ithinkthetitleofmylastpostisalittleironic.

Today has been more difficult than I was expecting.  Filled with emotion.  Filled with tears.  Filled with memories.

Six months ago today Ozzy received his diagnosis.  Six months ago today I found out I was a Heart Mom.  I am a Heart Mom.

I guess most of the tears come from thankfulness.  Just so thankful I have this baby boy to love.  Thankful that as I took him out of his high chair today he had at least 20 cheerios stuck to the bum of his pants.  Thankful that we made it to the cherrio phase with him.  We 'shouldn't' have.  

'Life' tried to take our boy from us 6 months ago, but God saved him.

Honestly, and depending on where your faith falls you may choose to agree or disagree.  But honestly, I think Ozzy survived because for 4 days straight as I was unknowingly watching my son die in a hospital room in Madras, I was also singing "There is power in the name of Jesus" over him, over and over and over again.  Alot in my head, and some out loud, but mostly in quiet whispers.  Just him, and I, and God.  I'm not saying that I saved him by singing that.  I'm saying the power in the name of Jesus saved him.  I will never be convinced otherwise.

Looking back on that day, November 29, 2012, he should have died.  If the Lord hadn't so put that nudge in my heart to flee to the safety of a different hospital, he would be dead.  Dead.  Do you get it?  No more Ozzy.  Just dead.  And he almost died.  Just minutes from the safety of that other hospital.  I mean, lets be honest: the poor boy's heart rate was at 225.  Yep, you read that right.  225.  I saw it myself.  I unwrapped supplies for the frantic EMT as he rescued my son and saw it myself.  Death.  So close.  We literally arrived with minutes to spare.

The Lord did that.  If that had happened an hour later at that 'not so safe' hospital in Madras, we'd have buried our son.  I am sure of it.  Absolutely positive.

So I'm thankful.  Thankful that by singing the most holy name over a horrific situation, the power of Jesus came into that room, into my heart, and MOVED.  Moved my heart into motion, my lips asking for a transfer, moved our bodies into that exact ambulance, moved that ambulance to that sanctuary of a hospital.  We got our diagnosis, we got our plane ride, we got our Ozzy.

We have our Ozzy.

I think the tears come too from pain.  Eight days ago this world lost a gem.  A sweet baby girl named Hope.  I had been following her mommy's blog off and on since Ozzy got his diagnosis.  Hope was a heart baby.  Amy was a heart mom.  That's all of our worst fear.  Loosing a child.  For a heart mom, that fear is a little more realistic.  For Hope's mom, that became a reality.  I'm just so saddened by the fact that Hope was taken from this world.  I have SO admired Amy's faith and trust and vulnerability in the pain of it all.  But it's still sad.  And I don't understand.  I just go back to what got me through Portland: God will use this for good.  

Then today I learned of another mommy loosing her baby at 38 weeks and I am reminded: life is too freaking fragile.  Not even the next breath is promised to us.  We live as if it is, but it's not.

I think that is one blessing of going through something like this: watching your child die.  Watching Ozzy die, and get so close to that reality opened up my mind to a different reality.  I'm sure it does even more so to those who actually have to bury their children.  But it's a different reality where each smile, each giggle, each breath, each cry, feels more like a gift.  Not like a "I'm going to put on a fake happy smile and say this is a gift because I want to look like a good mom and choose a joyful heart" sort of gift.  But a: "I'm crying into my babies neck because I am just so thankful he is still here with me, and my bursts of crying breath on his neck are tickling him and making him laugh which is just making me cry harder and harder because I am so thankful that I get to hear his laugh which is just making him laugh harder and harder which makes me cry harder and harder because I realize he is just so innocent and has no idea he has a broken heart and had to get his body cut apart because he almost died and he is just so damn lucky to be alive."

That kind of thankful.  Not the choice to be thankful.  But the ACTUAL thankful that swells up from inside of you and you know that is it something Holy.

Mourning The Miracle. Losing Hope.

Woke up feeling just so sad and defeated this morning.  Had another intense night of false labor last night, that left me both physically and emotionally exhausted this morning.

I've tried everything, and what they say is true: if your body is not ready, it's not gonna happen.  Problem is, will my body ever be ready?

I've tried:

red raspberry leaf tea, since 36 weeks

evening primrose oil, since 36 weeks

long long walks

acupuncture

spicy food

exercise ball

'time' with the man

chiropractor

pineapple

breast pump

deep breathing

the elyptical

visualization

TONS OF PRAYER

stretches and exercises of all sorts
membrane stripping THREE TIMES

on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on..........................

Nothing.  Just hours, days, and now weeks of false labor.  I've gotten myself 50% effaced, and 2 cm dilated.  I am grateful for this progress, FOR SURE.  But I just want more.

Today I am processing seriously through the fact that the chances of me ever knowing what it is like to go into labor on my own, are getting smaller and smaller, and less realistic.

I just don't understand.  I don't understand why my body is built the way it is.  But it makes me very very sad.

God I know you don't have to give me everything I ask for, and that most times you answer my prayers different than I would expect.  I'm trying to trust that your plan is the best, and you have my best in mind.  I just don't understand why asking for something so natural as this is a prayer of mine that every time gets rejected.  This is my last chance Lord, and still the answer seems to be no.  I know there is still time for a miracle, but through these tears I can see that once again you will most likely ask me to accept and trust your answer of 'no'.

Ugh.  If nothing else, I guess today I can be thankful for the cleansing effect tears have on my soul, and the fact that within 4 days, I will meet my son.  Even if it doesn't happen the way it was supposed to.

My TOP 7 Of The Day.

1.  Ranch kids were wearing shorts just two days ago, and tonight we had to brave a blizzard to get home.  Where am I?

2.  Felt a little weird driving through a snow storm tonight with our new snow tires INSIDE the van, instead of on it.  Auryn kept telling us the tires wanted to be out in the snow.  I agreed.

3.  Why on the snowiest day of the season are my contractions the strongest?

4.  Being 9 months pregnant, with a full bladder, driving on a bumpy road, having strong contractions, listening to a over tired screaming two year old, while having that over tired two year old kicking me in the back of my seat, during those strong contractions, while on the bumpy road, with a full bladder, while 9 months pregnant, is NOT my idea of a good time.  Glad to be in bed.

5.  My suspicions were correct.  My pelvis is in fact NOT aligned.  Makes more sense as to why labor really has been starting and stopping for me this last week.  He can't get where he needs to get, and make happen what needs to happen.  Hoping the alignment stays in place and helps things get MOVING.

6.  Wait.  I am 9 months pregnant, an hour from my hospital, in a snow storm, with no snow tires on my van.  This feels like a bad idea.

7.  Four year olds are SO much more rational than I was expecting.  At dinner tonight Auryn ordered mac n cheese, and Kadence ordered a grilled cheese sandwich.  We let them choose their own meals.  When Auryn's meal arrived she was obviously dissapointed, and I braced myself for the whining and complaining.  Instead, she just sat there a moment, looking at Kadence's plate and said "Next time I think I'll order the grilled cheese sandwich", picked up her spoon, and dug into her mac n cheese.  THAT WAS IT!!!!!!!!!  3 months ago I would have had to hear about it for hours!!!!!  I couldn't believe it.  I'd LOVE to say we are starting to see some of the fruit of alot of 'good' teaching and discipline, but I am more inclined to believe it's a maturity thing.  She is old enough to feel the weight of a 'bad' choice, own it, and wear it, and leave it behind.  She is old enough to know there will be a 'next time' to make a different choice.  She is old enough to know that loosing self control will get her no where.  She is becoming so grown up.  I just love that little girl.  She truly is one of my very best friends.

Ten Days And Counting.

So after a totally uneventful appointment today, the waiting game resumes.  After some long hours and days of contractions, and other unspeakable bodily changes, my body is still doing NOTHING.  Sitting at 0%, and a 1.  Yep.  I'm that awesome.

I hadn't realized this, don't know that they ever actually told me, but I sat at 50%, and a 2, for 3 WEEKS!!!!!!! with the last kiddo, AND still ended up with the induction at 42 weeks.  AWE-SOME.

Today she made it sound POSITIVE that she won't make me go past 41 weeks, so although I am sceptical, I am planning on that for now.  Keep in mind that will be a full 2 WEEKS after my original induction date.  14 days feels like a REALLY LONG TIME when you are this fat and uncomfortable.  A really long time.  But, out of that 14, I apparently only have 10 more to go.

The blood pressure was a little high today, so they are having me come back on Wednesday for a blood pressure check, and a non-stress test, and possibly another 'sweeping' of the membranes.  TMI, I know.

Feeling fine about it.  Just SO confused by my body.  I really don't understand why it is SO easy for some people to go into labor, and why alot of people I know seem to have their babies before or 'on' their due dates.  I CANNOT FATHOM WHAT THAT WOULD BE LIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!  Really, that's like an alternate reality to me.

So tonight I begin the 10 day countdown.  Cause that's all I have.  Hoping still the little man will make his appearance before then, but realizing from my lovely history, we'll be seeing this little guy in 10 days.

Drowning In Self Pity.

Today started out with a 'bang', of horribleness.

The 'plague' has been circulating the canyon as of lately, and thus far I have avoided it.  However, this morning I woke up with that exhausted 'hit by a truck' feeling, a HUGE painful cold sore on my lip, and the suspicious scratchiness in my throat.  ON TOP OF THAT....I am puking.  AND, on top of that....I am having contractions.

Now don't get all excited.  I've been having contractions for at least a week, off and on.  Every day I get them, is stronger than the day before.  But there have also been days that I have nothing, not even one single solitary contractions.  Nada.  The other day for 6 hours straight I had VERY regular contractions.  They were getting more painful at the end.  And just when I thought, 'gosh this really could be it', they ALL stopped.  Ugh.

It's to the point now where vomiting, although physically miserable, is becoming just emotionally torturous.  It is SO defeating to be puking your guts out at this point.  Several reasons, but the biggest: if you have even an ounce of liquid in your bladder, it comes pouring out because of the force of your straining while vomiting.  TMI?  Maybe.  But yes, almost every time I puke, I also pee my pants, and the floor, and whatever else is around.  LOVELY.  Really don't know if the man will ever be able to look at me the same again.

And then the plague, oh the plague.  Luckily I'm not feeling super horrible with this one, yet.  Just a cold sore the size of a skittle on my lip, and the feeling that I stayed up ALL NIGHT LONG.  Funny thing is I actually slept great last night. (Well except for the hour I woke up and realized the boy hadn't woken me up with his kicking once that night, anxiety settled in, I drank some cold juice, and started doing an hour of kick counting.  He of course was fine.)  But I really slept great all night.  Well, pregnancy great.

If it sounds like I am drowning and self pity and complaining non stop.  You are right.  And at this point, I don't really give a crap.  I am in survival mode people.  AND still 6 days from my due date.  I think the crappy part is that my doc basically assured me I would be having him by induction sometime yesterday or today, so to be here, and have no baby, and not be in the hospital, is just a little much for me right now.

Alot too much right now.

AND....my poor kiddos are stuck downstairs with my mom, which to her credit is doing a fine job, but my kids are just VERY tired of her after a week.  So their crabiness, and fits are getting OUT OF CONTROL.

I think everyone would be happier, on the entire planet, if this baby could be born soon.

Lord, where in your wisdom and timing do you feel like it is a good idea for me to still be pregnant?

Desperate For a Break.

Well, since it's all started early this morning, might as well deal with the insomnia through blogging.

Up early this morning.  The dude left for his small group, and lets be honest, once I'm woken up these days in the early morning, there is no going back to sleep.  I wake up, I lay here trying to go back to sleep, but the nausea comes rushing in, and it's all over.  It's to the point now where the husband has to bring me food to my bed every morning before I can even get up.  If I get up before eating something with protein, it is 100% that I am going to be puking so much by the time I get downstairs that I won't be able to even stomach the kitchen or the fridge to get myself some food.  The funny thing is, if I do eat breakfast, there is still a 98% chance I will be vomiting shortly after, but this time, instead of just puking up white stomach foam, it's full on chunks.  Yuck.  This week, it's a 100% chance no matter what I do, but still, I hold out hope that my man will come back in our room in a half our, and feed the beast.  Something inside me tells me this will make it all better.  Ha!  I'll be naive for now.  His small groups are supposed to last til almost 8, but this season I have made him come home at 7:15 so he can help me get through my morning puke session, and help launder whatever needs to be decontaminated from that mornings upchuck.  I know.  He's a saint.

OF COURSE what's on my mind this morning, besides trying not to vomit of course, is the fact that I am going to have to deal with this monotony for so much longer.

I honestly don't think people who never make it to, or go past their due date understand how lucky they are.  No really.  They don't.  And they shouldn't pretend to understand how hard it is to go 2 weeks past your due date.  Yes, they can try to sympathize, that is fine.  But until you live through going PAST your due date, by any significant length of time, you don't know the torture.

People all around me start popping out their kids, ON THEIR OWN, anywhere from 37 - 39 weeks pregnant.  Why is it that I have to go to at least 41 weeks, 4 WEEKS LONGER than some of these lucky women, to then even get to have the possibility of induction.  Let's be honest.  If they let me, my body would go at least 44 weeks before jumping in and doing something productive, but by that time, I don't even know if the child within would still be alive.

God where in your wisdom to you think it's a good idea for me to keep going in this pregnancy?  I guess it has to be one of those 'unseen' things I'm supposed to focus on.  I never saw the purpose behind you keeping the girls in for so long.  AND, why is it that being patient and waiting on you never seems to work for me in this situation.  After Auryn, when I was induced at just 9 days post due date, I thought maybe I had rushed things, so with Kadence I believed:  I'll just be patient, and wait for God's timing, she'll come on her own.  My body was designed to do this.  It knows what it is doing.  I just have to be patient.  I just have to wait for nature to run its course.  You know what.  That's a load of crap!  I waited and waited and waited, and guess what.  I got to 13 days past my due date, and had NO promising signs of starting labor on my own any time in the next hundred years.  THEN, the poor kid was born HUGE, with long fingernails I had to cut hours after birth, and dried up skin from cooking so long.  Her skin was peeling off in huge THICK layers for weeks after birth.  She was way past done.  What good reason did my body have of holding her in there longer?  What good reason did God have to keep her in there for?  What was the purpose of me waiting and waiting and waiting to have her in 'HIS' time, if 'HIS' time was never, freaking, going to come.

So, at the start of this pregnancy, I made a plan.  Stupid me.  Plans never work.  I held this one alot more openhandedly in the past, but honestly, this plan seemed to be totally plausible.  I decided that I would be induced at 39 weeks.  Really, what is the point of going to 42 weeks if a baby is 'ready' to come out at 39 weeks.  There were many reasons for this plan:  I have a husband who has to work his ass off when I am pregnant because I can't even feed myself alone.  I have two other kiddos to care for, who get severely neglected when I am sick and pregnant.  Reduction in baby weight.  Less tearing.  Less stretch marks.  Planned childcare for my girlies.  Ending to gallbladder symptoms.  Ending to the vomiting.  On and on and on and on.  Saving my mental sanity!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  DUH.  That tops them all!

My doc even thought it was a good idea, and was TOTALLY on board last week.   So WHY OH WHY LORD did she change her freaking mind between then and now.  Why did she not even consider it yesterday?  Oh ya, cause my body is doing NOTHING towards getting this baby out.  NOTHING AT ALL!  Ya, all those contractions that keep my up at night: doing nothing.  All of the 'natural' remedies I've been trying to get him out: nothing.

So now.  I get to puke my way towards 42 weeks, just PRAYING that he will come ALIVE someday before then.  Please Lord keep him alive.

There are TONS of things women have to deal with when they arrive to and pass their due date that those lucky millions don't have to that never make it to their EDD.

Fear is one of them.  Every day, waking up, praying for movement.  Praying that this dang placenta is still working for him.  That is emotional torture.  The chances of still birth are so much higher after 37 weeks, and SO much higher after 40.  It is a really horribly scary thing to have to go through.

And on top of everything else.  Puking for 2 weeks longer than I thought I was going to have to.  Having to be a horrible wife and mom for 2 weeks longer.

Feeling defeated.  Feeling scared.  Feeling sad.  Obviously impatient.  Feeling like I DESPERATELY need a vacation, a mental mommy recharge.  Oh wait, you need money for those things.  Ya, we don't have two nickels to rub together (a whole other lame part to my life right now).  So ya, just stuck here.  In the middle of the desert.  Feeling miserable.  Feeling hopeless.  Just waiting for a baby.

How long?

Finding MY Happy Heart.

These are the nights of parenthood that I have to die to myself the most, stick a fake smile on my face, and do what is best for the heart's of my kids.

I am tired.  I am frustrated.  I am tired of puking (yes I'm talking about vomiting again, don't you know that's all I do). All I want to do is take a bath, zone out to a show, and go to bed.

But tonight is the annual Harvest Party, that my kids have been counting down to for literally weeks.  So I'm going to go load up on pain pills, reapply the eye makeup I've cried off today, stick a mint in my mouth to hide my vomit breath, a put a huge fake smile on my face, and drive us all down to the dang party, and pretend to have the best night of my entire life.

Why?  Because tonight that is what being a good mommy means.  Choosing my happy heart, and having self control: two things I talk to them about daily.  If I can't do these two things, why should I expect them to?