.
And now, I totally get it.
Baby girl. Maybe we should talk. I mean, this is your first time being a tiny person outside of my womb...and there are some things you arent going to get right away...like going to the bathroom on a toilet. or drinking from a straw. or walking to the store. or carrying your own diaper bag. or understanding the meaning of LOL. I mean, you really have a lot to learn here and I feel like I am going to be very accomodating to you taking your sweet time learning everything. I mean, it is a lot to grasp. And I can understand that.
So, how about we come to an agreement. See, this is my first time being the mommy to a tiny person outside of my womb. and there are some things that I am not going to get right away. Like, which way the diaper goes on you, just in case I buy the kind that doesnt have a little disney character on the front of it (Note: Find out if the characters go on the front). Or putting a onesie on you and somehow getting your arm stuck halfway through. Or trying to burp you for 73 minutes because I am paranoid that you will have a tummy ache. Or trying to brush your gums because I think I see a tooth poking through. There is a tiny chance we may wear matching outfits for a few years. It's small, but I'm not throwing anything out. I have a lot to grasp. I hope you can understand that.
So listen, you poop through your outfit seventeen times a day? I'm cool with that. Wake me up 5 times a night? Go right ahead sweet pea. But, you have to promise to not get super upset when I have no idea what the heck I am doing. Because, holy mother of pearl and granite stone. I have NO idea what I am doing.
But, dont tell your dad. He is kind of counting on me to teach him how to change a diaper.
Diaper...do you put the diaper cream on everytime you change the diaper? Do you cover the entire region where a diaper is? Or just the...you know...specifics?
Oh dear Lord. I have a lot of googling to do.
Fingernails. Learn to clip tiny baby fingernails. practice on Scott's pinky. Also, buy newborn mittens just in case you are really bad at clipping Scott's pinky.
Mittens. It will be June/July when you come. So, maybe fingerless mittens? But, that kind of negates the purpose? So, maybe keep you in a onesie or take your socks off to keep you cool?
Ok, Socks. Toenails...find out if it is possible to cut yourself with your long toenails. Im pretty sure you will be very bendy. If so, practice clipping tiny toenails. Use Reggie. He is little.
Or would you rather be warm and keep your socks on? Because, if you are like Scott, you would prefer that every outfit were lined in thermal long underwear. But, if you are like me, you would prefer to be naked whenever possible.
Naked. You are NEVER allowed to do that in the presence of a man. Well, we will discuss this when you are 30. maybe. Ok, I kid, but Scott looks really serious when we have talked about that.
Speaking of Scott. He always repeats sentences when he talks about you. Like, "I'm having a girl!!! and then....I'm having a girl..." The second sentence always being the "I am just realizing what I am saying" sentence.
And now, I totally get it.
Baby girl. Maybe we should talk. I mean, this is your first time being a tiny person outside of my womb...and there are some things you arent going to get right away...like going to the bathroom on a toilet. or drinking from a straw. or walking to the store. or carrying your own diaper bag. or understanding the meaning of LOL. I mean, you really have a lot to learn here and I feel like I am going to be very accomodating to you taking your sweet time learning everything. I mean, it is a lot to grasp. And I can understand that.
So, how about we come to an agreement. See, this is my first time being the mommy to a tiny person outside of my womb. and there are some things that I am not going to get right away. Like, which way the diaper goes on you, just in case I buy the kind that doesnt have a little disney character on the front of it (Note: Find out if the characters go on the front). Or putting a onesie on you and somehow getting your arm stuck halfway through. Or trying to burp you for 73 minutes because I am paranoid that you will have a tummy ache. Or trying to brush your gums because I think I see a tooth poking through. There is a tiny chance we may wear matching outfits for a few years. It's small, but I'm not throwing anything out. I have a lot to grasp. I hope you can understand that.
So listen, you poop through your outfit seventeen times a day? I'm cool with that. Wake me up 5 times a night? Go right ahead sweet pea. But, you have to promise to not get super upset when I have no idea what the heck I am doing. Because, holy mother of pearl and granite stone. I have NO idea what I am doing.
But, dont tell your dad. He is kind of counting on me to teach him how to change a diaper.
Diaper...do you put the diaper cream on everytime you change the diaper? Do you cover the entire region where a diaper is? Or just the...you know...specifics?
Oh dear Lord. I have a lot of googling to do.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
American Dreamin'
When I was a sophomore in high school, I had a teacher who started off the school year with the big question all sophomore's face.
What is YOUR American Dream?
Ok, so I would have much rather answered the question, "Who is the best looking boy in this room?" or "Who would you rather to go to Homecoming with?" or even "What kind of car do you want someday when you pass that darn driving test?" But, had she asked those questions, I would have never had the haunting that I have today.
I thought about it for a bit...and thought some more...and watched everyone around me get up and go write their answer on this huge piece of canvas she had provided..be a lawyer/teacher/race car driver/famous singer, etc.. Finally, I stood up and went to the fabric and wrote....
To be a really good mom.
And, this boy, Tim, who was standing next to me, saw what I wrote and said, "That's it?!"
His words have haunted me since that day. That's it? You can write down whatever the heck you want you and that is ALL you choose??
Since that day, I have been pestered with the question that I think we all face numerous times in our lives... If money weren't an issue, what would we do with our life? What kind of mark do we want to make? What are we going to do that actually matters? Is our job going to be what defines us? And as we get older, monotony steps in and we begin to think, "Is this really it?"
And 14 years later, after working really hard and succeeding and working really hard and failing....after discovering that I have legitimate talent and discovering I have legitimate weakness...after realizing that I really can do whatever I put my mind to...and after seeing all of the mad potential we all have inside us and around us...
I would never for a second change my answer.
My heart doesn't skip a beat when I hear somebody talking about changing the world. My heart skips a beat when I hear adult children talk about how they want a marriage just like their parents one day. My adrenaline doesn't start pumping at the thought of being famous or making my name known for a good cause or even working a job that energizes me. My adrenaline starts pumping when I think about the beautiful challenge it is going to be to raise healthy and whole children who know what grace looks like, love feels like and laughter sounds like. I don't leave a funeral inspired by what somebody has accomplished in their lives, but rather what their children and grandchildren have to say about them personally.
I want to be a really good mom. Who invests my time and energy into loving my kids. And enjoys my life enough that they find joy in the everyday routine that we will call adventure. That I teach them how to be content. How to be a good friend because they see how Scott and I treat eachother. I want to teach my kids that needs are more important than wants, that family is more important than fame and that your spouse is more important than your self.
I don't want my daughter to learn self-consciousness because she sees mommy fixated with working out and talking negatively about my thighs. I don't want my son to learn how to worry because I tell them what we can't have instead of talking about all that we do have.
One of my hero's is Mike Breaux. And not because he is an incredible communicator and teacher who has taught me so much about God and life. But, because he has a wife who adores him, 3 kids who are now grown up and living lives that are so beyond themselves with families who are so obviously their number one priority.
Yes, I want to succeed in life. I don't want to have to push paper for always and forever. I would love to use all of the giftings that God has given me. But, it is all secondary to being the best wife and mom I can be. Completely secondary.
I don't want to be remembered because I was funny or could sing or write or run faster than a Kenyan (I'm like a lightning bolt people...you don't get 2nd to last place for being slow, right?)
I want my kids to say that God is faithful and always good. That they want a marriage just like their parents. That they value and understand the reason for giving to others. and that they had a pretty damn good mom. And then, I want them to grow up and repeat the same pattern.
If money weren't an issue....if I could do anything I wanted in the entire world with no limitations...if nothing were to ever get in my way...
That would be...and still is...my American Dream.
What is YOUR American Dream?
Ok, so I would have much rather answered the question, "Who is the best looking boy in this room?" or "Who would you rather to go to Homecoming with?" or even "What kind of car do you want someday when you pass that darn driving test?" But, had she asked those questions, I would have never had the haunting that I have today.
I thought about it for a bit...and thought some more...and watched everyone around me get up and go write their answer on this huge piece of canvas she had provided..be a lawyer/teacher/race car driver/famous singer, etc.. Finally, I stood up and went to the fabric and wrote....
To be a really good mom.
And, this boy, Tim, who was standing next to me, saw what I wrote and said, "That's it?!"
His words have haunted me since that day. That's it? You can write down whatever the heck you want you and that is ALL you choose??
Since that day, I have been pestered with the question that I think we all face numerous times in our lives... If money weren't an issue, what would we do with our life? What kind of mark do we want to make? What are we going to do that actually matters? Is our job going to be what defines us? And as we get older, monotony steps in and we begin to think, "Is this really it?"
And 14 years later, after working really hard and succeeding and working really hard and failing....after discovering that I have legitimate talent and discovering I have legitimate weakness...after realizing that I really can do whatever I put my mind to...and after seeing all of the mad potential we all have inside us and around us...
I would never for a second change my answer.
My heart doesn't skip a beat when I hear somebody talking about changing the world. My heart skips a beat when I hear adult children talk about how they want a marriage just like their parents one day. My adrenaline doesn't start pumping at the thought of being famous or making my name known for a good cause or even working a job that energizes me. My adrenaline starts pumping when I think about the beautiful challenge it is going to be to raise healthy and whole children who know what grace looks like, love feels like and laughter sounds like. I don't leave a funeral inspired by what somebody has accomplished in their lives, but rather what their children and grandchildren have to say about them personally.
I want to be a really good mom. Who invests my time and energy into loving my kids. And enjoys my life enough that they find joy in the everyday routine that we will call adventure. That I teach them how to be content. How to be a good friend because they see how Scott and I treat eachother. I want to teach my kids that needs are more important than wants, that family is more important than fame and that your spouse is more important than your self.
I don't want my daughter to learn self-consciousness because she sees mommy fixated with working out and talking negatively about my thighs. I don't want my son to learn how to worry because I tell them what we can't have instead of talking about all that we do have.
One of my hero's is Mike Breaux. And not because he is an incredible communicator and teacher who has taught me so much about God and life. But, because he has a wife who adores him, 3 kids who are now grown up and living lives that are so beyond themselves with families who are so obviously their number one priority.
Yes, I want to succeed in life. I don't want to have to push paper for always and forever. I would love to use all of the giftings that God has given me. But, it is all secondary to being the best wife and mom I can be. Completely secondary.
I don't want to be remembered because I was funny or could sing or write or run faster than a Kenyan (I'm like a lightning bolt people...you don't get 2nd to last place for being slow, right?)
I want my kids to say that God is faithful and always good. That they want a marriage just like their parents. That they value and understand the reason for giving to others. and that they had a pretty damn good mom. And then, I want them to grow up and repeat the same pattern.
If money weren't an issue....if I could do anything I wanted in the entire world with no limitations...if nothing were to ever get in my way...
That would be...and still is...my American Dream.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Babies and Believing.
Sorry folks, some of you may want to say it was for you, but this past week was all for me. Sure, your child may have taken their first steps or you got the promotion you wanted or you finally got your bangs to look more like Kim Kardashian's and less like this guys:
Even still, this week was all mine.
I got a card from a dear friend. A friend who has seemingly accidently but very intentionally been placed in my life...via facebook. I know, thanks Zuckerberg. I read the card she took the time to write me and as quickly as I read it, my heart began a transformation.
{thank you Jill. your words were so much more than a pen meeting paper. and they brought more healing and hope into my heart than I could ever explain to you}
Then, I spent all week listening to a song that just wrecked me. I mean, every time I listened to it, I cried. Take a listen sometime, its called "Healing is in Your Hands"..cheesy title...amazing song.
All of that to say, this week...has been a week where my heart has started to view hope a little differently.
I am in no way a victim and in no way will ever play that role. But, these last three years have brought Scott and I more bad news than good...more heartache than joy...from losing our babies to sinking like crazy under a mound of medical debt...from unwanted job changes to unwanted partial home owners...from blood diseases to missing kidneys. It has been a road that has left us feeling bruised and broken and exhausted.
BUT. We both have confidently walked through each circumstance believing that God is good. And that we will be ok. Yes, it has sucked...beyond words, at times. Yes, we have both given in to vices at times...but, we always believed that God was good and that we would be ok.
See, my struggle has not been with accepting that bad things can happen in this broken world. My struggle is accepting that good things can happen in this broken world.
I have grown accustomed to saying that the story that God is writing for our lives is far more beautiful than the one we could ever write... but, the beauty has come through seeing His hope and grace through our pain. Not because the story itself is necessarily beautiful.
I say all of this to say. I want to meet this child that is moving and growing inside of me. I want to call him or her my son or daughter when I introduce them to people. I want to think about their future. I want to picture myself holding them the day they are born. I want to do the baby shower thing and the nursery thing and the molding my stomach in that strange paper mache cast thing.
But, I am scared to death to do that. I fall asleep at night and dream about having to deliver my child stillbirth and hold a funeral at our church and come home to an empty nursery. I take pictures of my growing belly wondering if this is the last picture I will be taking. I tell friends how excited I am and know in my heart that most of my words are to appease them and not me.
But, this week has been for me, my friends. Because I have been completely overwhelmed with the idea that God really and truly loves me. And He was the one who created me to be the little girl who walked around with dolls stuck up her shirt pretending to be pregnant AND a piggy bank full of quarters for her future children she would adopt. He was the one who created me to want to give birth to a child and rescue my child from another place on this earth. Both desires. He gave me the strong desire for both.
And so, even though they are words that are close to impossible for me to say. I am choosing to believe today that I will meet this child. on this side of eternity. Yes, Father, this child is yours before it is mine. But, today, I am not separating those two facts.
Because, today, I believe that this child is both yours and mine.
Even still, this week was all mine.
I got a card from a dear friend. A friend who has seemingly accidently but very intentionally been placed in my life...via facebook. I know, thanks Zuckerberg. I read the card she took the time to write me and as quickly as I read it, my heart began a transformation.
{thank you Jill. your words were so much more than a pen meeting paper. and they brought more healing and hope into my heart than I could ever explain to you}
Then, I spent all week listening to a song that just wrecked me. I mean, every time I listened to it, I cried. Take a listen sometime, its called "Healing is in Your Hands"..cheesy title...amazing song.
All of that to say, this week...has been a week where my heart has started to view hope a little differently.
I am in no way a victim and in no way will ever play that role. But, these last three years have brought Scott and I more bad news than good...more heartache than joy...from losing our babies to sinking like crazy under a mound of medical debt...from unwanted job changes to unwanted partial home owners...from blood diseases to missing kidneys. It has been a road that has left us feeling bruised and broken and exhausted.
BUT. We both have confidently walked through each circumstance believing that God is good. And that we will be ok. Yes, it has sucked...beyond words, at times. Yes, we have both given in to vices at times...but, we always believed that God was good and that we would be ok.
See, my struggle has not been with accepting that bad things can happen in this broken world. My struggle is accepting that good things can happen in this broken world.
I have grown accustomed to saying that the story that God is writing for our lives is far more beautiful than the one we could ever write... but, the beauty has come through seeing His hope and grace through our pain. Not because the story itself is necessarily beautiful.
I say all of this to say. I want to meet this child that is moving and growing inside of me. I want to call him or her my son or daughter when I introduce them to people. I want to think about their future. I want to picture myself holding them the day they are born. I want to do the baby shower thing and the nursery thing and the molding my stomach in that strange paper mache cast thing.
But, I am scared to death to do that. I fall asleep at night and dream about having to deliver my child stillbirth and hold a funeral at our church and come home to an empty nursery. I take pictures of my growing belly wondering if this is the last picture I will be taking. I tell friends how excited I am and know in my heart that most of my words are to appease them and not me.
But, this week has been for me, my friends. Because I have been completely overwhelmed with the idea that God really and truly loves me. And He was the one who created me to be the little girl who walked around with dolls stuck up her shirt pretending to be pregnant AND a piggy bank full of quarters for her future children she would adopt. He was the one who created me to want to give birth to a child and rescue my child from another place on this earth. Both desires. He gave me the strong desire for both.
And so, even though they are words that are close to impossible for me to say. I am choosing to believe today that I will meet this child. on this side of eternity. Yes, Father, this child is yours before it is mine. But, today, I am not separating those two facts.
Because, today, I believe that this child is both yours and mine.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Timing.
When I was a little girl, I had a crush on this little boy named Jason. He was the boy that I woke up extra early for one Sunday morning (that just happened to be Valentine's day) and snuck to the corner gas station to buy a chocolate sucker for. I remember getting ready for church and preparing in my mind the moment where I would hand him the sucker and say something awfully romantic, like "Here, I found this. Do you want it?". You know, as romantic as an 8 year old can be. But that moment never happened. Because as I was walking into the kids service, I saw my friend Heidi, who was way cuter than me and somehow already developing boobs, giving him a homemade card with a box of conversation hearts.
My timing has been bad since childhood..
From picture taking to dance moves to even my first kiss, that ended up being more of an interaction between my chin and his lips because I had no idea how fast or slow you go in for one of those things. Yes, me + timing = bad bad bad.
As an adult, I got a little bit better. I don't blink or sneeze nearly as often in pictures, I can move like nothing else if you give me some old school Michael Jackson and an empty room and I would have to say that after years of practice, I now know how to give a kiss directly on the lips.
Beyond that, I have noticed that a lot of the 'timings' of my life have been out of my control. From jobs to creating major organs to houses to starting a family. In fact, in the last two and a half years, I have completely given in to the idea that God is in control here and He is so good and loving and faithful, that it's about time I start trusting Him with every part of my life. Genius, I know. You would think after years of felt bible characters and easter services that I would have figured that out by now.
So it really should come as absolutely no surprise to me that the day after we move out of our home and into my mother's house in Beloit. And the week after we gave our leased vehicle back to the dealership with no new car to bring home due to our recent drout from the lovely garage lady (if you dont know this wonderful story...see a few posts down). And the day before we have an appointment with my kidney specialist to find out what is exactly wrong with my singular kidney and see if it is even ok to try to get pregnant. We find out that we are in fact, with child.
Well, just me. Scott still has his washboard abs. jealous. My abs? Well, let's just say I could win a beer belly contest. And while we are at it, let's also throw out there that my favorite part of the day is when I unbotton my pants. feels. so. good.
So, are you saying that this wasn't in your "plan"? Actually, yes. I am a worry wart. And knowing that I have one kidney and a blood disorder that shifts me into the high risk region of the pregnancy world, I was really prepared to never try to get pregnant again. And I was ok with that. For the most part. And gosh, it felt like with our luck...from the garage crap to the car stuff to the kidney disappearence to the 3 lost pregnancies... The timing of all of this has been SO wrong in my mind...
But now that I look back, I couldn't have painted a better picture of God's faithfulness.
And just because I know that He is faithful does not mean that I am certain of my future. Or my sweet little baby's future. But, at this point, I don't need to be. I have today to celebrate. And tomorrow can wait. No matter what happens, God is still good and his timing is better than mine could ever be.
My timing has been bad since childhood..
From picture taking to dance moves to even my first kiss, that ended up being more of an interaction between my chin and his lips because I had no idea how fast or slow you go in for one of those things. Yes, me + timing = bad bad bad.
As an adult, I got a little bit better. I don't blink or sneeze nearly as often in pictures, I can move like nothing else if you give me some old school Michael Jackson and an empty room and I would have to say that after years of practice, I now know how to give a kiss directly on the lips.
Beyond that, I have noticed that a lot of the 'timings' of my life have been out of my control. From jobs to creating major organs to houses to starting a family. In fact, in the last two and a half years, I have completely given in to the idea that God is in control here and He is so good and loving and faithful, that it's about time I start trusting Him with every part of my life. Genius, I know. You would think after years of felt bible characters and easter services that I would have figured that out by now.
So it really should come as absolutely no surprise to me that the day after we move out of our home and into my mother's house in Beloit. And the week after we gave our leased vehicle back to the dealership with no new car to bring home due to our recent drout from the lovely garage lady (if you dont know this wonderful story...see a few posts down). And the day before we have an appointment with my kidney specialist to find out what is exactly wrong with my singular kidney and see if it is even ok to try to get pregnant. We find out that we are in fact, with child.
Well, just me. Scott still has his washboard abs. jealous. My abs? Well, let's just say I could win a beer belly contest. And while we are at it, let's also throw out there that my favorite part of the day is when I unbotton my pants. feels. so. good.
So, are you saying that this wasn't in your "plan"? Actually, yes. I am a worry wart. And knowing that I have one kidney and a blood disorder that shifts me into the high risk region of the pregnancy world, I was really prepared to never try to get pregnant again. And I was ok with that. For the most part. And gosh, it felt like with our luck...from the garage crap to the car stuff to the kidney disappearence to the 3 lost pregnancies... The timing of all of this has been SO wrong in my mind...
But now that I look back, I couldn't have painted a better picture of God's faithfulness.
And just because I know that He is faithful does not mean that I am certain of my future. Or my sweet little baby's future. But, at this point, I don't need to be. I have today to celebrate. And tomorrow can wait. No matter what happens, God is still good and his timing is better than mine could ever be.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Pick & Choose.
Not to be confused with Pick and Save. At Pick N Save, you get to literally pick the items that you want and save money in the process. Gen to the ius. I have never been to Pick N Save, but I picture it to be a place filled with happy people who grab item after item and throw their fists in the air while crying out "SAVINGS!" and high fiving fellow shoppers in the check out line.
Pick and Choose? Well, this is different. At least in the connotation that I am taking from it.
I have this issue with God sometimes. I want to plan His plan for me. You know, live a healthy life until I'm about 87 or 93 and then, after a blissful night of playing with my great grandkids and watching a rousing re-run of Minute to Win It on the classic gameshow channel, fall asleep in my husband's arms only to be awakened by Gabriel the angel in heaven who immediately shows me a mirror and I discover that my body is identical to Marissa Miller.
Here is what I hate. When people say to me, "God has a plan for you...." Ok, so I don't hate the whole God has a plan thing and don't even disagree with it. But, I hate when they fill in the blanks at the end of the sentence. Like they somehow have this direct line to God and He conveniently whispers to them, and not me, the future direction of my life.
I had a particularly rough day the other day and I just needed a minute to be honest with myself and with God. I don't understand His ways, but I am not supposed to, I guess. I know that He is so good, so I hope in that and not in what necessarily happens to me. I have this faux bargaining session with God sometimes. It sounds a little something like this:
Ok God. So, I know that I can't have everything I want and exactly the way I want it. And I know that You are good and faithful and that no matter what happens in life, I have hope in You and will be ok (have I buttered you up enough Big G?). But, can you just give me this one little thing? Can I have this one tiny part of my life happen just the way I want it to? I mean, you are the miracle worker, so let's flex those big guns my way for a minute. capeesh?
But, here is how I really do see it. I prayed and believed the way you all said I should. and all three of my little ones died. Does this mean God is not as big as I thought He was? Does this mean I didn't have enough faith in Him and it's my own fault? Does this mean that He was just as sad as we were, but we live in a broken world and so sometimes, things we want to work end up breaking? Or maybe God is actually just that much bigger and more complex than we can comprehend so it could just be time to stop putting so much dependance on our own strength and just rest in the goodness of God no matter WHAT happens?
Anyways, I wrote a song. Because there are some moments in my life that scare me. Adopting and all of the what if's that come with that. Getting pregnant again and all of the risk that comes with that. Having a family. Being a mom. Finding a lump on my body, like my grandmother, grandfather and uncle did. And most days, I am confident in God. But sometimes. I am scared because in the grand scheme of things, I am so small.
Pick and Choose? Well, this is different. At least in the connotation that I am taking from it.
I have this issue with God sometimes. I want to plan His plan for me. You know, live a healthy life until I'm about 87 or 93 and then, after a blissful night of playing with my great grandkids and watching a rousing re-run of Minute to Win It on the classic gameshow channel, fall asleep in my husband's arms only to be awakened by Gabriel the angel in heaven who immediately shows me a mirror and I discover that my body is identical to Marissa Miller.
Here is what I hate. When people say to me, "God has a plan for you...." Ok, so I don't hate the whole God has a plan thing and don't even disagree with it. But, I hate when they fill in the blanks at the end of the sentence. Like they somehow have this direct line to God and He conveniently whispers to them, and not me, the future direction of my life.
I had a particularly rough day the other day and I just needed a minute to be honest with myself and with God. I don't understand His ways, but I am not supposed to, I guess. I know that He is so good, so I hope in that and not in what necessarily happens to me. I have this faux bargaining session with God sometimes. It sounds a little something like this:
Ok God. So, I know that I can't have everything I want and exactly the way I want it. And I know that You are good and faithful and that no matter what happens in life, I have hope in You and will be ok (have I buttered you up enough Big G?). But, can you just give me this one little thing? Can I have this one tiny part of my life happen just the way I want it to? I mean, you are the miracle worker, so let's flex those big guns my way for a minute. capeesh?
But, here is how I really do see it. I prayed and believed the way you all said I should. and all three of my little ones died. Does this mean God is not as big as I thought He was? Does this mean I didn't have enough faith in Him and it's my own fault? Does this mean that He was just as sad as we were, but we live in a broken world and so sometimes, things we want to work end up breaking? Or maybe God is actually just that much bigger and more complex than we can comprehend so it could just be time to stop putting so much dependance on our own strength and just rest in the goodness of God no matter WHAT happens?
Anyways, I wrote a song. Because there are some moments in my life that scare me. Adopting and all of the what if's that come with that. Getting pregnant again and all of the risk that comes with that. Having a family. Being a mom. Finding a lump on my body, like my grandmother, grandfather and uncle did. And most days, I am confident in God. But sometimes. I am scared because in the grand scheme of things, I am so small.
Untitled.
Open shops and little clocks. The time just passes by.
Pick and choose and my hearts to bruise.
It's never good. The timing's Yours.
I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water..
But, I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose... another..
Round and round we go. This little show of hope and make-believe.
It's so clear to me that I can't see. And that's the part I dread.
I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water..
But, I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose...another..
I am unshaken, but constantly shaking.
I am unwavered, yet find myself waving.
I am not broken, but please don't go breaking me down.
I try to be faithful, but I can't find faith in.
Losing my heart to a world that keeps taking.
I am not broken, but please don't go breaking me down.
Broken hearts. Clean up the floor and take the pain away.
Tiny pieces of you. All over the place.
I know that I know I can't pick what I want and toss the rest in the water.
But I know that I know I don't have the heart to lose another.. round.
Monday, October 25, 2010
I'm Freaking Out.
1) We have decided for sure for sure for sure that we are adopting from Ethiopia!!!!!!!
2) We have been freaking about the cost of it (approx. $30,000 total) but not freaking out too bad because we knew that if God put the desire to adopt in our hearts, He would provide a way.
3) Random and amazing friend came to us a month ago and said the following (warning: you might pee your pants)
"I want to help raise the money for your adoption"
4) GOD IS FAITHFUL
5) This random and amazing friend, Chris, is doing just that....and it is incredible to see God beginning to provide a way to bring our little one home to us.
6) Why am I posting? Because it is ALL that I can think about.. all day.. and night.. well, actually that is a lie, because at night I am either sleeping or trying really hard to remember the ridiculous thing that Scott said or did in his sleep (yes, he is one of those...and it is hilarious)
That is all. If you want to be a part of bringing the first baby Zibell home, just message me your email or comment it on here and I can send you what Chris sent out.
We are getting so close to this thing actually happening, I can almost feel it!
2) We have been freaking about the cost of it (approx. $30,000 total) but not freaking out too bad because we knew that if God put the desire to adopt in our hearts, He would provide a way.
3) Random and amazing friend came to us a month ago and said the following (warning: you might pee your pants)
"I want to help raise the money for your adoption"
4) GOD IS FAITHFUL
5) This random and amazing friend, Chris, is doing just that....and it is incredible to see God beginning to provide a way to bring our little one home to us.
6) Why am I posting? Because it is ALL that I can think about.. all day.. and night.. well, actually that is a lie, because at night I am either sleeping or trying really hard to remember the ridiculous thing that Scott said or did in his sleep (yes, he is one of those...and it is hilarious)
That is all. If you want to be a part of bringing the first baby Zibell home, just message me your email or comment it on here and I can send you what Chris sent out.
We are getting so close to this thing actually happening, I can almost feel it!
Monday, October 18, 2010
The Other You.
We are going to have a child soon. A beautiful little boy or maybe girl from a country far away. Ethiopia to be exact.
We are just starting the process...raising money...filling out applications...researching and more researching....reading books....
And my mind is constantly filled with thoughts about our child. What will he/she look like? Boy? Girl? Newborn? 1 year old?
And as much as I am picturing taking this little child for walks...watching them grow up... playing and dancing in the living room to cartoons...snuggling during the winter months and running through hoses in the summer...hearing the soft breathing of a napping infant.... I have become even more overwhelmed with this:
This baby will come into the world grieving. Losing the one thing it has been so intimately connected with for its entire existence. It's mother.
I know that at some point, Scott and I will be the only scent that this child knows. the only voices that bring security. the only heartbeats they will hear. But when our little first one comes into the world, it will only have had one heartbeat...one voice...one scent... and it wont be ours. and it will be gone.
There is something so beautiful about adoption. but there is something so tragic.
We are adopting not to fill our need to be parents. We are adopting not to complete the family circle that we long for. No. I am realizing that more and more how incredibly selfish that is.
There is a child who has a mother that does not want them. There is a child who has lost both parents to death, disease or poverty. A child who has cousins running around somewhere in the world and aunt's and uncle's and grandma's and grandpa's who share their smile, their laugh, their quirks, their bloodline. Who they will never meet.
I understand grief. I do not understand rejection. I do not understand loneliness.
So, as the reality of adoption is setting in, I am completely sobered. The feeling of responsibility is heavy on my heart. This child needs love and we will give that unconditionally. This child needs security and we will provide that. But, this child will need to heal. And this is the part that I am praying the Lord shows us how to handle.
We are just starting the process...raising money...filling out applications...researching and more researching....reading books....
And my mind is constantly filled with thoughts about our child. What will he/she look like? Boy? Girl? Newborn? 1 year old?
And as much as I am picturing taking this little child for walks...watching them grow up... playing and dancing in the living room to cartoons...snuggling during the winter months and running through hoses in the summer...hearing the soft breathing of a napping infant.... I have become even more overwhelmed with this:
This baby will come into the world grieving. Losing the one thing it has been so intimately connected with for its entire existence. It's mother.
I know that at some point, Scott and I will be the only scent that this child knows. the only voices that bring security. the only heartbeats they will hear. But when our little first one comes into the world, it will only have had one heartbeat...one voice...one scent... and it wont be ours. and it will be gone.
There is something so beautiful about adoption. but there is something so tragic.
We are adopting not to fill our need to be parents. We are adopting not to complete the family circle that we long for. No. I am realizing that more and more how incredibly selfish that is.
There is a child who has a mother that does not want them. There is a child who has lost both parents to death, disease or poverty. A child who has cousins running around somewhere in the world and aunt's and uncle's and grandma's and grandpa's who share their smile, their laugh, their quirks, their bloodline. Who they will never meet.
I understand grief. I do not understand rejection. I do not understand loneliness.
So, as the reality of adoption is setting in, I am completely sobered. The feeling of responsibility is heavy on my heart. This child needs love and we will give that unconditionally. This child needs security and we will provide that. But, this child will need to heal. And this is the part that I am praying the Lord shows us how to handle.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Someone Owns Your Garage. Oh, And You're Missing A Kidney. So, You Have That Going For You.
There have been many moments in my life where I have wanted to run away.
I remember when my brother Sean and I decided that it would be better to run away from home than to stay in such a terrible place where they made you eat beans and rinse your plate before you put it in the dishwasher.
So, using our amazing courage and strong sense of street wits... We took off... To the basement... Until we heard mom yell for everyone to come to the table for tacos... with no beans... which then, I grabbed my plastic bag filled with dolls and a water spray bottle (the necessity for running away) and headed upstairs wondering how my family had been handling our traumatic exit for the past five minutes. It really must have been difficult for them considering they said nothing... too painful to relive I guess.
More recently, after each miscarriage and at every baby shower in between, I have felt a strong urge to run away. This time though, I wanted to run not from the awful house rules that my mother insisted we follow, but from my present reality. I wanted to escape into a world filled with fort building and make believe and piggy banks filled with pennies and tootsie roll wrappers (I cant be the only one who thought it was fun to flatten crushed up candy wrappers and put them in anything available as a kid).
Even closer to the current date and time, we had a wonderful deal going on. That deal being the selling and closing of our house. Most of you heard us talk about how quickly it happened and the hustle and bustle of packing and cleaning and preparing and house hunting and blah blah blah. In fact, today, we were supposed to close. Actually, right about now. This past weekend, we were supposed to move out. Our house was (and still is) completely packed. We got our P.O. Box for the forwarding address, the bills have been cancelled, the storage unit rented, the moving truck ready and then we find out THIS nugget of truth.
You dont own your garage. In fact, you dont own 1/4 of your yard. And crazy enough, you never have. Years before you bought your house, someone made a huge error and only transferred a portion of the property to the new owners circa 2000. And long story short, somebody else, somebody slightly evil bought that forgotten piece of land for a small price knowing that someone will have to buy it back from her, at which point she will want a really big price.
So, I have found myself wanting to run away again. And this time, from my own house. No rules or evil mothers to make you clean up after yourself. I want to run away from the fact that no matter which way you spin it, we are going to be in a pretty large amount of debt in order to pay this woman for the land that WE LIVE ON. Thank GOD the buyers are being so patient and letting us try and figure this out, so we can still close on the house and move in the near future. It's just now, we get to pay a shady woman for our garage and a portion of our kitchen and then live with my mother so we can pay off the debt we will incure and also save back up for the down payment we lose since all of our money will now go to her...and lawyer fees... Yes, running away has been on my mind.
And yesterday, I got some more news that made me want to run away. Except this time, I want to unzip my skin and escape my body. Run as far away as my little exposed skeleton and muscle will allow.
A. You have a slightly sick right kidney and B. You seem to be missing your left kidney.
Yes. You heard me right. Missing. Gone. Never been. Apparently, I was born without a left kidney. Who does that? Who just doesnt HAVE a kidney. Me, I guess. Is it weird that even though I have never had one, I suddenly miss it.
I have a CAT scan soon to see just how sick my right kidney is...hopefully, it is just "needs some chicken soup and a good night sleep" sick so we can get back to normal...which is a debateable term in the Zibell house.
I find out Monday if I can actually run away. Meaning, run in the marathon that I have spent the last 5 months preparing for. Apparantly, running for 5 hours at a time isnt the best thing for your body....and maybe not so great when you have one kidney that isnt up to par, persay. But, my doctor will tell me Monday. And until then, I am pretending that none of this is happening...because, well, I just dont want to go there yet.
The irony of all of this is that my first instinct when the going gets....strange...and bad...and frustrating... is to run is now the one thing that I may no longer be allowed to do.
So. If you see me in the near future tearing down our garage (because hey, if I can't have it...neither can this mean old lady), or if you see a jar at a gas station for a fundraiser that says "Segway for Stephanie!", please know that these may be my new versions of "running away"... and don't be alarmed, just make me some tacos with no beans, help me build my fort and offer me a piggy back ride....for 26.2 miles. I promise, it won't be that bad.
I remember when my brother Sean and I decided that it would be better to run away from home than to stay in such a terrible place where they made you eat beans and rinse your plate before you put it in the dishwasher.
So, using our amazing courage and strong sense of street wits... We took off... To the basement... Until we heard mom yell for everyone to come to the table for tacos... with no beans... which then, I grabbed my plastic bag filled with dolls and a water spray bottle (the necessity for running away) and headed upstairs wondering how my family had been handling our traumatic exit for the past five minutes. It really must have been difficult for them considering they said nothing... too painful to relive I guess.
More recently, after each miscarriage and at every baby shower in between, I have felt a strong urge to run away. This time though, I wanted to run not from the awful house rules that my mother insisted we follow, but from my present reality. I wanted to escape into a world filled with fort building and make believe and piggy banks filled with pennies and tootsie roll wrappers (I cant be the only one who thought it was fun to flatten crushed up candy wrappers and put them in anything available as a kid).
Even closer to the current date and time, we had a wonderful deal going on. That deal being the selling and closing of our house. Most of you heard us talk about how quickly it happened and the hustle and bustle of packing and cleaning and preparing and house hunting and blah blah blah. In fact, today, we were supposed to close. Actually, right about now. This past weekend, we were supposed to move out. Our house was (and still is) completely packed. We got our P.O. Box for the forwarding address, the bills have been cancelled, the storage unit rented, the moving truck ready and then we find out THIS nugget of truth.
You dont own your garage. In fact, you dont own 1/4 of your yard. And crazy enough, you never have. Years before you bought your house, someone made a huge error and only transferred a portion of the property to the new owners circa 2000. And long story short, somebody else, somebody slightly evil bought that forgotten piece of land for a small price knowing that someone will have to buy it back from her, at which point she will want a really big price.
So, I have found myself wanting to run away again. And this time, from my own house. No rules or evil mothers to make you clean up after yourself. I want to run away from the fact that no matter which way you spin it, we are going to be in a pretty large amount of debt in order to pay this woman for the land that WE LIVE ON. Thank GOD the buyers are being so patient and letting us try and figure this out, so we can still close on the house and move in the near future. It's just now, we get to pay a shady woman for our garage and a portion of our kitchen and then live with my mother so we can pay off the debt we will incure and also save back up for the down payment we lose since all of our money will now go to her...and lawyer fees... Yes, running away has been on my mind.
And yesterday, I got some more news that made me want to run away. Except this time, I want to unzip my skin and escape my body. Run as far away as my little exposed skeleton and muscle will allow.
A. You have a slightly sick right kidney and B. You seem to be missing your left kidney.
Yes. You heard me right. Missing. Gone. Never been. Apparently, I was born without a left kidney. Who does that? Who just doesnt HAVE a kidney. Me, I guess. Is it weird that even though I have never had one, I suddenly miss it.
I have a CAT scan soon to see just how sick my right kidney is...hopefully, it is just "needs some chicken soup and a good night sleep" sick so we can get back to normal...which is a debateable term in the Zibell house.
I find out Monday if I can actually run away. Meaning, run in the marathon that I have spent the last 5 months preparing for. Apparantly, running for 5 hours at a time isnt the best thing for your body....and maybe not so great when you have one kidney that isnt up to par, persay. But, my doctor will tell me Monday. And until then, I am pretending that none of this is happening...because, well, I just dont want to go there yet.
The irony of all of this is that my first instinct when the going gets....strange...and bad...and frustrating... is to run is now the one thing that I may no longer be allowed to do.
So. If you see me in the near future tearing down our garage (because hey, if I can't have it...neither can this mean old lady), or if you see a jar at a gas station for a fundraiser that says "Segway for Stephanie!", please know that these may be my new versions of "running away"... and don't be alarmed, just make me some tacos with no beans, help me build my fort and offer me a piggy back ride....for 26.2 miles. I promise, it won't be that bad.
Friday, June 11, 2010
MOMENTOUS OCCASIONS.
I am FINALLY pre-babies weight.
Wait. What?
Let me give you my chubby tubby timeline, as I like to call it..well, I like to call it that now because I have never given it a name until just this second. And let's be honest, it could be better.
May, 08 - ran first half marathon. body = awesome (in my book...again, all up for debate here)
May, 08 - leave for baby makin' cruise. and it worked. the baby was made.
July, 08 - lost our little one. spent the week at home. people brought food.
*time out*
When I say "people brought food", I mean, for ONE meal...we would get an appetizer... bread... entree...dessert...drinks... and sometimes even more. (insert many dang gina's)
I will not embellish each time, but I need to make you aware of this: EVERYTHING was in the comfort food genre and EVERYTHING was portioned for at least four people.
And. I. Ate. Pretty. Much. All. Of. It. I mean, I would leave a brownie for Scott. Sometimes.
*time in*
September 08 - time to get back in the saddle. literally. baby makin' time again. And yes, Scott eggoed my...preggo.. wait, that can't be right... He leggoed my eggo? What is that saying?!? I got pregnant. Man, I thought I could have said that way cooler.
November 18, 08 - lost our second little one. (now it's time to insert explitives..it's ok. we started to)
Spent another week at home. PEOPLE BROUGHT FOOD. And Thanksgiving began.
-Now this is where it gets tricky. Not only was I so angry with my body and felt so much guilt for what my body was doing that I felt the need to destroy it. I also didn't want to talk to a single person. And with the holidays all around me, what better way to avoid conversation than to always have food in my mouth. And naughty naughty food. Because, hey, if my body isn't going to do me any favors, why should I do it any.
I honestly thought that. Self-destruction at its worst. or actually, at its best.
December, 08 - Find out I have a blood disease. Just another confirmation that it is my fault. So, what to do? Besides cry and fight off the urge to sleep all day. Eat, drink and smoke cigarettes. I was seriously having a serious fight with my body. I was like a bully. I just wanted to see it hurt. so sad to look back on. But, my heart was very broken. And sometimes, you break things when you are broken.
Jan, 09 - Realized I had been depressed and just kind of snapped out of it. It was literally like a snap. And all I thought was, "What have I been doing to myself?" But, 20 pounds and a sad liver and black lung later, the damage had been done.
Feb, 09 - I was on a mission to be healthy. So, ran a 10k. Cut the crappy crap and moved forward.
March, 09 - Got pregnant. Started 14 medications including daily shots to the tummy, a strict diet and daily one hour walks and weekly dr. appointments.
June 14, 2009 - Lost our 3rd baby. Found out he was a boy. Named him Will.
You know where I'm going with the whole people bringing food thing...and the emotional eating thing...
June - September 09 - Spent entire summer not talking about it. (the absolutely healthiest thing to do, if you don't mind me lying)
Nov - Dec, 09 - Went on a working out warpath. Who knew how much time I had before the doctor would tell me I wasn't allowed to again (I skipped that...everytime I was pregnant, thought about getting pregnant or for 4 weeks after I had a miscarriage, I wasn't allowed to work out because of the whole blood disease thing)
January, Feb, March, April and May, 10 - Tried unsuccessfully to get pregnant. really? 3 times pregnant on the first go. And now? Notta single hit. Not one swimmer made it to the mothership. so strange. and a WHOLE new set of emotions to deal with. I lost my babies...I wasn't supposed to also have the big "I" stamped across my belly. Infertility was not supposed to be a part of our story too.
May, 10 - Decide it is time. Time to stop. As you can see in a very condensed version, the past two years have been all consuming with baby. And body. And hormones. And doctor appointments. And medical bills. And grieving. And researching. And eating. And tears. And shots. And misplaced anger. And deep deep deep sadness. And more doctor's appointments.
It's time to take a break and take a breath. And explore other options. I refuse to throw my hands up and give up on family. But, I have reached my limit on what my body can handle. It was like it was screaming at me, "I NEED CONSTISTENCY...please" So, I have given in.
_____________________________
You might laugh and say, wow...you wrote all of that to tell us you have lost a few pounds?
All of this weight I have added, I can pinpoint. It's like the credit card debt that never goes away..."it was that one doctor's appointment...remember when the car needed to be towed...school books...that one dinner we had to pay for..."
Those three pounds? Baby number 2. Thanksgiving to Christmas, 08? 7 pounds. Baby number 3? Lost 6 then gained 9. Medication? 6. Every pound had a name. And I am sick of those names.
I want the good memories of these past two years. I want to look at Scott's tattoo and think of our little ones. I dont want to look at my flabby stomach and think of what used to be in there. I want to think about the laughter that occurred when we told our family we were pregnant for the first time. Not the silence that came with sitting on my couch with a tub of ice cream, spoon and glazed over eyes.
So, partly, this has been serious closure for me. Maybe that is why I have been working so dang hard at it. And partly, any mom would understand this...I want them to be proud of me. I don't want to look back and say that this was the point in my life where everything went downhill. I want them to be proud of the decisions that I made and who I chose to be.
So there. Momentous Occasion #1. Here is to many, many more.
Wait. What?
Let me give you my chubby tubby timeline, as I like to call it..well, I like to call it that now because I have never given it a name until just this second. And let's be honest, it could be better.
May, 08 - ran first half marathon. body = awesome (in my book...again, all up for debate here)
May, 08 - leave for baby makin' cruise. and it worked. the baby was made.
July, 08 - lost our little one. spent the week at home. people brought food.
*time out*
When I say "people brought food", I mean, for ONE meal...we would get an appetizer... bread... entree...dessert...drinks... and sometimes even more. (insert many dang gina's)
I will not embellish each time, but I need to make you aware of this: EVERYTHING was in the comfort food genre and EVERYTHING was portioned for at least four people.
And. I. Ate. Pretty. Much. All. Of. It. I mean, I would leave a brownie for Scott. Sometimes.
*time in*
September 08 - time to get back in the saddle. literally. baby makin' time again. And yes, Scott eggoed my...preggo.. wait, that can't be right... He leggoed my eggo? What is that saying?!? I got pregnant. Man, I thought I could have said that way cooler.
November 18, 08 - lost our second little one. (now it's time to insert explitives..it's ok. we started to)
Spent another week at home. PEOPLE BROUGHT FOOD. And Thanksgiving began.
-Now this is where it gets tricky. Not only was I so angry with my body and felt so much guilt for what my body was doing that I felt the need to destroy it. I also didn't want to talk to a single person. And with the holidays all around me, what better way to avoid conversation than to always have food in my mouth. And naughty naughty food. Because, hey, if my body isn't going to do me any favors, why should I do it any.
I honestly thought that. Self-destruction at its worst. or actually, at its best.
December, 08 - Find out I have a blood disease. Just another confirmation that it is my fault. So, what to do? Besides cry and fight off the urge to sleep all day. Eat, drink and smoke cigarettes. I was seriously having a serious fight with my body. I was like a bully. I just wanted to see it hurt. so sad to look back on. But, my heart was very broken. And sometimes, you break things when you are broken.
Jan, 09 - Realized I had been depressed and just kind of snapped out of it. It was literally like a snap. And all I thought was, "What have I been doing to myself?" But, 20 pounds and a sad liver and black lung later, the damage had been done.
Feb, 09 - I was on a mission to be healthy. So, ran a 10k. Cut the crappy crap and moved forward.
March, 09 - Got pregnant. Started 14 medications including daily shots to the tummy, a strict diet and daily one hour walks and weekly dr. appointments.
June 14, 2009 - Lost our 3rd baby. Found out he was a boy. Named him Will.
You know where I'm going with the whole people bringing food thing...and the emotional eating thing...
June - September 09 - Spent entire summer not talking about it. (the absolutely healthiest thing to do, if you don't mind me lying)
Nov - Dec, 09 - Went on a working out warpath. Who knew how much time I had before the doctor would tell me I wasn't allowed to again (I skipped that...everytime I was pregnant, thought about getting pregnant or for 4 weeks after I had a miscarriage, I wasn't allowed to work out because of the whole blood disease thing)
January, Feb, March, April and May, 10 - Tried unsuccessfully to get pregnant. really? 3 times pregnant on the first go. And now? Notta single hit. Not one swimmer made it to the mothership. so strange. and a WHOLE new set of emotions to deal with. I lost my babies...I wasn't supposed to also have the big "I" stamped across my belly. Infertility was not supposed to be a part of our story too.
May, 10 - Decide it is time. Time to stop. As you can see in a very condensed version, the past two years have been all consuming with baby. And body. And hormones. And doctor appointments. And medical bills. And grieving. And researching. And eating. And tears. And shots. And misplaced anger. And deep deep deep sadness. And more doctor's appointments.
It's time to take a break and take a breath. And explore other options. I refuse to throw my hands up and give up on family. But, I have reached my limit on what my body can handle. It was like it was screaming at me, "I NEED CONSTISTENCY...please" So, I have given in.
_____________________________
You might laugh and say, wow...you wrote all of that to tell us you have lost a few pounds?
All of this weight I have added, I can pinpoint. It's like the credit card debt that never goes away..."it was that one doctor's appointment...remember when the car needed to be towed...school books...that one dinner we had to pay for..."
Those three pounds? Baby number 2. Thanksgiving to Christmas, 08? 7 pounds. Baby number 3? Lost 6 then gained 9. Medication? 6. Every pound had a name. And I am sick of those names.
I want the good memories of these past two years. I want to look at Scott's tattoo and think of our little ones. I dont want to look at my flabby stomach and think of what used to be in there. I want to think about the laughter that occurred when we told our family we were pregnant for the first time. Not the silence that came with sitting on my couch with a tub of ice cream, spoon and glazed over eyes.
So, partly, this has been serious closure for me. Maybe that is why I have been working so dang hard at it. And partly, any mom would understand this...I want them to be proud of me. I don't want to look back and say that this was the point in my life where everything went downhill. I want them to be proud of the decisions that I made and who I chose to be.
So there. Momentous Occasion #1. Here is to many, many more.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
It all started with a doll...
A little stuffed doll with no plastic on its arms or legs. Just a cotton stuffed doll with orange braids made out of thick, coarse yarn. She smelled just like my great grandma, Florence. It was a gift from her. I remember after she passed away, I put this doll in a plastic bag because I wanted to save the smell of her. I hid her in my bedroom closet behind my clothes that were hanging up. And every so often, I would take the doll out and wrap its body around my nose taking in the scent of my great grandma. The smell grew fainter and fainter, until finally, she started to smell just like the rest of my closet.
I'm afraid that one day, I will forget. Right now, the scent is so strong. I can physically feel my heart hurting. I can look at my body and see the product of 3 pregnancies in one year. I can look at my bedroom and recollect every moment. I have baby books and little gifts from people from each announcement of our newest addition. I have ultrasound pictures of each baby but the first. I remember the shirt my husband was wearing the night we first miscarried and the day we found out we had lost our third. I have bruises on my stomach from the daily shots I was taking. The lump in my throat has become my constant companion. I remember ever meal that has been delivered, every gift of sympathy that has been given. But most of all, I remember the connection I had with each baby.
Baby number one, there was an unabandoned excitement..a constant touching of the stomach with happy fingers and huge smiles...there was the nightly prayers for health and its future...there were conversations between Scott and myself about our greatest hopes for this child and our biggest fears for the new territory we would be crossing into called parenthood.
Baby number two, there was a secret and quiet love. The protective yet tentative touch of my hand to my stomach, asking my baby to just quietly and quickly make it through the first trimester. There was not nearly as many prayers, for fear that our expectations would get too high and we would be crushed in the end. But when we prayed, we told the Lord that we accepted whatever path we were heading down. This time, we gave the baby to the Lord before we took it as our own. As afraid as we were of it, we still connected. How could we not? I remember my husband sitting crumbled on the bathroom floor as we lived through another miscarriage crying out to God and asking him, WHY?!? I remember seeing this baby...and I remember the overwhelming amount of love I felt even though as quickly as I said hello, I was saying goodbye.
Baby number three, there was a sense of hope and determination of love. My hands met my stomach with a strong and powerful touch, as if I was trying to protect my little one while begging him to stay strong. Every day, we chose to celebrate the time we had and desperately hoped that this day would not be the last. I remember talking daily to our baby. I remember getting the baby books back out from hiding and reading out loud to my husband as we celebrated the arrival of its fingers, eyelids, ears. I remember laughing the first time we heard the heart beat. I remember walking a little taller knowing that my little guy was as determined as I was.
I don't want to look back and forget. I don't want to lose the scent of my babies. I am so afraid that this will go away. As much as I hate the lump that is always in my throat, I am afraid that one day, it will be gone. That one day, I will forget what it was like to feel what I felt. To see what I saw.
I want to be able to move forward, but I dont want to move on. I want to have a smile on my face and see a bright future, but I dont want to leave this deep sadness, because it is what connects me to my little souls.
I just don't want to let go. I am afraid that one day, I will go into my closet and find the little dolly and it will only remind me of the closet it has sat in for so many years.
I'm afraid that one day, I will forget. Right now, the scent is so strong. I can physically feel my heart hurting. I can look at my body and see the product of 3 pregnancies in one year. I can look at my bedroom and recollect every moment. I have baby books and little gifts from people from each announcement of our newest addition. I have ultrasound pictures of each baby but the first. I remember the shirt my husband was wearing the night we first miscarried and the day we found out we had lost our third. I have bruises on my stomach from the daily shots I was taking. The lump in my throat has become my constant companion. I remember ever meal that has been delivered, every gift of sympathy that has been given. But most of all, I remember the connection I had with each baby.
Baby number one, there was an unabandoned excitement..a constant touching of the stomach with happy fingers and huge smiles...there was the nightly prayers for health and its future...there were conversations between Scott and myself about our greatest hopes for this child and our biggest fears for the new territory we would be crossing into called parenthood.
Baby number two, there was a secret and quiet love. The protective yet tentative touch of my hand to my stomach, asking my baby to just quietly and quickly make it through the first trimester. There was not nearly as many prayers, for fear that our expectations would get too high and we would be crushed in the end. But when we prayed, we told the Lord that we accepted whatever path we were heading down. This time, we gave the baby to the Lord before we took it as our own. As afraid as we were of it, we still connected. How could we not? I remember my husband sitting crumbled on the bathroom floor as we lived through another miscarriage crying out to God and asking him, WHY?!? I remember seeing this baby...and I remember the overwhelming amount of love I felt even though as quickly as I said hello, I was saying goodbye.
Baby number three, there was a sense of hope and determination of love. My hands met my stomach with a strong and powerful touch, as if I was trying to protect my little one while begging him to stay strong. Every day, we chose to celebrate the time we had and desperately hoped that this day would not be the last. I remember talking daily to our baby. I remember getting the baby books back out from hiding and reading out loud to my husband as we celebrated the arrival of its fingers, eyelids, ears. I remember laughing the first time we heard the heart beat. I remember walking a little taller knowing that my little guy was as determined as I was.
I don't want to look back and forget. I don't want to lose the scent of my babies. I am so afraid that this will go away. As much as I hate the lump that is always in my throat, I am afraid that one day, it will be gone. That one day, I will forget what it was like to feel what I felt. To see what I saw.
I want to be able to move forward, but I dont want to move on. I want to have a smile on my face and see a bright future, but I dont want to leave this deep sadness, because it is what connects me to my little souls.
I just don't want to let go. I am afraid that one day, I will go into my closet and find the little dolly and it will only remind me of the closet it has sat in for so many years.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Today.
For today, I am starting to blog again. Because, today, I need an outlet. Tomorrow, I might become consumed with cleaning my house or staring at the sky. I might forget about this blog, like I have twice now. But, today, I need it.
I am the proud mother of three tiny babies. Babies that I have met only while in my stomach. Babies that I have touched only through the barrier of skin between us.
Even though I cannot hold them, take them for walks, introduce them to their grandparents, watch them grow...I am still their mother. And I am impatiently waiting to meet them someday.
I have walked through the darkest valley of my life this past year. Scott and I both. The rollercoaster ride of "We're Pregnant!!!" to "We lost the baby..." and back and forth three times. Watching my body change and experiencing morning sickness and exhaustion and having my hormones go wild...and going back to normal...and back again three times. Experiencing pregnancy with the end result being that I am held by my husband instead of holding our newborn. Scott and I feel like we are pros at getting pregnant and at the same time, we are becoming pros at grieving. Two things I wish weren't simultaneous. And every pregnancy, we get just a tad bit further along...9 1/2 weeks..10 1/2 weks...12 weeks...Maybe this time four years down the road, we will be able to finally make it 40 weeks. My calculations could be off...
One day, I am going to finish the book I'm writing. And there, you can read, in detail, the story of our journey. I am not one who faces sad times with a sad disposition. Unfortunately, for some, I handle most things with humor..cynical, sarcastic and sometimes joyful humor.
For now, I think I might just write on this little blog. You might not get me..and if you don't, that's fine. You can stop reading. You might think I am a little off with my understanding of God. That's fine, I probably am. And Im sure you are too. You might think I downplay some of the things that I have gone through or overdramatize other circumstances. Again, to each his own. And this is mine.
Today, I am going to take a shower. Try to eat something. Clean my house that has turned into a walking mold patch. Or at least, attempt to clean my sink. Get dressed. And limit my crying to 4 times. Which means don't watch Oprah, Tyra or google the word babies. Oh, and celebrate that I had 12 wonderful weeks with this last one. It was a wonderful, wonderful time. And I don't regret one moment.
I am the proud mother of three tiny babies. Babies that I have met only while in my stomach. Babies that I have touched only through the barrier of skin between us.
Even though I cannot hold them, take them for walks, introduce them to their grandparents, watch them grow...I am still their mother. And I am impatiently waiting to meet them someday.
I have walked through the darkest valley of my life this past year. Scott and I both. The rollercoaster ride of "We're Pregnant!!!" to "We lost the baby..." and back and forth three times. Watching my body change and experiencing morning sickness and exhaustion and having my hormones go wild...and going back to normal...and back again three times. Experiencing pregnancy with the end result being that I am held by my husband instead of holding our newborn. Scott and I feel like we are pros at getting pregnant and at the same time, we are becoming pros at grieving. Two things I wish weren't simultaneous. And every pregnancy, we get just a tad bit further along...9 1/2 weeks..10 1/2 weks...12 weeks...Maybe this time four years down the road, we will be able to finally make it 40 weeks. My calculations could be off...
One day, I am going to finish the book I'm writing. And there, you can read, in detail, the story of our journey. I am not one who faces sad times with a sad disposition. Unfortunately, for some, I handle most things with humor..cynical, sarcastic and sometimes joyful humor.
For now, I think I might just write on this little blog. You might not get me..and if you don't, that's fine. You can stop reading. You might think I am a little off with my understanding of God. That's fine, I probably am. And Im sure you are too. You might think I downplay some of the things that I have gone through or overdramatize other circumstances. Again, to each his own. And this is mine.
Today, I am going to take a shower. Try to eat something. Clean my house that has turned into a walking mold patch. Or at least, attempt to clean my sink. Get dressed. And limit my crying to 4 times. Which means don't watch Oprah, Tyra or google the word babies. Oh, and celebrate that I had 12 wonderful weeks with this last one. It was a wonderful, wonderful time. And I don't regret one moment.
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