Without Borders

With our adoption process in full swing now, I am going to consolidate all of my online writings to one blog from now on..

I will keep this one open and more than likely come back to it after we have completed the adoption...

Don't you worry one bit though...There will still be the usual Steph writings, but we will also be documenting our journey to adoption too...and since adopting a child requires more paperwork than buying a house, car, life insurance policy and Magic Waters pass combined, there is no way I will be able to keep up with two blogs.

By the way, I put the butter in the pantry last night and found it this morning while I was making my lunch. Nice.

So, join me over at http://www.withoutborders.cc/ and sign up to follow that bloggity blog.

Oh, and excuse the mess of it...My little brother, Neil is helping me make it look kind of awesome... but we are both going a little crazy, so we are changing it almost daily. It will look fancy at some point.

But, come on...you have a girl from Beloit trying to make something fancy. That's like telling Milli Vanilli to serenade you...with no accompaniment tape.

Not. Gonna. Happen.


http://www.withoutborders.cc/    (just in case you forgot)

Peace out party peoples.

I Remember This Feeling.

So, I have hit that post pregnancy hormonal phase. Where you feel sort of out of control of your body? It. Is. Crazy.

The only thing is...this time...I have Emara. I get to see and feel the strange changes of post-baby WITH an actual baby. Which changes the entire scenerio.

Lately, because I am experiencing it again, I am recalling so many feelings that I had after each miscarriage. My body was adjusting back...my hormones were raging...but I had no bundle of joy to balance it all out.

For almost three years, my RSVP to a baby shower was always "no". I quietly listened and smiled as friends would share their pregnancy stories or birth stories and then cry on the ride home. I sincerely joined in the chorus of "SO EXCITED" when another friend became pregnant at the same time wondering if I would ever know what that kind of joy really felt like.

I remember being consumed by the thought of my lost babies EVERY single day for months and months. I remember joking with my husband about the what if's of having a child combining my big butt and his long legs...only to breathe a deep sigh afterwards wondering if that would ever even happen. Every pound I gained had a name. I remember talking with friends and pretending to be fine because I couldn't believe that I still wasn't actually fine. "That time of the month" was just another stabbing reminder of what was no longer there.

I say all of this to say. Struggling with infertility...getting pregnant and then losing your baby...can make even the incredibly strong...incredibly fragile.

Something that can be so profoundly joyful to you can remind someone of something deeply heartbreaking to them.

And so, if you are pregnant...or trying to get pregnant...and you have someone in your life who isn't jumping up and down with excitement for you and you don't understand why...

Please give them an extra scoop of grace... We have no idea if today began with a negative pregnancy test... or is a "would have been" due date...

I can never thank my sister-in-law, Leah, enough for her patience with me during her pregnancy with her youngest son. She got pregnant during my time of loss and was so incredibly kind and thoughtful to me. She gave me more grace than I deserved and she chose other friends to talk baby stuff with...for which I am eternally grateful.

And, on the other hand, if you are struggling to get pregnant...or if you have suffered through the loss of your baby...it is so easy to let resentment and bitterness overtake your heart...

Please give yourself and everyone around you an extra scoop of grace too...

For you....I hope you allow yourself the freedom to feel every single feeling you have...to get angry...to be sad...to feel guilt... Just, don't stay in those dark spots for long...work through them... I PROMISE you, you will breathe again..I PROMISE you, you will know joy again. You will come out on the other side and you will be ok.

For others...Believe the best in their intentions..in their words..in their actions... And if something is said that feels insensitive, let grace settle into your heart.

I heard the simplest of sentences at church a few weeks ago and it is something that I have carried with me everyday since.

Choose Love. Choose Kindness. Choose Grace.

This applies to obviously everything in life...but, because my heart is closest to this subject, this is the area that I am reflecting on today.

So, for whatever scenerio may be yours, I hope you can give out some extra grace today...

We all need it and none of us deserve it.

29. The Year That Never Ends...

So, this is it? 29 for life now, right? Is that still the running joke or was that just something I heard my teachers, youth group leaders and YWCA gymnastic instructors say to eachother when I was little?

Either way, 29 is here to stay.

Every year, I come up with something that I want to "add" to my life, not just for that year. Here is a glimpse of my past birthday wishes to myself:

24 yrs - Get a massage for every birthday (best birthday idea EVER..Scott never has to guess and I always get a massage)

25 yrs - Buy expensive shampoo (totally awesome and totally worth it...no matter what my pocketbook says)

26 yrs - Get more pedicures (I am not so good at remembering this one...Scott remembers though...especially when I slice him in the night with my heels that morph into shards of glass in the winter)

27 yrs - Read more books (This was a good one, I must admit. Not only am I more smarter, but I now actually read the "Books You Must Read" section of my People Magazine)

28 yrs - Run a marathon (This one was the best thing I may have ever done mentally and physically...plus...well....it kind of saved my life with the whole finding out I had one kidney thing)

So, now to this year.

I started running out of genius ideas... I am only human... They had to slow down at some point...

So, here is what I have decided.

From my birthday until November 30 (my next kidney function test), I am on a strict no sweets plan. Yep. No Edwards Donuts. No homemade cookies. Nothing. Why? Well, due to the fact that I cannot work out or exert myself because of my current kidney condition, I need something that is mentally difficult that produces physical rewards. And saying no to sweets will be a battle of my brain along with a hopeful notch or two taken off of the ol' belt of glory.

THEN. After my kidney test, if they tell me that I have regained my function (prayers are welcomed and finger/toe crossings are not denied), I will take on a new venture. The world of Pilates.

That's right. Jennifer Aniston. I am coming for your abs. And legs. And arms. And while we are at it, your hair too...and you have pretty eyes...

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Pilates. So, I am preparing myself by ordering DVD's online and trying to touch my toes every now and again...and not just when I am sitting down.

Running is a tough friend to compete with but Pilates does have Jen An. And I think you get to buy a cool mat. Jenny (thats what us friends call her) had one specially made for Oprah with pictures of Prah Prah's dogs (again, us close friends call Oprah this..oh, the three of us) on it. I wouldnt want to smush my dogs, so I would probably get something put on my mat that I wouldn't mind smushing...like bugs. or spiders.

Or a picture of fat lard. Who wouldnt want to smash that crap down? Hence, the whole point of Pilates.

That would be what you call a "full circle" mat, actually. Figuratively smushing lard while literally trying to smush your lard.

Speaking of full circle, this post needs to hurry up and get there, because even I am falling asleep.

29. The year that never ends. Going hand in hand with the post that never ends. It's like a massage minus the massage and adding a yoga mat? Maybe for 29, I should have wished for humor? like the kind Prah Prah has?

I give up.

Wanting What I Can't Have

Just when you think you have something figured out. When you are sure you have it under control.

It knocks on your door with a basketful of homemade cookies and asks to come back inside.

I would like to think that if I say something enough, that I will begin to believe it.

And most times, it works.

I hated running. Talked myself into it. Now, it is my favorite.

I never wanted to work after kids. Talked myself into it. Now, I am thankful for the provision.

Heck, I have even starting turning myself into a mini chef. Talked myself into it. Lord knows I didn't come this way by pure talent...I still don't know how to properly dice veggies. And I don't want to admit how many times I have to google the meanings of directions...sautee this...braise that...puree the other thing... and don't get me started on the different "cuts" of meat. Isn't it all from the same animal? Why does it matter if it is round or flank or rump or prime? And seriously, why do I have so many knife options in my knife block?

Anyways.

I have spent the last year and a half and specifically, the last 9 or so months telling myself that I didn't want anymore kids naturally. Talked myself into the idea of never growing another human life in my belly.

And I could list you so many reasons as to why it wouldn't be the wisest decision to try again.

But, this one is tricky.

Because my head gets it.

But, my heart. No matter how much I talk to it....well, it really wants to let that basketful of homemade cookies in the door. Even if they are potentially toxic cookies.

I wonder if I am just wanting what I can't have. Or if I need to continue the grieving process of letting that dream go. Or if maybe I want to be able to eat extra food with good reason for another 9 month period. Or maybe I need a lesson in believing. Or maybe I am fighting closure because I shouldn't have it yet.

Either way, I have time to figure this all out. Good Lord, its not like Emara is zipping off to college tomorrow...I mean, our adopted child doesnt even have a face yet...

So, I will continue to process with my husband...and my family and friends...and this blog...

And I apologize in advance for my wishy washy thought process.

But, once you get a glimpse of Emara...you kind of want a million more of her.

Love. Me. Sugar.

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)

Confessions of a Crazy Lady.

So, a few nights ago, the wicked witch came into my room and waved her wand over my head, sprinkled some crazy juice into my mouth and BAM! I turned into a 5 year old smack dab in the middle of a tantrum.

At least, that is my excuse. Really, I was just a 28 year old full grown woman ACTING like a 5 year old in the middle of a tantrum. And there was no wicked witch to blame. That outburst was all me.

I even said this to my husband, "I don't like you." I mean, let's all point to the girl in the room who needs a nap. Could I have said anything more embarrassing? I don't like you.... I have heard more 4 year olds proclaim that to their mommy's under their breath because their mom wasn't going to cut their pb&j sandwich in half. I almost wish I would have said something worse or more mean...at least it would have meant I was beyond the stage of bedtime pull-ups.

Marriage is difficult...and when you have to deal with baby Steph, it can also be exhausting, I am sure. Marriage is the most rewarding thing, but can be the most frustrating thing at the same time. And, when I get to the bottom of my issues with it, I come to this super annoying conclusion.

I want my husband to do for me what I am not doing for him.

On my drive to work yesterday morning, for some reason, I was picturing myself on a bike ride. And my tire popped. Because I filled it up too much, of course (SIDE NOTE - I am petrified of filling anything up with air for fear of it exploding in my face).  I pictured myself calling Scott and making him drive 20 minutes to come get me and my deflated tire.

And, he totally did it.

Then, as I was marvelling at story-time Scott's quickness to come to my rescue, I thought of what my reaction would have been if his tire had popped on his lovely bike ride.

And, in the middle of watching an Oprah re-run...in my comfy pants and messy hair bun...snacking on dried fruit...ok, oreos...I would answer his call for help...and if I am honest...

be completely annoyed that I had to interupt my uber important activities to go get him.

And OUCH. My daydream instantly became my own personal Dr Phil show.

I am selfish.  Crap.  I mean, really selfish.  I remember hearing Gordy Smith say during a Marriage Matters class that marriage is NOT 50/50. It is each person giving 100. And, man, I struggle with that.

As much as I see marriage as a partnership, I fail to see it as something that I give 100% to no matter what. I want more than I am willing to give. It's not like I keep a tally in my head of how many times I have made him dinner compared to how many times he has or anything like that. That kind of stuff doesn't bother me. But, if I were completely and embarrassingly honest, I spend more time focusing on what he isn't being for me emotionally than what I am not being for him.

I am quick to let him know where he is failing on the emotional attentiveness scale. But, the second he tells me something that bothers him, I have a hard time shutting up and taking it in without thinking of valid reasons as to why I did what I did.

I heard a line in a movie the other night that hit me kind of hard. The wife asked the husband why he did something (that he soo didnt enjoy but she enjoyed)....and he said, "because it matters to you".

And of course, my first thought was, "THERE SCOTT! See?? You should compliment me and my post-baby body that I am not proud of to make me feel better about myself...not because it is true...but, because that matters to me!!! And also, please, for the love of God, TAKE ME TO A MUSICAL!"

When, I should have thought "Steph, even though you don't understand why it is so important to turn every light off in the room when you leave it or close every cabinet door when you are done...do it. Because it matters to your husband. And also, please, for the love of God, stop asking him to TAKE YOU TO A MUSICAL!"

There are a lot of things in life that seem like a constant battle...trusting God with my life and path...believing the best in people...choosing other's needs before your own...

What I am learning though, is it seems like a constant battle...because it IS. And I can't run from it. I can't spend my days imagining and skipping through the fields with a basketfull of flowers and jellybeans.

But, also, I can't go through my days thinking that my marriage could be better if my husband were better. My marriage will be better when I, again, shut up and take inventory of my own crap and start working that stuff out.

Man, for someone who loves to talk, I feel like a lot of my lessons lately have started with the phrase, "shut up..."

This could be a problem for a girl who uses all 297,879 words a day. Plus some.

I Was Blind...Literally...

I started writing a blog about being J-Lo's overweight cousin and my only hope for regaining my ability to wear anything in my closet again was running...and how I feel like running is one of my closest, dearest friends and now, because of my kidney, I can no longer be friends with running.

I really wanted to spend some time complaining about how this wasn't supposed to be my path. How one of my life's goals was to run at least one half marathon a summer...to run the entire 13 Rock N Roll series Half Marathon's. I really wanted to spend some time pouting.

And then, I remembered something that my real-life dear friend, Lennox Barnett, said over the weekend. He was talking about being grateful and about how good God was and said "Guys...I was blind. I was literally blind. And there is no explanation for why I see today. None. And that is why I can't praise God enough..."

I am beyond blessed. I have a house. We have TWO cars. We get to mow our lawn with a motor powered machine that actually self-propels! I have shoes for every season and enough scarves to make a third winter coat (because I already have TWO winter coats). I have water at my disposal WHENEVER I want. I get paid well for the work that I do. I have a job to begin with. We have insurance. Beyond that, we have hospitals and doctors at our disposal.

I have a gorgeous daughter. and three more that probably look a whole lot like her waiting to meet us in heaven.

I can breathe without reminding myself to do so. My heart pumps blood to my body without question. My limbs move and my hair grows and my eyes can see. Heck, my eyes can blink without command and then when I need to command them to, they can blink even more!

I can sing. And sing loudly. And I can hear beautiful melodies and voices and laughter.

I am surrounded by love. By a husband who prays for me and takes care of me. By a family who believes the best in me and accepts all of my very strange and sometimes annoying quirks. By friends who tolerate weird voice messages and strange picture texts and long phone calls and love me without question.

I am not orphaned. I grew up knowing my mom, my dad and my three brothers.

So, if having one kidney is the reason why I can no longer do something that I love. If having a blood disease along with it means that we have absolutely no guarantees when it comes to having more children naturally. If I have to restrict my diet or go on medication or stop doing certain things.

WHO CARES. WHO CARES. WHO CARES.

I have Emara Jane, my miracle baby. And she is more than enough reason to be grateful. I have Scott, who again, more than enough. I have life. I have God. I could go on and on (and probably should on a daily basis).

And, even if all of this is taken away. my child. my husband. my health. my precious running (inserting sarcasm).

God is still good and I still believe in hope. And heaven is still coming.

So, Stephanie, take a big bite of perspective today. And be thankful that you have so much more than you could ever need or want.

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?

To You.

I think about you everyday.

Don't worry, little one. We have not forgotten about you.

You have a sister who you will just adore. And she will adore you.

You have two dogs who are wagging their tails a little too much and they would love another buddy.

You have a soft bed and a room and everything you could ever need waiting for you.

But, more importantly, you have a mommy and daddy who love you deeply. And who have spent the last 8 months praying for you. We are coming for you, sweet baby. We are coming to Ethiopia someday.

The timing is God's. And as impatient as I can be and as anxious I feel about rushing the process, I know that the story that God is writing for YOUR life is one of beauty and grace and is better than anything I could ever try and write. So, I wait for His chapters to begin.

But, until then, born or unborn, girl or boy....we love you. we can't wait to bring you home.

Where you belong.

Spitting Up Through Your Nose and Pooping Up Your Back.

I have a daughter.

Let's just start right there. I am constantly in a state of thankfulness for her. Scott and I have waited. And prayed. And cried. And pleaded.

And here she is.

She is a gift. Truly a gift straight from God. She is my constant reminder that He loves. and that He cares. That He embodies grace. That He carries hope. That He doesn't forget.

She is beautiful. And so sweet. Her demeanor is so calm and so pleasant. She hums a sweet melody when she starts to fall asleep and has an amazing growl when she is getting comfortable. Sings and Growls already. She is like my very own tiny Adele.

So far, we have gone through more diapers and wipes than I thought humanly possible. She has pooped through outfits and onto towels and in the bathtub and all over my hand. She has peed through outfits right onto our 2 day old new bedding and on our couch. She has spit up and bypassed the burp rag right onto our carpeting and couch again. She wakes me up a few times every night because she is hungry, putting me into a new state of exhaustion. Exhaustion where I have unintentionally done the following:

*Tried plugging my phone charger into her arm.
*Ripped apart my pillowcase thinking that I had accidently swaddled her inside of it and was smothering her. (thus the new bedding...because, I literally ripped apart my pillowcase)
*Attempted burping her backwards...patting her tummy instead of her back.
*Used my hand to wipe her thinking that I, for some reason, had a glove on. And when I realized that there was no glove, turned the light on (with my poopy hand) to realize there was poop on both my hand and the lightswitch.

And, I have LOVED. EVERY. SECOND.

I LOVE a couch filled with stains. Ripped Bedding. Complete Exhaustion. Loads of Laundry. Abandoned housekeeping attempts. Dirty floors. Poop and Pee and Spit Up everywhere.

I LOVE IT. We LOVE it. We have waited so impatiently for this season in our lives to begin. And now that it is here, I am not only thankful for her tiny fingers and tiny toes but I am thankful for every late night feeding and for every sleepless night. Thankful for days that go by where nothing gets done in the house or outside of it. Thankful for crusty goo on many surfaces. Thankful for her cry. Thankful for my newfound ability to be late to everything I commit to. Thankful for a very smelly garage thanks to old hot diapers.

Emara Jane Zibell has changed my life. Going through what we went through had already put a huge conviction in my heart to not complain about the typical complaints that can come our way with the new venture of children. But, I have yet to have to force myself to hold onto that perspective. I am well aware that future parents are going to bed aching for what I get to experience. And, that alone, keeps my mouth shut and my heart content.

So, back to blogging I go. This time, with a tiny tot sleeping on my chest while I type one handed. But, don't worry, it won't be all sap and cheese. I do have a few bones to pick with moms everywhere. There are some very SIGNIFICANT things that occur during and after childbirth that nobody told me about. And, well, a little heads up would have helped ladies. At least it would have softened the blows of "WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?!?" and "WHAT THE HECK IS HAPPENING TO MY BODY?!?" and "WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY TELL ME THAT I WOULD HAVE TO WRITE AN APOLOGY TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM FOR FLOODING THEIR ROOM WITH MY AMNIOTIC FLUID".

Oh yes. I will go there. Boys, you might want to stop reading for a bit. It could get a little graphic. I may use the word "leaking" a lot.

Ok, she is grunting now. And it's way too cute to do anything else now but stare at her. Dinner? I am working on hiring a few elves from Santa to take care of that tiny detail.

Peace out friends.

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.

Updates and More Updates...

Well dear friends and family...it seems that this little girl is a lot like her daddy. And by daddy, I mean her mommy.

At 33 weeks, I went into what is called Pre-Term Labor...basically, I went into labor too early. So, after an overnight at the hospital, some medication and a strict order to bedrest...the labor was slowed down significantly, which was the goal.

Last Thursday, at 36 weeks, went in for my normal bi-weekly appt and my Dr. announced that things were moving along and this baby was on her way! So, he told me to go home and get my stuff together and meet him at the hospital at 5pm! Scott immediately went into crazy jittery mode and just started walking quickly around the house with no direction. It was really adorable actually. And at 4:30pm. Off we went!

Long story short.. Once we got to the hospital, things weren't moving very fast...which for any other pregnancy, the doctor would just induce or break my water or do anything else that would push along the labor...but, I'm only 36 weeks. And the risks outweigh the benefit of having a 36 weeks old baby, so my doctor will not do anything to help me progress in labor.

(SIDE NOTE: THIS is the MIRACLE of my strong baby Jane. Factor V babies are known to be safer outside of the womb than inside...my entire pregnancy, I have been told that I will have this baby very early...because of blood clots, etc...basically, she would need to come out because my body probably wouldn't be doing its job...but, this has not been the case...so, what an amazing and strange change of mind that they now want to keep her in because she and I are doing so well!)

Friday morning...went back in. Still progressing...but too slow to go back to the hospital for now. So, off to home I go to keep laboring. Go back Monday morning. And if things are moving along...back to the hospital! If things are slow, then back home I go. It's all day to day. My contractions havent slowed down...but, because I am not full-term, my Dr is having me stay on the natural path, which I am actually really happy about.

So, sweet baby Jane. 18 Days of contractions. And you are worth EVERY SINGLE ONE. And your mommy and daddy are so excited to meet you, but when you are at your healthiest. So, if that is tomorrow, wonderful. If it is two weeks from now, wonderful.

And that is that folks. I think she heard us talking about her entrance into the world and she said, "I do not follow your rules, people." Like I said, just like her daddy...and by daddy...well, you know who we are talking about :)

And, Here We Go. Zibell Family Update

Called our doctor yesterday because I was not feeling the baby move as much. I diligently do my daily kick counts so she wasn't about to get anything past me! Because I was in Schuamburg at work, he sent me to Labor/Delivery at Swedes since his office would be closed by the time I got back.

Got to the hospital thinking that they would monitor the baby for a bit and then send us home. I had my normal Thursd morning appt with him anyways the next day..but I wanted peace of mind and had an intuition that something was off. So glad I listened to my body and we went to Swedes!

Because....I was having labor contractions 2-4 minutes apart! YIKES. 33 weeks and contracting? Having never had late term contractions, I just assumed because I was so early, that I was just having lots of Braxton Hicks for the last few days. I hardly mentioned it when they asked me why I came in...had NO CLUE. So, they hooked me up to an IV, checked my cervix (which is already thinned and further than what a 33 week cervix should look like...he felt her head!!! She has already dropped!), gave me a steroid shot for the baby and kept me overnight.

They did send me home today...my contractions are about 6 minutes apart now...but my cervix only changed minimally overnight so he didn't think that I needed to stay.

I am now officially on strict bedrest! No dishes, laundry, cleaning, stairs or cooking for me! Any other time I would be ecstatic...but I am NESTING! And all I want to do is clean my house. So, if you like to vaccuum...maybe you should call me? :)

I'm sure you know this, but contractions don't just stop without medication or help..and it really just holds them off for a bit....because baby girl is still doing so well and so far, no blood clots...they do not want her out this early. They were only going to take her soon if my womb was starting to go 'kapoot' on her. And its not...so, they will do whatever they can to keep me from having her.

That being said... we will definitely have an early bird because these contractions and my lady parts are def trying to get her outta here. I get checked again on Monday with my Maternal Fetal Medicine Doctor and we will see where we are there!

Scott and I are so thankful that she is healthy. We never even thought for a second that with all of the risks of my pregnancy, that I would go into pre-term labor?!?! We expected either they take her via emergency c-section early because she was in stress or they would induce me prior to my due date so I could try and have her naturally without posing a danger to her staying in for so long.

Crazy. But, like I said. We are so thankful for her, our gift. And whatever route is the safest for her, we will take.

If you pray, please pray for her sustained health. God knew this before anyone else and I believe that He really has put her on the growth fast track...she is so big already! But, with any preemie, there can be complications, so we are trusting and praying for a healthy baby from beginning to end! And pray for my body....no blood clots after her birth(which is my point of highest risk) and sustained health for my champ of a kidney!

Ok, this went WAY longer than I thought. I'm going back to bed :) Sleeping on a 3 tier labor and delivery bed with cords attached all over your body does not provide an environment for a good night sleep! Thank you all for your support, love and prayers....I can't wait for you all to meet our miracle!!!

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.

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

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

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

What ACTUALLY happened?

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

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

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

No. I just want to beat you.

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

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

It. Was. Awful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah...I may be in trouble here.

On No You Did Not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cue hair on the back of neck standing on end.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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


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

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


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


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


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

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

Did We Just Become Best Friends?

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

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

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

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

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

Cute memory. Gone.

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

Like a Man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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