Unbeknownst to me, I am quite connected to sugar. I mean, connected at the hip..... And thighs, booty and lower back...lovingly referred to as the top of the muffin. Muffin Top.
I have received some news recently about my solitary kidney...the Mighty Righty... and well, it seems that childbirth was its least favorite activity, because 30% of it went ka-poot on me.
Three years ago, I found out that I had a blood clotting disorder. It was more than likely most of the reason I had three miscarriages.
Looking into my family history, if you go back a few generations (from what I know), all of my deceased family members died of some form of cancer. One didn't...and sadly, he was killed.
The odds are not in my favor.
And now, I find out that I have the one kidney thing going for me. And 30% of it said peace out homies.
You know the saying, "You can't put lipstick on a pig?"
My outer body. The lipstick. My inner body. The pig.
I kind of feel like an internal mess. I mean, the outside...well, we all know I would have won had I entered the Winnebago county fair.. With my long legs, ability to do my hair and make-up with finesse and of course, a tiny nose....oh, and sparkling personality. But, the inside? The only contest it would win would be the "Who doesn't want me?" contest featuring my innards and snoop dogg's lungs.
Anyways, I have been thinking very seriously about the fact that there is a lot that I cannot control. And there is a lot that these stupid body issues have already taken from me. Children..The future ability to have lots more children...Running...Family members...
But, I am not going to let the negative side to this junk take over my thoughts and throw me into a hissy fit (no, I will have those privately while staring pathetically at myself in the mirror...I am not that emotionally healthy yet, people)
I cannot control my genetics. I cannot control what I was born with(out). I cannot control what runs in my family and hopefully skips the rest of all of us.
But, I can control how I take care of my body.
And it's about time I stop eating the same french fries that don't change shape or texture when hiding under a car seat for 5 years. Seriously, McDonalds. 5 years. Hi, I would like a cheeseburger with a small "preservatives only".
It's time to pay attention to what I eat. To make wise choices about what I inhale. And to stop feeding the monkey some sugar everytime it dances. (Am I the only one who rewards myself with JUNK food the SECOND I lose ONE pound?)
Scott and I are on a voyage to cut out processed food. So far so good.
Except I am realizing that sugar... Wow... When you aren't eating it? And you are used to...
Well... It really likes to let you know.
Sleepy. Headache. It's like little angry sugar demons are on the attack. Covering my brain with tiny warm blankets of sleepiness. And taking itty bitty hammers to my forehead.
It sounds surprisingly cute. But nay.
It so isn't.
But, it's ok. It is high time that I take control over one of the few things I can take control of.
So, along with working on actually putting the laundry away after I wash and fold, I will also do my best at taking care of the inside of me. Namely, my gizzards.
(I would like to think the term gizzard refers to the overall inside arena of my organs)
Showing posts with label Storytime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Storytime. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Just need to grab my son...
Words I spoke to an elderly gentleman in a parking lot waiting for me to move so he could drive away...but I couldn't move because I was trying to get Emara out of the car.
And I said, "Just need to grab my son!" in the most cheerful voice ever. And I didn't even notice that I called her a him until the old man said, "What's his name?" through his open window....to which I snorted out a "Hremmphenddaa," grabbed Emara's carseat and made a run for Walgreens.
Nice one. Emara is now a son who has a name that sounds like a grandpa burp.
Moving on. I started work yesterday. Full-Time. Yikes. At least, I was yikesing.
Anyways, it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I didn't cry. I didn't call home every 5 minutes to make sure she was ok. And I didn't even spring a leak when I heard her crying over the phone when I did talk to Scott. Ok, I forgot...I did cry when he called me...but my boobs didn't, so a small victory.
I think I am ok with going back to work because I have 2 incredible people taking care of her (besides her daddy) while I am gone... That, and I prepared and prepared for leaving her. I psyched myself up so much that it really helped me get through it.
What I didn't prepare for? Oh honey. Oh child. Again with the "things people forgot to mention". But, don't worry, I will blame nobody but myself for these mishaps. Nobody made me call my daughter a son.
That one was all me.
I was prepared to pump. NOT prepared for the LONG walk from my desk to the kitchen to the file room (where I pump) while carrying the worlds largest pumping contraption and a "cooler" full of breastmilk (note to self...get the slightly less obvious milk carrying apparatus next time). EVERYONE knows what you are about to do and I can't help but think they are all picturing me in true "utter" form. All of our offices have glass walls. So, I spend the walk around the building pretending to read something incredibly interesting on my phone.
It doesn't help that the file room is directly across from 2 dudes. One who is married and has kids so he probably gets it. The other? 25 year old city living single and loving it wants to write a tv show about his fraternity flag football team? Not so much. Definitely avoids eye contact with me at ALL costs.
He would probably throw up if he knew that my breastmilk was being stored in the same fridge where he gets his lunch.
Speaking of breastmilk. I drank a LARGE gulp on accident the other night. At 3am. What can I say? I was delirious. And apparently very thirsty.
I was THIS CLOSE to throwing up. Poor Emara! That stuff tastes horrible! I need to eat more candy and sweeten that stuff up. Or at least eat something that will make it taste less like a booger.
So, with that. I will leave anyone who ever in their entire lives needs to feed anything a bottle with this tidbit of advice.
If it seems clogged. Do not stick the bottle in your mouth and suck to try to unclog it. Well, at least don't lift the bottle in the air so all of said contents comes rushing into your mouth once you unclog the bottle.
This, my friends, is a serious and disgusting mistake. As my sister-in-law, Kelly, would say to her daughter....you made a sad choice.
Indeed, I made a very sad choice. Let's all learn from this, shall we?
And I said, "Just need to grab my son!" in the most cheerful voice ever. And I didn't even notice that I called her a him until the old man said, "What's his name?" through his open window....to which I snorted out a "Hremmphenddaa," grabbed Emara's carseat and made a run for Walgreens.
Nice one. Emara is now a son who has a name that sounds like a grandpa burp.
Moving on. I started work yesterday. Full-Time. Yikes. At least, I was yikesing.
Anyways, it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I didn't cry. I didn't call home every 5 minutes to make sure she was ok. And I didn't even spring a leak when I heard her crying over the phone when I did talk to Scott. Ok, I forgot...I did cry when he called me...but my boobs didn't, so a small victory.
I think I am ok with going back to work because I have 2 incredible people taking care of her (besides her daddy) while I am gone... That, and I prepared and prepared for leaving her. I psyched myself up so much that it really helped me get through it.
What I didn't prepare for? Oh honey. Oh child. Again with the "things people forgot to mention". But, don't worry, I will blame nobody but myself for these mishaps. Nobody made me call my daughter a son.
That one was all me.
I was prepared to pump. NOT prepared for the LONG walk from my desk to the kitchen to the file room (where I pump) while carrying the worlds largest pumping contraption and a "cooler" full of breastmilk (note to self...get the slightly less obvious milk carrying apparatus next time). EVERYONE knows what you are about to do and I can't help but think they are all picturing me in true "utter" form. All of our offices have glass walls. So, I spend the walk around the building pretending to read something incredibly interesting on my phone.
It doesn't help that the file room is directly across from 2 dudes. One who is married and has kids so he probably gets it. The other? 25 year old city living single and loving it wants to write a tv show about his fraternity flag football team? Not so much. Definitely avoids eye contact with me at ALL costs.
He would probably throw up if he knew that my breastmilk was being stored in the same fridge where he gets his lunch.
Speaking of breastmilk. I drank a LARGE gulp on accident the other night. At 3am. What can I say? I was delirious. And apparently very thirsty.
I was THIS CLOSE to throwing up. Poor Emara! That stuff tastes horrible! I need to eat more candy and sweeten that stuff up. Or at least eat something that will make it taste less like a booger.
So, with that. I will leave anyone who ever in their entire lives needs to feed anything a bottle with this tidbit of advice.
If it seems clogged. Do not stick the bottle in your mouth and suck to try to unclog it. Well, at least don't lift the bottle in the air so all of said contents comes rushing into your mouth once you unclog the bottle.
This, my friends, is a serious and disgusting mistake. As my sister-in-law, Kelly, would say to her daughter....you made a sad choice.
Indeed, I made a very sad choice. Let's all learn from this, shall we?
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.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Today is Tuesday, I promise.
CONFESSION TIME!
So, my brain has been working away trying to come up with a good confession. And here is the tough part. I love to embarrass myself. Well, I just love it all the way around when people get embarrassed. So, normally, if I have a confession that I think will make people laugh, I tell it immediately.
So, I have to really dig here to think of things that I have not already exposed about myself.
And once I started digging, the things that I haven't exposed are the things that I don't want to expose. Like, how much I currently weigh. Or the number of times I have to take a picture of myself before one actually turns out normal. These are things that I am purposefully keeping between me and me.
But, I figure if I keep typing mindlessly and as fast as I can, something will just come out. Ok, got it.
Sometimes, I pretend to be deaf in order to avoid talking to people. Mainly, this happens when I get hit on while pumping gas at the gas station. I mean, who wants to answer the following question, "Hey! Does your baby have a daddy?" (YES, I was asked this question outside of my dr office a few weeks ago). So, instead of giving them a smart remark or glaring at them...I look in their direction...and do some sort of hand signal that I don't even understand but am pretty sure that they won't either.
Then, if it is the summer, I get into my car and quickly turn off the radio...because, well, that wouldn't make much sense.
So, my brain has been working away trying to come up with a good confession. And here is the tough part. I love to embarrass myself. Well, I just love it all the way around when people get embarrassed. So, normally, if I have a confession that I think will make people laugh, I tell it immediately.
So, I have to really dig here to think of things that I have not already exposed about myself.
And once I started digging, the things that I haven't exposed are the things that I don't want to expose. Like, how much I currently weigh. Or the number of times I have to take a picture of myself before one actually turns out normal. These are things that I am purposefully keeping between me and me.
But, I figure if I keep typing mindlessly and as fast as I can, something will just come out. Ok, got it.
Sometimes, I pretend to be deaf in order to avoid talking to people. Mainly, this happens when I get hit on while pumping gas at the gas station. I mean, who wants to answer the following question, "Hey! Does your baby have a daddy?" (YES, I was asked this question outside of my dr office a few weeks ago). So, instead of giving them a smart remark or glaring at them...I look in their direction...and do some sort of hand signal that I don't even understand but am pretty sure that they won't either.
Then, if it is the summer, I get into my car and quickly turn off the radio...because, well, that wouldn't make much sense.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Tuesday's Confessional.
19 Drafts.
I write on here a whole heck of a lot more than what it may seem to you. I just get bored mid-writing and decide to go back to whatever I was doing before...you know, something more important like taking my socks off. or attempting to cross my legs without losing my balance. yes. I am a worldchanger.
I have always toyed with the idea of creating a secret blog. One that is only for women. Where we can talk about all things ladylike without the boys in our lives finding out the real truth about us. And it would be password protected. And it would be awesome. For instance, I have questions. And you woman have some answers. And I may just never hear them because I can't ask how you all handle a booby itch in public on this post. And, well, now that I am pregnant...there are certain things that I can no longer take part in...or even see for that matter... and I just want to KNOW.
But, public post. No password protection.
So, I will stick to gender neutral topics. Like recipes and crafts and love. You know, the usual.
I have decided to start a Tuesday's Confessional. I am going to start telling you all (and by you, I mean my 8 trusty followers...thank you momS, Calley, Hannah, Elissa, Becca, Leah and Scott) my secrets and...well, confessions.
Confession #1 - I am incredibly embarrassed and aware of the fact that I breathe VERY loudly when I sleep. I swear on my mother's bean burritos that I have a deviated septum. I can't get a full breath in EVER through my nose...forcing me to have to breathe very intently in order to sleep at night and not wake up with a sore throat from breathing through my mouth.
But, here is my confession. Sometimes, when I know that Scott is still awake in bed...I roll away from him and take my fingers and hold open my nostrils so I can actually breathe without sounding like a rushing wave is coursing through my nose. And I do this until I think he is asleep...
Or at least until he stops asking me if I still have any breathe right strips left...
I write on here a whole heck of a lot more than what it may seem to you. I just get bored mid-writing and decide to go back to whatever I was doing before...you know, something more important like taking my socks off. or attempting to cross my legs without losing my balance. yes. I am a worldchanger.
I have always toyed with the idea of creating a secret blog. One that is only for women. Where we can talk about all things ladylike without the boys in our lives finding out the real truth about us. And it would be password protected. And it would be awesome. For instance, I have questions. And you woman have some answers. And I may just never hear them because I can't ask how you all handle a booby itch in public on this post. And, well, now that I am pregnant...there are certain things that I can no longer take part in...or even see for that matter... and I just want to KNOW.
But, public post. No password protection.
So, I will stick to gender neutral topics. Like recipes and crafts and love. You know, the usual.
I have decided to start a Tuesday's Confessional. I am going to start telling you all (and by you, I mean my 8 trusty followers...thank you momS, Calley, Hannah, Elissa, Becca, Leah and Scott) my secrets and...well, confessions.
Confession #1 - I am incredibly embarrassed and aware of the fact that I breathe VERY loudly when I sleep. I swear on my mother's bean burritos that I have a deviated septum. I can't get a full breath in EVER through my nose...forcing me to have to breathe very intently in order to sleep at night and not wake up with a sore throat from breathing through my mouth.
But, here is my confession. Sometimes, when I know that Scott is still awake in bed...I roll away from him and take my fingers and hold open my nostrils so I can actually breathe without sounding like a rushing wave is coursing through my nose. And I do this until I think he is asleep...
Or at least until he stops asking me if I still have any breathe right strips left...
Monday, April 25, 2011
I Want The Badge. Engraved. And BIG. To Hang on my Front Door.
I have ALWAYS said that I do not need nor want the badge of birthing a child with no medication. It was just something I took no interest in. I mean, thousands of babies are born everyday while the mother is on some sort of pain medication and they are fine. So, why would I PURPOSEFULLY CHOOSE to put myself through so much pain if I had the choice not to.
Before I move on, let me take you back a few years. May of 2008 to be exact. Scott and I were in Mexico on a kayaking excursion. This was supposed to be a relaxing trip of leisure. Where we, along with about 10 other couples, would follow the guide to specific spots, stop and listen to him talk to us about all of the exciting things in the water.
What ACTUALLY happened?
The only thing I thought about was beating everyone to the guide. Sizing up all the couples on their paddling expertise all the while yelling at Scott to stop lollygagging and looking around and get to the front of the line!! It was awful. Scott wanted to take in our time together and get into a rhythm of paddling while I just wanted to GET THERE. and Win. There is NO TIME for enjoying ourselves here buddy.
See, I want to win at everything. Taking the dogs outside the fastest. Get out of the car first. Staple some papers before someone gets a chance to even pick up their stapler. Pick out a woman at the grocery store with a really long list and fill my cart quicker.
You may think I am just rushing because I am in a hurry or like to be efficient.
No. I just want to beat you.
So, it is BEYOND me how I didn't even see this next one coming.
Enter baby class. The two hour talk of going through a natural childbirth.
It. Was. Awful.
But, instead of me listening and taking in all of the information with a steady head, I just looked around at the room. All of the soon to be mommies...who were all smiling and nodding nervously at this new information and occasionally staring at their partners with a look of fear...suddenly became my competition.
And I could just picture it... all of us lined up in a row on our hospital beds in our blue robes with our legs straddled to the stir-ups..the doctors are all ready to make the catch of a lifetime and we are all ready to go.
The whistle goes off and I jump to the lead! (Now, enter slow motion effects) My breathing is perfect...the nurses are oooh'ing and aaaaah'ing...Every so often, Scott is squirting some Gatorade into my mouth, feeding me hard-boiled eggs and twisting a cold rag of water on my forehead (don't worry, I am, of course, wearing a sweatband..so my ponytail stays perfectly coiffed)... everyone in the sidelines are cheering wildly as I bear down and make the final push! And as soon as the baby comes out, I have her diaper changed, her feeding done and am watching her take her first nap before the other moms have even gotten to 10 centimeters. Of course, people are still cheering while Scott shoots champagne into the sky while proclaiming, "The bravest woman in history!". Oh, and there is a lot of fist pumping.
Ok, so maybe it won't happen EXACTLY that way. My robe could be pink or green. And Scott could use Vitamin Water instead of Gatorade. But, you get my drift.
Bottom Line is. I now want to win. And I now want that badge.
Never thought this day would come. Also, never thought I could be so oblivious to my own pride that I didn't think this day would come.
Also, REALLY hoping that God doesn't decide that childbirth will be the time He humbles me and gives me a 12 lb baby who would like to take 78 hours to come out.
But, on the other hand... I would then not only be the bravest woman in the world, but I would have birthed a 12 pound baby and handled 78 hours of pushing with ease!
Yeah...I may be in trouble here.
Before I move on, let me take you back a few years. May of 2008 to be exact. Scott and I were in Mexico on a kayaking excursion. This was supposed to be a relaxing trip of leisure. Where we, along with about 10 other couples, would follow the guide to specific spots, stop and listen to him talk to us about all of the exciting things in the water.
What ACTUALLY happened?
The only thing I thought about was beating everyone to the guide. Sizing up all the couples on their paddling expertise all the while yelling at Scott to stop lollygagging and looking around and get to the front of the line!! It was awful. Scott wanted to take in our time together and get into a rhythm of paddling while I just wanted to GET THERE. and Win. There is NO TIME for enjoying ourselves here buddy.
See, I want to win at everything. Taking the dogs outside the fastest. Get out of the car first. Staple some papers before someone gets a chance to even pick up their stapler. Pick out a woman at the grocery store with a really long list and fill my cart quicker.
You may think I am just rushing because I am in a hurry or like to be efficient.
No. I just want to beat you.
So, it is BEYOND me how I didn't even see this next one coming.
Enter baby class. The two hour talk of going through a natural childbirth.
It. Was. Awful.
But, instead of me listening and taking in all of the information with a steady head, I just looked around at the room. All of the soon to be mommies...who were all smiling and nodding nervously at this new information and occasionally staring at their partners with a look of fear...suddenly became my competition.
And I could just picture it... all of us lined up in a row on our hospital beds in our blue robes with our legs straddled to the stir-ups..the doctors are all ready to make the catch of a lifetime and we are all ready to go.
The whistle goes off and I jump to the lead! (Now, enter slow motion effects) My breathing is perfect...the nurses are oooh'ing and aaaaah'ing...Every so often, Scott is squirting some Gatorade into my mouth, feeding me hard-boiled eggs and twisting a cold rag of water on my forehead (don't worry, I am, of course, wearing a sweatband..so my ponytail stays perfectly coiffed)... everyone in the sidelines are cheering wildly as I bear down and make the final push! And as soon as the baby comes out, I have her diaper changed, her feeding done and am watching her take her first nap before the other moms have even gotten to 10 centimeters. Of course, people are still cheering while Scott shoots champagne into the sky while proclaiming, "The bravest woman in history!". Oh, and there is a lot of fist pumping.
Ok, so maybe it won't happen EXACTLY that way. My robe could be pink or green. And Scott could use Vitamin Water instead of Gatorade. But, you get my drift.
Bottom Line is. I now want to win. And I now want that badge.
Never thought this day would come. Also, never thought I could be so oblivious to my own pride that I didn't think this day would come.
Also, REALLY hoping that God doesn't decide that childbirth will be the time He humbles me and gives me a 12 lb baby who would like to take 78 hours to come out.
But, on the other hand... I would then not only be the bravest woman in the world, but I would have birthed a 12 pound baby and handled 78 hours of pushing with ease!
Yeah...I may be in trouble here.
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.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Did We Just Become Best Friends?
I may or may not have cried with my plumber last week. And by may or may not, I mean may. He saw Addie and proceeded to tell me about having to put his Golden Retriever down a few months ago.
I cried. He cried. It was the weirdest moment I have ever had with a complete stranger. And yet, when it was over, I kind of wanted to see if he wanted to adopt me...or be my honorary uncle...or just sit and watch Marley and Me with a tub of ice cream and some kleenex. Maybe go get a tattoo of our dogs on our arms.
Scott has always told me that our pups are going to live forever. I have a sinking feeling that he did not, in fact, buy me magic dogs. And one day, some unsuspecting insurance client will call me and I will hear their dogs barking in the background and the floodgates will open.
I have to move on or I might just call in sick to work and spend my day trying to fit my dogs and me in Addie's crate and making some kind of cuddle time memory. Maybe sing them a song while they tilt their heads and put their paws around my neck. I mean, go big or go home.
Knowing my dogs though, Reggie will get confused and pee on me and Addie will think its play time and swipe me in the eye with her enormous paws. Yep. that is exactly what would happen.
Cute memory. Gone.
But, I still have my moment with my plumber. Who I may or may not refer to as my new best friend. And by may or may not, I mean may.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
17 Things.
1. Why is it that when you have an open wound on your thumb, you seem to ALWAYS hit your hand on something that directly comes in contact with this open wound?
2. This week, I have never had more memories of youth camps growing up. Why you ask? Because I have had too many late nights and early mornings and awful food and am feeling extremely emotional. I swear, if I saw an alter, I would run to it. Just out of habit.
3. Had I been cool enough at any point in my teenage years, I would also find some old Philips Craig and Dean song and start doing human video motions. But alas, always the audience member....never in a black t-shirt and khakis.
4. I havent gone maternity clothes shopping yet and the clothes I have been given dont quite fit yet. All of this equals me in way too tight and unbuttoned dress pants with a belly band that is doing a sub par job.
5. We painted the baby's room a very soft green. And unfortunately, I think about Tinkerbell when I walk into it. I am hoping this feeling changes soon.
6. I have played my Scattered Trees CD on a daily basis at work since I got it months ago. And I didnt know this was possible, but I wore it out and it no longer plays. So sad.
7. This may be my lack of sleep talking, but I have a sudden urge to call Harpo Productions and see if Oprah is free for lunch.
8. There is a lady at my work who walks into my office everyday and takes some candy from my candy dish while telling me she really shouldnt be eating it. THEN. DONT.
9. Side note, it is a really good idea to buy candy that you dont like for your candy dish so you dont get tempted to eat it. My current candy dish collection? Gobstoppers. So not my style.
10. I STILL have not had to cut my toenails ONCE since training for my marathon last summer. I think they have all permanently stopped growing. Gross. And yet, kind of awesome.
11. My baby girl is doing so well and I am kind of in shock about the whole thing. I would like to go back to all of the specialists that I have seen and point to my belly and say "Boo-yah".
12. I honk at EVERY single person who drives on the highway and is looking at their phone. And everytime, I startle the crap out of them. Makes me so mad that people are that stupid.
13. I am currently having a love affair with bagels. Plain bagels. with a little bit of butter. Toasted to perfection with a light brown hue around the edges. I would choose that over oreo cheesecake right now. Now, that's love.
14. Out of the 6 colors we picked out for the house, I am in love with 4. These are really great odds for me considering I painted my old kitchen 4 times in under 4 years.
15. Our carpeting is getting put in today. And I am not picturing myself laying on it enjoying it's softness. I am picturing myself crawling around on it picking up any piece of dirt and fantasizing about taking people's shoes off for them when they walk into the house. Oh, and I haven't decided yet, but should I print out a piece of paper that says "You cannot eat, drink, spit while you talk, sweat or go barefoot on the carpet" or should I just pay someone to put it on canvas and make it my wall art?
16. I always wanted to be Rachel, but I am totally Monica.
17. I thought about calling Oprah. But then I figured she might have a day off. And be with Gayle. And I would think Gayle would be in a yellow velour sweatsuit with white sneakers and Oprah would be in a dark purple velour sweatsuit with her hair in a ponytail and visor on her head...and I just dont really want to be in public with people in velour sweatsuits. So, I decided to wait until tomorrow. When Oprah is more presentable.
2. This week, I have never had more memories of youth camps growing up. Why you ask? Because I have had too many late nights and early mornings and awful food and am feeling extremely emotional. I swear, if I saw an alter, I would run to it. Just out of habit.
3. Had I been cool enough at any point in my teenage years, I would also find some old Philips Craig and Dean song and start doing human video motions. But alas, always the audience member....never in a black t-shirt and khakis.
4. I havent gone maternity clothes shopping yet and the clothes I have been given dont quite fit yet. All of this equals me in way too tight and unbuttoned dress pants with a belly band that is doing a sub par job.
5. We painted the baby's room a very soft green. And unfortunately, I think about Tinkerbell when I walk into it. I am hoping this feeling changes soon.
6. I have played my Scattered Trees CD on a daily basis at work since I got it months ago. And I didnt know this was possible, but I wore it out and it no longer plays. So sad.
7. This may be my lack of sleep talking, but I have a sudden urge to call Harpo Productions and see if Oprah is free for lunch.
8. There is a lady at my work who walks into my office everyday and takes some candy from my candy dish while telling me she really shouldnt be eating it. THEN. DONT.
9. Side note, it is a really good idea to buy candy that you dont like for your candy dish so you dont get tempted to eat it. My current candy dish collection? Gobstoppers. So not my style.
10. I STILL have not had to cut my toenails ONCE since training for my marathon last summer. I think they have all permanently stopped growing. Gross. And yet, kind of awesome.
11. My baby girl is doing so well and I am kind of in shock about the whole thing. I would like to go back to all of the specialists that I have seen and point to my belly and say "Boo-yah".
12. I honk at EVERY single person who drives on the highway and is looking at their phone. And everytime, I startle the crap out of them. Makes me so mad that people are that stupid.
13. I am currently having a love affair with bagels. Plain bagels. with a little bit of butter. Toasted to perfection with a light brown hue around the edges. I would choose that over oreo cheesecake right now. Now, that's love.
14. Out of the 6 colors we picked out for the house, I am in love with 4. These are really great odds for me considering I painted my old kitchen 4 times in under 4 years.
15. Our carpeting is getting put in today. And I am not picturing myself laying on it enjoying it's softness. I am picturing myself crawling around on it picking up any piece of dirt and fantasizing about taking people's shoes off for them when they walk into the house. Oh, and I haven't decided yet, but should I print out a piece of paper that says "You cannot eat, drink, spit while you talk, sweat or go barefoot on the carpet" or should I just pay someone to put it on canvas and make it my wall art?
16. I always wanted to be Rachel, but I am totally Monica.
17. I thought about calling Oprah. But then I figured she might have a day off. And be with Gayle. And I would think Gayle would be in a yellow velour sweatsuit with white sneakers and Oprah would be in a dark purple velour sweatsuit with her hair in a ponytail and visor on her head...and I just dont really want to be in public with people in velour sweatsuits. So, I decided to wait until tomorrow. When Oprah is more presentable.
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.
Friday, January 21, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Today, my heart aches for heaven.
Will, had he been born on his due date, would have turned 1 yesterday.
And instead of a birthday celebration, Scott and I are going to go to dinner, like we do with each passing "would have been" birthday of our 3 lost babies, and quietly celebrate. And only tears of joy are allowed. Of course, knowing me, I will end up crying and then figure out a way to convince Scott that they are happy tears. Then he will order me lots of dessert to cheer me up, but since I am pregnant and hormonal, I will be so touched by his gesture that tears will flow again.
It's funny how such a short time with a baby can leave such a lasting imprint on your heart.
Will, you were with us for 12 weeks and 5 days. And we really did enjoy every moment. We still have all of your pictures from the 7 ultrasounds we had and I can still remember watching you on the screen. I remember laughing with Scott when we first heard your heartbeat and I can remember sitting at the table one morning while giving myself a shot and Scott rubbing my back and saying to me, "Where there is a Will, there is a way". I remember going to small group one Sunday night over at Seth and Britni's and all of the ladies touching my slightly protruding belly and talking about how firm pregnant tummies are. I remember feeling so connected to you, like I felt with the first two babies. And I remember feeling so empty when I realized that you were no longer with me.
You are just as special to us as you were when we found out we were pregnant. And you are still our "strong-willed" baby. we talk about you a lot. And while we both are incredibly sad that we don't get to watch you grow up, we are even more excited to meet you someday.
We miss you so much. And love you even more.
And instead of a birthday celebration, Scott and I are going to go to dinner, like we do with each passing "would have been" birthday of our 3 lost babies, and quietly celebrate. And only tears of joy are allowed. Of course, knowing me, I will end up crying and then figure out a way to convince Scott that they are happy tears. Then he will order me lots of dessert to cheer me up, but since I am pregnant and hormonal, I will be so touched by his gesture that tears will flow again.
It's funny how such a short time with a baby can leave such a lasting imprint on your heart.
Will, you were with us for 12 weeks and 5 days. And we really did enjoy every moment. We still have all of your pictures from the 7 ultrasounds we had and I can still remember watching you on the screen. I remember laughing with Scott when we first heard your heartbeat and I can remember sitting at the table one morning while giving myself a shot and Scott rubbing my back and saying to me, "Where there is a Will, there is a way". I remember going to small group one Sunday night over at Seth and Britni's and all of the ladies touching my slightly protruding belly and talking about how firm pregnant tummies are. I remember feeling so connected to you, like I felt with the first two babies. And I remember feeling so empty when I realized that you were no longer with me.
You are just as special to us as you were when we found out we were pregnant. And you are still our "strong-willed" baby. we talk about you a lot. And while we both are incredibly sad that we don't get to watch you grow up, we are even more excited to meet you someday.
We miss you so much. And love you even more.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Let's All Just Get Honest.
My baby can pee now. Yes. at only 14 weeks old, this little tyke can let it all out. I wonder if they make a tiny sigh like so many of us do when we finally get the chance to take a tinkle.
By the way, as much as I hate having to inconvenience my day by going to the restroom, I do love unloading my bladder. Sometimes, I just smile and sit there for a smidge longer than normal and just enjoy the moment. (Cue my husband reading this blog, getting embarrassed on my behalf, shaking his head and saying quietly to himself, "Steeeeeeph". He thinks I should keep some things to myself.)
Hey, I never claimed to be classy.
Which reminds me, (Scott's embarrassment, not my classy claim) for the most part, I love attention. And in almost all instances, Scott is not a fan of it. We went to the Blue Man Group show once and I had an aisle seat. The blue men were walking down the aisles looking at people all creepy. Of course, I can't just sit there and stare back, I have to make a slight scene, like they are scaring me..I mean, how else will they have a conversation after the show about that one really cool girl that they freaked out? Anyways, what I didn't realize was they were looking for someone to bring on stage. Well, the attention worked. And I landed myself in a 15 minute scene with the no talking, plastic smelling, heavy breathing blue men and, I must say.... I stole that show like it was a ding dong in my neighbors lunch box.
Where was Scott while I was egging on the crowd and soaking in the rays of attention?
He was sweating. And shaking. And trying his best not to have a heart attack right then and there. Because he was THAT nervous for me! And I am sure, completely embarrassed, as people laughed at something I did, they would all look lovingly his way too. Man, if I could have ALSO been in his seat..double attention! Score!
I also made a sign once at a Packers game. Because I wanted to get on tv. And not just the jumbo tron. ESPN. Go big or go home. So, I made an enormous sign that read, "This is our Honeymoon!" With a big heart and the letter Z in the middle. Did Scott grunt and try to hide behind the sign everytime I flew it proudly in the air? Of course. Did we make it onto TV? Oh yes. Did people around us give us strange looks and ask questions as to WHY we would pick Green Bay Wisconsin as our honeymoon destination? You betcha. Were we prepared to answer? Of course not. I only think in the moment. I just stared sweetly at Scott like those new wives who always wait for their new husband's to answer every question. Which made Scott all the more happy about my sign.
I had a point. But now all I want to do is figure out a way to get on a gameshow. or find a way to secretly nominate myself for some hero's episode of Oprah.
Oh, you have ALL thought about doing that before!
No?
Just me?
By the way, as much as I hate having to inconvenience my day by going to the restroom, I do love unloading my bladder. Sometimes, I just smile and sit there for a smidge longer than normal and just enjoy the moment. (Cue my husband reading this blog, getting embarrassed on my behalf, shaking his head and saying quietly to himself, "Steeeeeeph". He thinks I should keep some things to myself.)
Hey, I never claimed to be classy.
Which reminds me, (Scott's embarrassment, not my classy claim) for the most part, I love attention. And in almost all instances, Scott is not a fan of it. We went to the Blue Man Group show once and I had an aisle seat. The blue men were walking down the aisles looking at people all creepy. Of course, I can't just sit there and stare back, I have to make a slight scene, like they are scaring me..I mean, how else will they have a conversation after the show about that one really cool girl that they freaked out? Anyways, what I didn't realize was they were looking for someone to bring on stage. Well, the attention worked. And I landed myself in a 15 minute scene with the no talking, plastic smelling, heavy breathing blue men and, I must say.... I stole that show like it was a ding dong in my neighbors lunch box.
Where was Scott while I was egging on the crowd and soaking in the rays of attention?
He was sweating. And shaking. And trying his best not to have a heart attack right then and there. Because he was THAT nervous for me! And I am sure, completely embarrassed, as people laughed at something I did, they would all look lovingly his way too. Man, if I could have ALSO been in his seat..double attention! Score!
I also made a sign once at a Packers game. Because I wanted to get on tv. And not just the jumbo tron. ESPN. Go big or go home. So, I made an enormous sign that read, "This is our Honeymoon!" With a big heart and the letter Z in the middle. Did Scott grunt and try to hide behind the sign everytime I flew it proudly in the air? Of course. Did we make it onto TV? Oh yes. Did people around us give us strange looks and ask questions as to WHY we would pick Green Bay Wisconsin as our honeymoon destination? You betcha. Were we prepared to answer? Of course not. I only think in the moment. I just stared sweetly at Scott like those new wives who always wait for their new husband's to answer every question. Which made Scott all the more happy about my sign.
I had a point. But now all I want to do is figure out a way to get on a gameshow. or find a way to secretly nominate myself for some hero's episode of Oprah.
Oh, you have ALL thought about doing that before!
No?
Just me?
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.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, November 1, 2010
I Remember When....
I have a confession.
I love talking about memories of other people.
But here is the real "issue".
Sometimes I do it, just so they will talk about a memory they have of me.
There is something validating about being told how funny or curious or strong or fearless you were as a kid. Or how brave or adorable or cute or dorky you were as a teenie bopper. It's like when you put in your status update "Write down one memory you have of me" and then sit and wait for the answers to pour in...laughing to yourself as someone says "memory, memory...that was so funny" while you are smiling and thinking "man, I was so funny".
It's awful and I know it. But, when I tell you something from your childhood that I think was hilarious or worth sharing again, it is partially because I want a boomerang memory to come right back at me... For example, I fed this bait to my brother last night. And he didn't take.
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid." - me.
"haha" - Colin.
If the story played out the way I wanted it to, it would have gone something like this:
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid: - me
"Oh my gosh! I totally remember that! I thought that was so fun! And you would always try to kick too, but you were so bad at it!" - Colin
"I was, wasn't I?" (to myself...oh clumsy silly stephanie..sigh) - me
See, Colin would have walked away feeling so cool because he could do the ninja kicks and had he reciprocated, could have made me feel equally as cool for being the cute and clumsy younger sister. fail, Colin. fail.
So, listen. We all love validating our friends for their super human kicks and amazing fort-making abilities as kids. Or how cool they really looked with that jewel studded hat in their 6th grade picture or the enormous corduroy pants that catapulted them into 9th grade popularity.
But, can't these memories be for both the giver and receiver? So, I'll scratch your back...you scratch mine, ok?
Backscratching...I used to play this game with my childhood friends called Write On Backs. They would write a word on my back and I would have to guess what they were saying and vice versa...Amy always tried to fake me out with her lower case "l" and upper case "I". She was so sneaky! But, I usually figured it out...oh smart and witty young Stephanie...sigh...
I love talking about memories of other people.
But here is the real "issue".
Sometimes I do it, just so they will talk about a memory they have of me.
There is something validating about being told how funny or curious or strong or fearless you were as a kid. Or how brave or adorable or cute or dorky you were as a teenie bopper. It's like when you put in your status update "Write down one memory you have of me" and then sit and wait for the answers to pour in...laughing to yourself as someone says "memory, memory...that was so funny" while you are smiling and thinking "man, I was so funny".
It's awful and I know it. But, when I tell you something from your childhood that I think was hilarious or worth sharing again, it is partially because I want a boomerang memory to come right back at me... For example, I fed this bait to my brother last night. And he didn't take.
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid." - me.
"haha" - Colin.
If the story played out the way I wanted it to, it would have gone something like this:
"I remember you doing ninja kicks behind the couch as a kid: - me
"Oh my gosh! I totally remember that! I thought that was so fun! And you would always try to kick too, but you were so bad at it!" - Colin
"I was, wasn't I?" (to myself...oh clumsy silly stephanie..sigh) - me
See, Colin would have walked away feeling so cool because he could do the ninja kicks and had he reciprocated, could have made me feel equally as cool for being the cute and clumsy younger sister. fail, Colin. fail.
So, listen. We all love validating our friends for their super human kicks and amazing fort-making abilities as kids. Or how cool they really looked with that jewel studded hat in their 6th grade picture or the enormous corduroy pants that catapulted them into 9th grade popularity.
But, can't these memories be for both the giver and receiver? So, I'll scratch your back...you scratch mine, ok?
Backscratching...I used to play this game with my childhood friends called Write On Backs. They would write a word on my back and I would have to guess what they were saying and vice versa...Amy always tried to fake me out with her lower case "l" and upper case "I". She was so sneaky! But, I usually figured it out...oh smart and witty young Stephanie...sigh...
Friday, October 22, 2010
Let's Dance, the Last Dance Tonight
Oh Donna Summer. I didn't really know you until you were regurgitated into a dance mix for So You Think You Can Dance.... One day, my kids are going to talk about my Justin Timberlake like that. Like he hardly existed. So sad.
Tonight is the night. Our last night sleeping in our first home. Hold please, I need to go turn on some sad music to get in the mood here. Carrie Underwood? Check. Take that wheel Jesus.
So, to answer your question, yes. I'm sad. I'm nostalgic. I'm feeling a twinge of regret. So, I am going to do what any normal person would do when they are filled with all of the emotions of saying goodbye to a home that is filled with so many memories.
Rip it to pieces. That's right. It's really the only way I can justify leaving. I mean, it just makes sense.
Now I sound like an unfaithful spouse. And having said that sounds like I went to too much counseling as a child. There may not be a recovery here.
Ok. Alright '0000' East 'Blah' Parkway (to protect it from any funny business tonight of course), here's looking at you...
I'm happy to be leaving you, you lame...stupid...awful....
Well, we did replace that stove for a shiny new white one that purrs like a kitty. And we tore down that fireplace and people stopped pointing and laughing.. That railing we installed did change my thoughts on high heels...And we did replace those gold fans with ones that even Pottery Barn would be happy to invite over for dinner...And we got a new door and that glass door is in a better place now hopefully being what it was created to be. a window.... and Chip, well you are the world's friendliest chipmunk.
Well, crap.
That didn't work.
Fine.
I am going to miss you home. There. I said it. You are too darn cute to not miss. It's like Michelle from Full House.
So, lets have that Last Dance, whatd'ya say?
I suddenly have the urge to find a corner of a wall, wrap my arms...along it... and slow dance the night away.
Don't judge.
Tonight is the night. Our last night sleeping in our first home. Hold please, I need to go turn on some sad music to get in the mood here. Carrie Underwood? Check. Take that wheel Jesus.
So, to answer your question, yes. I'm sad. I'm nostalgic. I'm feeling a twinge of regret. So, I am going to do what any normal person would do when they are filled with all of the emotions of saying goodbye to a home that is filled with so many memories.
Rip it to pieces. That's right. It's really the only way I can justify leaving. I mean, it just makes sense.
Now I sound like an unfaithful spouse. And having said that sounds like I went to too much counseling as a child. There may not be a recovery here.
Ok. Alright '0000' East 'Blah' Parkway (to protect it from any funny business tonight of course), here's looking at you...
With your crazy gas stove that blew open the oven door when we turned you on.
And your stupid fake fireplace made of plywood that took up our entire kitchen and not even my dog believed was real.
With your stairs that made you swear off high heels.
And your gold fans that took me to the 70's.
And how about your glass door that just invited Peeping Toms to join us for dinner.
And let's not forget that annoying chipmunk that lives behind your front steps.
I'm happy to be leaving you, you lame...stupid...awful....
Well, we did replace that stove for a shiny new white one that purrs like a kitty. And we tore down that fireplace and people stopped pointing and laughing.. That railing we installed did change my thoughts on high heels...And we did replace those gold fans with ones that even Pottery Barn would be happy to invite over for dinner...And we got a new door and that glass door is in a better place now hopefully being what it was created to be. a window.... and Chip, well you are the world's friendliest chipmunk.
Well, crap.
That didn't work.
Fine.
I am going to miss you home. There. I said it. You are too darn cute to not miss. It's like Michelle from Full House.
So, lets have that Last Dance, whatd'ya say?
I suddenly have the urge to find a corner of a wall, wrap my arms...along it... and slow dance the night away.
Don't judge.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Ode to my kidney:
Righty, oh Righty... I have so much to say.
My whole life, its been only us, but it feels so new today.
You scared us a bit with your large little figure.
But, the CT scan shows youre just an overachiever.
I've spent my whole life thinking that there was a lefty,
I can only imagine. Your feeling of responsibility must have been so hefty.
But instead of shriviling in your pity filled gloom
You decided to get ripped and force the rest of me to make room.
So, you are healthy and thriving and strong the doc's say
There's a tiny bit of fluid, but come on , you try to be a lone kidney for a day.
I guess I just want to aknowledge your hard work
And let you know that I will calm down soon so you won't go berzerk.
But, I do have one tiny favor to ask..
Its really really small, so dont take me to task.
I have this thing...this little old thing
The docs say its ok and its something we can swing.
I would like to run the marathon. Its 4 days away
So, how about we do this thing, whatdya say?
I promise to drink lots of water with glee
So, just make sure you do your job and filter that pee.
And when it is over, I promise you one thing
I will sit my butt down on a bench or a swing.
Or a chair or a couch or a bed or a table
Heck, Ill sit my butt down on some hay in a stable.
I promise to rest and let you get some zzz's when its done
But until then, do me a solid and stay on top of your function?
Right kidney, my kidney, my dear old new friend
Although I miss lefty, it is you on which I will always depend.
So, let's cheers to this newfound friendship, but before I bid adiou
You mind giving my damn uterus a pep-talk too?
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.
Monday, August 16, 2010
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.
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.
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