I Remember This Feeling.

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.

Like a Man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

I Can Never End On A Serious Note. You'll See.

Next week, I will be married for 6 years to Scott. And on the majority of those days, I am more than happy that I married him. On other days, I want to shout from the rooftops "DONT EVER GET MARRIED!!!!".

I know, awful right? But, I can't be the only one who is madly and deeply in love with her husband but has never felt more dislike for another human being than him at times. How is it that I can grab him and kiss him and tell him that I couldn't imagine my life without him one minute and then look at him with disdain the next?

I have used my best words on him. And my worst. I have seen the best in him. And the worst. I married a boy who is turning into a man before my eyes. And turning into more of a boy before my eyes.

I love that he plays video games with his friends. I hate that he plays video games with his friends. I love that he can so easily let things roll off of his shoulders. I hate that he can so easily let things roll off of his shoulders. I love that we are at the place where romantic adventure dates are non-existent and replaced with the ease and beauty of our routine. I hate that we are at the place where romantic adventure dates are non-existent and replaced with the ease and beauty of our routine. You get my drift...

The selfish and bratty and immature and lazy side of me HATES how much work marriage takes. How much time is spent talking and arguing and discussing and apologizing and working things out. The female side of me wants to marry a woman on a strictly platonic basis just so I can have someone who cooks with me and for me and goes to rom com's and spends hours talking and trying on eachother's clothes.

But ladies, can you IMAGINE being married to us? I mean, some days I think Scott is bad...please read above and you will see how fickle I can be! "Scott, I love that you have some good friends that you get to spend time with" to "SCOTT! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET OFF OF THAT $#%& XBOX AND COME UPSTAIRS AND EAT DINNER WITH YOUR WIFE WHO COOKED FOR YOU AFTER A FULL DAY OF WORK AND TWO HOUR DRIVE HOME WEARING HEELS THE WHOLE TIME AND A PONYTAIL THAT HAS NOW GIVEN HER A HEADACHE"

I mean, if I thought he was bad...

And this is the strange world of marriage. Even on our darkest days, I don't want to argue with anyone else. Even during the moments where I want to throw the pasta I cooked for him AT him, I wouldn't want to picture anyone else covered in marinara and noodles. Well, maybe our dogs only because that would be a really cute picture.

In a world where I see more and more friends separating and divorcing and cheating and hurting.... I would take my disfunctional at times, hilarious at times, heartbreaking at times, crazy at times, but always honest about it marriage.

And to my friends who are in the middle of one of those marital moments...You know, the, I would rather pull my hair out one by one than have to re-hash this issue again with you type of moment..

Please keep re-hashing. And keep working. And keep fighting. And keep loving. And whether you are laughing or crying or compromising or talking or yelling or whispering or cuddling...be ALL IN.

Just be All In.

And if it gets really rough, remember, they look pretty darn good naked.

This always helps.

2010. You little sneak.

I just wrote an entire blog, looked it over and hit delete. Sometimes, even I am too long-winded for me. How do you people do it? With your one paragraph blogs or your one sentence inspirational quotes? I need a chapter in a book. Well, I'm sure I don't...see, here we go again.

I have learned a few things in 2010. And I thought I would share them with you.

1) Books on tape make for amazing car rides. Or incredibly uncomfortable ones, if you have no idea who Joan Collins is and begin listening to her book that you borrowed from the library. When you start hearing words that doctors use to explain elephantitis, it is time to press eject, say a quick "forgive me Father" prayer and find a station that plays Steven Curtis Chapman or Kenny G.

2) Toenails completely change when you train for a marathon. They go from being a normal part of your body to a foreign object trying to do everything they can to escape. Oh, and after a few of them do escape, the rest of them must get scared because they DONT BUDGE. The toenails that made it through the marathon have not needed to be cut since early May. I am telling you, they are aliens now. Disgusting little aliens.

3) Hope is like that person at the grocery store that you see when you start shopping and accidently end up running into in every aisle and around every corner. IT JUST DOESNT GO AWAY. As much as I try to squelch it, the tiny flame keeps flying. Even though I have a love/hate relationship with hope, I am so thankful for its ridiculous tenacity to stick around.

4) If you have white poop, go immediately to the doctor. It just needs to be said.

5) As much as I want a family, I want a good marriage first. And if that means putting things on hold for a while so I could get back to being a good wife and friend to my husband, it is well worth it. And it was. Taking time off of trying to start a family in the last half of 2009 and the first half of 2010 was the best thing I did for myself as a woman, a mother and a wife. No child will fix a broken heart or a hurting marriage. Health in a marriage directly affects a child and that is worth taking the time to fight for.

5 is good enough for now. Honestly, I am a young sprout and unfortunately still more self-involved than I care to admit, so I am sure that I missed many other lessons along the way... 2011 will have plenty of time to knock me off my feet and teach me a thing or two though.

And 2011, if you want to teach me how to do a proper squat or magically instill in my brain the ability to speak and understand Spanish, I will not turn my ear. I promise.

Yo Promiso.

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.

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.

Go Figure.

I am meeting with a new counselor next week. Her name is Gail. I hope she is better than what I am picturing a female pychiatrist by the name of Gail to be. Let's start our time off by clearing one thing up, Gail. I do not like closing my eyes and picturing serenity. I want you to yell at me and tell me what I am doing wrong and maybe slap me across my face and shake my head in your hands and say, "Get ahold of yourself woman!!". Now that would be awesome.

I have a love/hate relationship with counseling. I have never seen counseling as a bad thing or a sign that my marriage or my life are spinning wildly out of control. In fact, I love going to counseling when life is breezy and wonderful...it's when I'm the least foggiest in my selfishness. But I hate going during the times when it is "someone else's fault" because they are always the times when I realize that it is really a lot more my fault than I care to admit. See? Love it and hate it. It's like my own personal teeth flossing session. hurts so good.

See, I love Scott. But, I have a hard time letting him be him sometimes. I married him full well knowing that he was on the quiet side and that he was uncomfortably blunt with some of his conversational comebacks, just like he knew full well that I didn't enjoy cooking. (Ok, I may not have OUTRIGHT said that, but after two years of dating and only cooking frozen pizzas and macaroni, he should have picked up the hint) And we chose to marry anyways. I knew that our car rides would more than likely be silent just like he knew that the dinner table would more than likely be empty.

Here is the problemo. He loves to eat and I love to talk.

And my personal contradiction? I want him to accept all of my flaws and yet I want him to fix all of his.

People don't end up married 35 years with absolutely no relational fruit to show for it on accident. People don't start their vows with "In sickness and in health, except when I decide to cheat on you, which I will". A mother doesnt look at her newborn and say "I can't wait for the day that I abandon you and the rest of this family to go find myself". I don't know of any couple who starts their dinner conversation with, "So, in the next ten years when you and I avoid all of the issues that we have with eachother and start just living separate lives, which bedroom do you want to end up in?"

So, off to counseling I go. Because I married a man who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I want to enjoy the rest of my life with him. And that doesn't happen by accident. There are far too many good things about Scott that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in his flaws and far too many bad things about me that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in my own needs.

Plus, have you seen my guy? If the word studmuffin ever made sense to anyone, you can insert it here. The only thing I can understand about it is maybe woman who love pastries would connect with that adjective better than had it been studtabletop. I will be safe and stick with calling him Holy Heat Wave Batman. Meaning, he is fiiiiine. and delicious.. and yummy.. ok, studmuffin does make more sense now. I mean really, look at him. I could just put him in my pocket and take him out during snacktime and eat him with a spoon.

Now, I'm just plain hungry and have completely lost my train of thought.

Oh yeah. Gail. Probably has brown short hair. Hopefully she is awesome at her job. Scott. Really excited to spend my life with him. Need to invest in books on tape. Stephanie. Can't just rely on those street smarts and beauty pageant grace. Figure out why you want to control anything and everything around you while pretending like you are laid back and surfer girlish.

Oh, and buy muffin mix. Actually, just go buy a muffin. Who needs homemade?

You.

I remember asking you to write letters with me to our 3 babies when we took a trip to the Dells. And you layed there on the blanket at the park in Devil's Lake. uncomfortable. wanting to be somewhere else. not because you didn't want to acknowledge them or face what we were facing. but because you and I grieve so differently. and this was a part of my grieving and not yours. but you wrote. and you let me cry. and you folded up those letters into a little envelope and let me have them.

I remember laying on the bathroom floor during our second miscarriage completely broken. a mess. i couldnt breathe enough to calm down. and you held me. the strength that you put around me. the shirt you let me soak with my tears as you soaked mine with yours.

I remember reading an email of thanks that you sent out to our friends. you wrote with a vulnerability that i didnt have the courage to write with. your words were so raw and so humble and so honest. i remember you taking my breath away. and i remember thinking, i love this man.

I remember watching you play football when we went camping right after we lost Will. I was so angry with you for making me leave the security of our dark and sad home. I wasn't ready to look anyone in the eye. wasnt ready to smile. but, we went. and i watched you play football and caught glimpses of joy in your face. caught you laughing as you dropped a ball. caught you smiling at me with a sheepish grin when you threw a perfect spiral. you reminded me that we would be ok without saying one word.

I have seen a side to you that I'm not sure I would have seen had we not lost. I have seen a depth of sadness in your eyes. I have heard desperation in your voice. I have felt the ache of emptiness in the air around you.

But, I have seen love that I could never explain. I have seen humility that still brings me to tears. I have seen a strength that I dont even think you knew that you had. I have understood the meaning of hope.

And I have been loved. truly loved by a man who had nothing to give. and yet, still gave me everything.

I know working really hard and succeeding at work... spending time with wonderful friends and family... playing weekly softball and having game nights...going on late night dates and sleeping in.... taking our dogs to the park and enjoying the sun on vacations.... this all just fills the time for you...

Because I know that as much as you love being an uncle and a great friend and an awesome son, you just want to be a dad. And although there has been no loss lately... there has still been no gain.

And I just wanted you to know that our time will come. And in the meantime, I am really sorry that you have to wait.

I think it could be incredibly cheesy and horribly lame. But, if you could put aside the late 1990's associations with this word, I am going to ask that you would...

Because I want to tell you. that you.

are my hero. and we are going to be ok.
because I have you. and you have me.

Hitting THE Wall.

I have heard about this "wall" that runners hit. A point in their race where they feel like they can't go on any further. I didn't really understand this wall.... mainly because I had never had one...

Fast Forward. Me. laying flat on the floor of my bedroom. My face landing on a pair of jogging pants(ironic). Crying. Well, sobbing. Ok, wailing.

"I don't want to run anymore"

Scott...my confused for the moment husband...sits next to me and tries to hide his smile and act very concerned about my current state...

"Sweetie...you signed up for a marathon... and you just ran 15 miles! You can't stop now"

The wailing continued for about 35 seconds. Then, after a few moments of listening to him trying to stifle his laughter, I start to laugh....and cry....but more so laugh. I imagine this moment will be re-lived in the Zibell house... except it will be with our oneday 4 year old child who is crying over a missing button on a favorite stuffed animal or a lollipop that fell on the floor and shattered. And this time, Scott will be calming down the appropriately aged person. (Unless, I lose my mind and train for another marathon...which in that case, I will definetely be in a corner somewhere wailing)

Rewind. 3 1/2 hours earlier. And the wall has been hit. And man, I totalled that bad boy. I was not even TWO MILES into a FIFTEEN MILE run and I was already done. over it. tired. physically worn out. mentally gone.

It was the worst 3 hours of my life. AND YES. It took 3 HOURS! That is how bad it was. Last week, I ran 14 in 2:22. And this week, I added not only a mile but almost 40 minutes to the run. Em to the barrassing.

Lindsay, my faithful running partner and I, tried everything we could to get over it as she, too, was not wanting to keep going. We changed things up and started listening to music for the first 5 miles instead of the last. We tried to talk about things that would take up a lot of time and hopefully distract us, like wondering if hell was a marathon race that never ended. But nothing. Two days ago, I was running a 9 minute mile. And today. I could hardly get to 12 minutes. I'm not kidding. It was so very bad.

It was like my body was not my own. I could contort my face and strain with the best of 'em and my body would react by slowing down instead of moving faster. I couldn't find a rythym and felt like I was running for the first time. I haven't been out of breath running in a long time unless I am doing sprints and I couldnt catch my breath. The normal self-talk I do was backfiring left and right because all of the sudden I had a new voice in my head cussing out the inspiring voice. And she was mean.

I wish I could tell you that I won. That I overcame the wall and bounded like a gazelle to the finish line. But, no. I jogged...if you can call walking with a slight hop jogging...to the end with a pained look on my face and an even more pained body for spending the last 3 hours in awful running form.

And afterwards, I walked through the door of my house, dropped my half frozen Gatorade on the floor and crawled to my bedroom where the carpet welcomed me. And wept in self-pity and agony. like a baby. IT. WAS. PATHETIC.

And I have a 16 mile run in 5 days. And I have 5 today. And 7 on Wednesday. And 5 again on Thursday.

So. Today, I need to make a quick list of why I am running. And maybe this will help. If it does not help...then, I may need to pay one of you to get all Tanya Harding on me. Go for the shins.

Why I Run:
For Jennifer Aniston. Well, for Jennifer Aniston's stomach. Actually, because of Jennifer Aniston's stomach. This feels like it is getting creepy. I just want to have a stomach like hers.
For my three little ones. I want to make them proud.
For me. Because I love the space and the thinking time and the music and the empowerment and the challenge.


Ok. I can do this. I just need a little more gusto. A little more Gatorade. And a LOT more carbs.

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.

What I Meant to Say Was...

I'm surrounded by love. Yet, I struggle accepting love.

So, when Scott looks at me and says I am sorry. And I look at him and say, I dont believe you. What I mean to say is, I dont believe that I am deserving of somebody to want to be better for me.

When I say, I want to be alone. I mean to say, I need to collapse and I don't want to bother you with my collapsing.

I am realizing more and more how hard it is for me to fully accept love from others.

I notice when I get slightly frustrated when people ask me how I am doing. And I am not frustrated with them. I am frustrated that I need them. I am frustrated that I might have to depend on someone other then myself and God.

I notice when I argue with Scott and he puts his arms around me, I stiffen. Not because I am mad at him. But, because I am trying to push the lump back down my throat and pretend like his love isn't unconditional towards me.

Something inside of me sees love and wants to run in the other direction because love means that you will be inconvenienced. And I, personally, love the inconvenience of it. The "I'm coming over to your house" or the "I need to talk right now". I love to love others. But, I am very uncomfortable with someone, especially Scott at times, loving me. Someone being inconvenienced for me.

I am an independent woman and I have always taken great pride in that. But, the more and more I search, I am seeing that much of my independence is a guard. It keeps you, my family, my friends, my husband from having to take care of me.

It keeps you from having to take care of me. man, there it is. I am afraid that if I ask, you won't want to.

As embarrassing and humiliating as it is for me to even think it. When I say, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I don't need anything. I'm 27 and can take care of myself. I'll get through it. People have it much worse, etc...

What I mean to say is, I want someone to take care of me and I'm afraid that you won't want to.

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.