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?

Again.

Can I seriously not go one morning without puking my guts out?

SERIOUSLY!!!!!!!!!!!

Caught In Limbo.

I think my favorite place to barf is hunched over the hard wood floor downstairs, puking onto a clean towel.

I am dead serious.

Places I hate puking the most are into the toilet and/or the sink.  Why?  The SMELL!!!!!  Makes the puking go on and on and on, cause I can never catch my breathe, never catch a scent of something calming.

Yes, this is a freaking nasty, very pathetic blog post.  But this is my life.

I have no words to describe, nor do I want to take the emotional energy to portray what end of pregnancy 'morning' sickness is like.  All I will say is this.  I spend my ENTIRE day trying not to puke, and I fail miserably every single day.

On days like today I ask myself, "Why in the hell would I not be induced ASAP?", "Why continue one more day of this endless torture if I had an option?".

The truth is, I don't really have a good answer.

From the moment I learned of this pregnancy, I thought, "I am going to be induced a week early with this baby, and get an epidural."  This was my plan the ENTIRE pregnancy....until a little less than 2 weeks ago.

All of a sudden I started thinking that I have never had the chance to know what it is like to go into labor on my own, and started getting REALLY sad to think I was never going to know what that was like.  I want an adventure story, even if its not too adventurous.  I want a real labor story.

This is our last pregnancy, our last baby, our last delivery.  I have such picturesque ideals of how the onset of this labor would go.

It'd be on a dreary fall day, slightly chilly outside, with rain coming down.  I would spend some of the day at home, laboring in my room while listening to the rain outside, as my husband packed the car for the hospital, and the girls came in off and on to check on me.  Some of the day would be spent in a bubble bath, just timing contractions, and reading something peaceful, like devotions from my Jesus Calling devotional.  When things became regular and were picking up more I would get dressed in some comfy (but hospital stylish) clothes, have a 'what to expect' chat with our little girlies, and head out to the van.  I would be in the back with some pillows and blankets.  Laboring away.  Driving into town.  In the rain.  Smelling the rain, and listening to it splash up against the sides of the van, and trickle on the windows.  We'd arrive to the hospital before anything got too hectic, and go from there.

Why do I dare write my own labor story?  Simply because I know it doesn't exist.  God has a plan, I keep hearing.  I know this to be true.  I just fear that his plan for me won't include going into labor on my own.

I've researched online, and know, some women's bodies simply do not go into labor on their own while it is still optimally healthy for the baby.  I've seen this in the life of my friend who started labor around 32 weeks, and in my own life with my child that had to be induced at 42 weeks, and was born with lots of post term 'ailments'.  Neither one of these times were optimally healthy for the baby, yet the body did what it did.  I do of course ultimately want what is healthiest for the baby, and I do realize an induction could be the safest thing for sure.  I just wish for another destiny.

I am in the mourning process.  Still holding out hope.  Trying to be realistic.  And realizing those don't go together.  Caught in limbo.  Puking my guts out.

I'm supposed to be huge, I'm 8 months pregnant. What's your excuse?

For some reason, when women get towards the end of pregnancy, I've noticed that people feel the need to say insensitive things to them, or about them.

This is something I really don't get at all.  Well.....except for the fact that these comments usually come from people who have never experienced the blessing of carrying a child.  So, these remarks come from a very very naive and selfish place.  Or these comments come from men, usually older men.  Again, you don't get it.....

This has happened to me EVERY SINGLE PREGNANCY i've had.  Yet still leaves me scratching my head.  I still don't get it.

I was looking online at just random pregnancy and labor stuff, where women were sharing 'end of pregnancy' stories, and came across a FANTASTIC 'come back' to the 'kind' remarks people LOVE to share with very pregnant women.

A woman was sharing how she was getting just sick of people telling her that she is huge, and so instead of being pissed and bottling it in, she started responding to them.  Her response?

"I'm supposed to be huge, I'm 9 months pregnant.  What's your excuse?"

LOL!!!!!!!!!!!

Upon coming across this quote I shared it with my husband, who of course just rolled his eyes.  After begging him to PLEASE let me use this comeback at least once in response to someone's remarks, I finally agreed with him that responding this way isn't necessarily the most mature or kind thing to do.

So to honor my husband's wishes, I will not be using this comeback.  Out loud at least.  I can't promise I won't be thinking this in my head the next time someone shares the obvious with me.

Cause after all, if they ever get to experience the blessing of pregnancy, they'll be huge too.  And I hope the embrace it like a WOMAN!!!!!!!!!!!

Leave Enough Room To Twirl.

The other evening, while at the women's dinner out here at the ranch, I had one of those 'slap you in the face' moments from the Lord.  It was totally divine, and completely awesome.

As you know, we've been restructuring alot of how we do things around the Morrow household in terms of teaching and disciplining our children.  Sadly, this came as the result of doing these two things 'brainless and heartless' for several years, until the light bulb went on and we finally asked the Lord what he would have us do.  Not surprisingly, he started leading us in the opposite direction from which we were presently traveling.  It has been months upon months of praying, listening, experimenting, failing, and succeeding, but we have settled into a routine that feels emotionally and spiritually healthy to our family, and that is a huge blessing.  I never ask myself the question 'Why am I doing this?  I hate this!' while instructing or disciplining the kiddos, and that in itself is entirely freeing.

In the early years, not so long ago, I was just blindly following the crowd around me, even though day to day I was shriveling up inside with conviction and doubt.  I felt like what I was doing was stealing life from my kids, my self, my husband, my family.  I felt like I was trying to put too many firm borders on my family, for no other reason than I felt like I was 'supposed to'.  Not a convicted from the Lord supposed to, but a everyone else is doing this supposed to.  What I say daily in the hearts of my family was devastating.  I felt like my man was stumbling to get his footing and gain respect while trying to settle into our 'family plan', and I saw the hearts of my children starting to loose their child likeness.  They were loosing their girly screams, they were loosing their endless laughter, they were loosing their shiny smiling eyes, and they were becoming restricted.

This was the kicker, when I saw this all happening, that finally freed my heart to look at other options for child training.  I knew what we were doing was stealing life and joy, and not promoting the love of God in our family.  I was inhibiting their child likeness, and I wanted them to experience joy and freedom and innocence and childish fun.  I wanted them to have insanely fun chaotic moments, within safe boundaries and borders.  But, I didn't want them to be so surrounded by these borders that they only concentrated on them.  I only wanted them to recognize these borders when they bumped up against them.  Other than that, I wanted the to be totally free to be them.

The other night at the women's dinner I was talking with a friend about her beautiful back yard and gardens.  They are truly immaculate.  So well planned, so well placed, so well thought out.  This year she added yet another 'bed' to her garden on the edge of her yard, a sort of border if you will.  Once again, a masterpiece.  She was talking about her plants, and her 'beds' and in doing so brought up a conversation that she had had with a young girl out here more recently.  This women had asked the young girl if and where she thought they should add yet another flower bed to her yard, and the girls response:

"Make sure you leave enough room to twirl."

This one simple sentenced slapped me in the face harder than most other things have in my life.  This is what had felt so wrong to me about our 'old ways' of training our children, and this is what feels SO right about this new way of training our children.  We are leaving enough room for them to 'twirl'.  Isn't that just a beautiful image, of a young girl, in a summer dress, on a summer day, in a green lawn, surrounded by beautiful flowers.  Her head is tipped back with her face towards the sky, sun streaming down through her blond hair, her eyes are closed, her arms are out, and she is twirling.

Not a care in the world.

I want to give that to my children.  And I am so extremely satisfied when I do.  The freedom to be innocent, to have not a care in the world.  The freedom to connect with who the Lord made them to be. To feel like a pretty little princess, adored by her King.  To feel confident in who they are as young young women.

I once heard that a goldfish, if alive long enough, will eventually grow to fit the size of the bowl it lives in.  Meaning, stick that goldfish in a tiny little bowl, you're going to always have a tiny little fish.  BUT.....stick that same fish in a huge aquarium, eventually you're going to end up with a healthy size fish.  Why?  This fish has been allowed to develop and grow into who it was made to be.  It was given the freedom to be all that it was meant to be.

Now....back to the little girl.

Lets say this girl is twirling and twirling in this yard, soaking in the sun, her mind off on things even more beautiful than the garden she is in, when all of a sudden the texture of the ground under her bare feet changes from soft green grass, to sharp rough bark chips.  Is this girl gonna keep on twirling?  Maybe.  She might just step once into that bark, in that flower bed, that is a border on that lawn, and be able to quickly remind herself that border in there and move back in to innocent twirling.  But....there is a good chance when she does bump into that border, its going to jolt her into another world.  Her eyes are going to pop open, her feet are going to start burning, and she's going to have to stop twirling in order to deal with the situation at hand.  She has bumped into a border.  She' gonna sit down, and start picking all of those bark dust slivers from her feet.  Her mind in no longer in 'fantasy land' but now in reality.  She's thinking through how she got too close to that border, she's making a plan to avoid this next time, to prolong the twirling.  She's mapping things out in her head, wanting to go back to her 'freedom' but at the same time hoping to stay aware of the 'dangers' at hand.  Once she's finished picking the pokies out of her feet, and finished processing through her new plan, she goes back to the safe center of the yard, surrounded by the borders of beautiful gardens, tilts her head back, and the twirling begins again.  There has been a lesson learned in there, but her freedom remains in tact, and her heart remains in contentment.

This is what I more than anything want to provide for my girls.  A place of freedom and innocence, surrounded by 'beautiful' borders.  Just like the gardener, I want my borders to be well planned, well placed, and thought out.  I want them to create the most unobstructed environment possible in order to insure optimal 'twirling space', but I want them to remain there intact indeed.  I don't want the borders to be the focus, but only the reminder.  I want the twirling to be the focus.  And when a well placed border is bumped into, we will certainly do the work it takes to learn the lesson.  But once the lesson is learned, we will return to the wonderful joy that childhood is as quickly as possible.

After all, childhood is short.  We must leave time for twirling.

Breech Baby Frank.

So, for a few weeks now I have been having what was assumed to be gallbladder pain.  I went in yesterday for my confirmation ultrasound, to confirm indeed that it was my gallbladder.  We were then going to make a plan from there.  Oh plans.  They never work do they?

Good news: gallbladder is normal, healthy, perfect.....well except for the large baby head, hands, and feet that are pressing against it.  Yep, you heard me right, I've got a breech baby in there.  A frank breech baby to be exact.  Now, this is fine.  I've been through this many times before, the thought of a breech baby in itself doesn't freak me out.  Even the knowledge that I will most likely have to have a c-section doesn't freak me out.  The thing that freaks me out is that during the ultrasound they found that the cord is wrapped around the babies hand.  At first I thought 'well at least its not the neck', and although that is true, a pinched cord, is a bad bad thing.

So of course I did what any logical person would do: went online.  Yikes.  Online you find tons of stories of babies dying due to a cord being wrapped around their neck, but you also find a slew of stories of babies dying from their cords being wrapped around other places: like their foot.

Oh holy heck.  What am I supposed to do with this info?

Trust God.

Yep.

It just feels that lately, in my life, trusting God usually doesn't go in my favor.  I know that sounds horrible.  And it is.  But again I said thats what it feels like.  Feelings don't often match up with truth.

The idea of having to deliver my little Ozzy, dead, because of something stupid like the cord being wrapped around his hand, is a little unbearable right now.  And it should be.  I am analyzing every feeling I've been having, everything he is doing, trying to figure out if he is in danger.  I want his hand to slip out of the cord, but then again, if it does, then there is a huge chance of a knot forming where his hand was.

I want to trust God, I really do, but I don't.  I trusted him with Noah, that tanked.  I trust him with my marriage, that fails often too.

I know trusting God is the right thing to do, and really the only option, but right now, it doesn't sound like a good plan at all.

Please don't be alarmed.  I am not having a crisis of faith.  I am just one who believe that the Lord would rather us admit the fault of how we are actually feeling, than fake the perfection of false emotion.

He knows I am having a hard time trusting him right now.  Why pretend?

If what's going to happen is what's going to happen, what's the difference anyways?

Perspective.

Life is all about perspective isn't it.

Dealing with a miscarriage is a cake walk compared to this.

Begging for Christ's swift return.  I'm ready.

He Lied.

I'll spare the details, but today is one of those days where you honestly think:

"This must be a nightmare, this cannot be reality, I cannot survive this, when am I going to wake up?"

Then you realize it's real life for sure, and you just don't get the freaking point anymore.

Really Lord?  Really?

Don't understand why so many things have met me at this one intersection of time.

The Lord promises He won't give us more than we can handle.  I think He lied.

Ya, He lied.

Check Up.

So a few days during this last week little Xavier's movements were SO SO painful, and the only thing I could figure is that he had moved head down.  I thought my suspicions were confirmed when how movements afterwords starting feeling different.

Today at the appointment the Doc basically figured out that she thinks he was head down, and I probably actually felt him flip around the other way: head up.  He's breech.  I have another appointment in two weeks, and if he still kicks her in the hand when she's trying to feel for his head in my lower abdomen, we'll have to do another ultrasound.  It's still a little early, so hopefully he'll flip back over, but he's getting so big I honestly don't know how he has much room left for acrobatics.  If he doesn't flip, the chances of a c-section are pretty high.

The funny thing is: I don't really care.  I of course do not want to deal with the hard hard recovery from a c-section, and the risks of that procedure, but at this point in my life, I just want a baby in my arms, I don't care how he gets there.

With the girls I was SO opinionated about how they should arrive.  I wanted to have them naturally.  There were several reasons:  1) It contained the least amount of risks to me and baby.  2)  I felt like I needed to prove that I could do it naturally.  3)  It was the fad.

It still is the fad.  People are constantly talking about how midwifery and birth centers are the best option, and honestly: I don't buy it.  I think that, like everything else in life, is subject to individualism.  There may be some individuals where using a midwife is the best option, but that's just not for me.  I've had to be induced for both girls:  Kid A: 9 days late, 9 pounds 8 ounces,  Kid K: 13 days late, 10 pounds, 6 ounces.  With the little sis, if I had been at a birth center, or at home, she would have died.  She had severe respiratory distress symptoms, most likely caused by her quick plunge down my birth canal (7 minutes of pushing, 2 contractions worth of pushing, 2 pushes in all....not enough to clear the lungs), and showed signs of infection from birth.  Because of the immediate response of the hospital staff, her life was saved, and I will FOREVER be SO thankful to them.

I think because of this, and because of my miscarriage, I just don't care anymore.  The life of a child is such a huge blessing, I don't really think we should be so picky about its arrival.  I remember a wise women, when I was pregnant with my first, saying to me "Women often spend so much time thinking about, planning for, and nitpicking about the birth of their baby, that they miss out on the responsibility of preparing spiritually and emotionally for the addition of a new person to their family."  I have seen this to be true in myself and others.  The responsibility God gives us in loaning us one of his own for a time, is truly miraculous.  He entrusts his most precious creations to people he can guarantee are going to screw up.

So if Ozzy flips around and I can have him vaginally (yep I said vaginally) like the girls, that's great.  But if to ensure the safety of his life and mine we need to do a c-section, fine by me.  Of course the procedure does sound scary because any major surgery sounds scary, but I have to trust the Lord with that one.

All I can say for sure is that we have been nothing but pleased in our experiences with hospitals, and for us, they have been literal life savers, never endangered us in any way.  I have been nothing but blessed in my birthing experiences, they have both been magical, isn't every childbirth.  I am SO thankful the Lord has given medical wisdom to some of His people.  What an enormous gift to us all.

So sorry world.  I'm not going to sacrifice the safety of my precious little Ozzy just to jump in with the fad.  We'll be using a hospital, most likely doing an induction (if not a c-section), and I'll be receiving as many pain meds as they'll give me.

If I ever did have anything to prove, I've already done it.  I was induced twice (far more painful of a labor I hear), and delivered two very large babies vaginally with minimal pushing and NO pain meds.

It was wonderful.  It was torturous.

And I will never, ever do that again.

On another note, the morning sickness is coming back.  First time in the history of pregnancy for me to be feeling it so late in the game.  Just so blessed that I'm only 9 weeks out.  Doing it for 20 weeks of this pregnancy was hard enough.  9 weeks seems like a walk in the park compared to that.

The end is in sight.  I'm feeling thankful, blessed, excited, and content.  God's gonna write this story like all the others before.

Can't wait to see how its gonna unfold.

The only thing I care about is holding my live baby X in my arms sometime in November, and getting to live a long healthy life with him and the rest of my zoo.

I Promise.

I think the only one thing that makes me a good mother, is that I'm not under the illusion that I am a good mother.

I hope to always know this.

I am fully aware that one day, in their adult life, my children will be reflecting these years back to me in a mirror of their words and actions.  They will have many complaints and corrections.

I know this will be painful, but I say: BRING IT.

I am flawed little angels, in everything I do, in the moment, I believe it is the right choice, but all I look back upon now are 4 years of awful mistakes.

I will cry with you one day over the mistakes I have made and the burden they added to your life.

I promise.

Life Minus The Meds.

The last few weeks of weaning off of my happy pills have gone amazingly well.  I think three factors play into this.

1) About 6 months  ago we started suspecting that I might be lactose intolerant.  Did you know that the most common symptom of a food allergy is anxiety?  Because of this I cut my dairy intake all the way down for several months, and then was able to find my limit of eating dairy no more than twice a week, and while still being able to feel normal.  I've been eating it about once a week in small amounts and doing fine while weaning from my meds.  I'm hoping this will continue.

2) There is an end in sight.  I know that in less than 10 weeks if I need to I can just go right back on them.  That feels amazing.  I am so thankful that God put the idea in some dudes head to make these meds, and so thankful that he convicted us that using them was the right thing for us.  Sure, I don't like the thought of being on them forever not knowing the risks of that, but one thing I do know for sure: a lifetime of anxiety and stress would most surely shorten my life even more than needing to be medicated forever.  Plus, I am on the smallest dose possible, so that feels good too.

3) The Lord's had it out for me.  I feel like over the last few years he's really been making me examine my thinking behind EVERYTHING, and this has been great in building my trust in him and my faith in who he is.

I have been having a few more worrisome thoughts than normal, usually fear stuff surrounding the health of my kids (like why Kadence has so many bruises on her legs, and if Auryn's cold sore is going to cause some sort of life threatening infection......irrational you see), but other than that its been great.  I just need to not let myself freak about about anything until I am medicated again, and not able to freak out about anything.  LOL!  Oh goodness.  Basically I know my thinking right now is not always filled with TRUTH, so I just need to postpone everything until the meds allow the Lord to reign in my mind again.  I do believe that God is all powerful, but I also know that when your brain is screwed like mine, no matter how much TRUTH you try to shove in there, its not enough.  It would be like laying on the floor hemorrhaging asking the Lord to stop the bleeding.  Yes he could do it totally on his own, but most likely its gonna take an ambulance, a doctor, a blood transfusion, and a few stitches.

He uses lots of stuff to heal us and prolong our lives and sanity in this very very broken world we live in.  Mine just happens to be a tiny green pill that the Lord has used to save my life.

Thank.  You.  Jesus.

Social Anxiety: Double Dose.

I think one hardest parts about raising my first born is that she and I are SO similar.  Inside and out.  No, we are not the same.  The Lord gave us our own uniqueness, and our own souls, but sometimes the similarities between us outweigh the difference by far.  Some of them I love seeing in her, but some of them I hate.

Today I'm processing through the one I hate the MOST.

My sweet little girl, on the outside from the neck up, looks like my twin.  Although I know I'm flawed for sure, her and I get a ton of joy in looking in the mirror together at our faces that 'match'.

Unfortunately: my sweet little girl, on the inside from the neck up, is built like me too.  I can't be for sure, because she is only 3 (4 in only two weeks though!!!!), but I think her brain is broken like mine.  My burden has become her burden, and it devastates me to my core.

ANXIETY.

Ugh.

As she has grown older, I have been able to recall alot more memories from my childhood as she is experiencing things for the first time, and I am recalling what some of those times were like for me.  Alot more lately, those memories have made me just plain miserable.

Although I do have fun memories with friends during my youth, honestly: most of them are plagued with memories of severe anxiety.  I hated organized sports, I hated organized games (like duck duck goose), I hated having happy birthday sung to me, I hated playing in groups, I hated being in a group where I didn't have at least 1 very close friend giving me undivided attention, I hated breaking into groups....on and on.  My mom always tells me that I was so shy in preschool that I would not talk to anyone, and on the playground I would stand on the edge by myself.  Although I don't remember many of these early times, when I think back to them I feel anxious all over again.  Social anxiety, my nemesis.

I unfortunately have had a lifelong struggle with performance anxiety too.  Double trouble.  I have an overwhelming amount of memories of gagging.  Yep, you read that right, gagging.  For some reason my bodies response to anxiety has been nauseousness, which results in me gagging.  Weird I know.  I have so many memories of gagging before swim meets, dance recitals, piano recitals, math contests....on and on.  My middle school memories are filled with instances of having the lunch bell ring and gagging my way to my locker to get my lunch, and gagging my way to the lunch room, just so stressed over where I was going to sit, who would be my friend.  And I tell you this next part, not to brag, but to only illustrate my point further, but: I was extremely popular from 5th grade to 11th grade, so I should not have been experiencing anxiety like this.  I was plugged in with the popular crowd since 2nd grade, I was never an outsider during those years.  I should have been confident.  But I was terrified.  I loved having friends, I loved having fun, I loved being a part of things, I just also had a fear too.  A fear of rejection.

Isn't that really what social and performance anxiety are based around.  A fear of rejection, a fear of failure.

Now, at the ripe old age of 29, when I am at birthday parties with my 3 year old and they start playing party games, I get anxious, I get nauseous, all over again.  When we arrive to a party late, or the playground or the pool where a crowd has formed, my anxiety level spikes.  Some of these, most of these, are STILL situations I myself find hard to maneuver, but I think the real cause is fear of rejection for my precious daughter.  I could care less for me if people like her, but I see in her a high need for friendships, and it crushes me SO MUCH to know that she herself will be rejected at times.  I want to protect her, I want to set up every situation to insure that she succeeds, but I cannot.  But it is so so painful for me to watch.

Just the other day we got invited to a birthday party.  For about a week ahead of time she would look at the invitation hanging on our fridge and talk to us excitedly about going to her friends party.  She was so excited for him that it was his birthday, so excited that she was invited, so excited to go to a party.  We were at the store a few days before the party and all on her own she asked if we could get this little buddy of hers a card and a present.  She loved browsing the aisles and picking out what she deemed a worthy card and present, all the while talking about how fun it would be to go to this party.  The morning of she woke up so giddy that it was finally the day she could go celebrate with her friends.  She helped me wrap the gift, she told me what to write on the card, she was beaming.  Then it was time to leave.  Her daddy was off that morning, so we all got to go as a family.  The party was being held at the condo just two up from ours, literally a 1 minute walk.  She rushed to get her shoes on, grabbed the present, and headed towards the door.  But as she exited the door I saw her entire demeanor change.  I could tell it had finally hit her, what she was about to do.  Her face got serious, her smile disappeared, she started slumping her shoulders, and walking really slowly.  When we arrived and opened the door she stood hesitantly outside for a moment as she peered in to her friends playing with balloons.  I could tell she was getting sad.  She was nervous to go in, nervous she wouldn't know anyone, scared no one would talk to her, scared she wouldn't fit it.  The whole party she stuck close to daddy and I.  She refused to play the games, had a really hard time getting in line for the birthday treat, and didn't like the birthday song as usual (ok, is this genetic?  both my sister and I HATED it as kids, and now both of my kids do too....).  She was SO excited to see this little boy open the present she gave to him, but nervous that he wouldn't like it.  She had a hard time telling him 'your welcome' when he so politely thanked her.  When she had all she could take, she started wandering home.  My heart sank.  I had SO wanted her to feel successful, and I could tell she had not.  I praised her for going, and being a good friend, and encouraged her that her buddy was glad she had come.  It wasn't until hours later she looked at me and said "Mommy, I had alot of fun at _______'s birthday party!  My favorite part was the balloons!".  I was shocked once again.  She had enjoyed herself.  It had not gone as she hoped, but she had found fun in the midst of it.

Today it happened again.  She heard kids playing outside, ran up to me, and said "I hear friends outside, can I please go play with them?!?!?".  I told her yes, but then as soon as the older neighborhood girl sweetly came to play with her, she froze.  She looks up to her so much, and doesn't want to do something wrong, doesn't want to be rejected, so she freezes.

I think the tricky part with social anxiety too, is the fear of doing something wrong.  You feel like the entire world understands how to socialize, and you have missed that part of the lesson.  Like me, I still suck at group conversations and am constantly interrupting people.  I seriously don't understand how they work.  Weird I know, I'm 29.  You fear doing something wrong, it makes you feel really anxious, and really stressed, and then you do something awkward, and your fears come true.

She does this too.  She SO badly wants to fit in, and SO badly wants to be like, and is SO scared that she won't fit in and won't be like that she freezes, the anxiety builds, and she acts awkward.

I am scared.  I know we are just around the corner from one of her buddies calling her weird.  I am SO dreading that day.  She is a first born, being raised by a mother who struggles with social anxiety, and a father who finds humor in pretending to be socially awkward.  She is weird too.  Poor girl.

Social anxiety.  There was once song played by this A-mazing band, and the line to it said: What you fear the most, will surely be the death of you.  That's social anxiety in a nutshell.  You fear failure and rejection the most, it paralyzes you, the stress builds, you do something awkward, you are rejected.

Kids are noticing that my princess is not exactly like them.  Who wants to play with a kid who stands on the sidelines, won't participate in group stuff, and won't always join in conversation?  I just pray someone does, she needs a buddy.  I had one buddy.  That changed everything.  Someone to make you feel normal, make you feel like you belong, someone to be the bridge that connects you to the group as a whole.

Why is she this way?  Well, I think alot is genetic.  My side of the family has a long line of mental illness.  Some mutant gene somewhere got mixed in.  I also think its because she is a firstborn and has a need to do things right, and doesn't have an older sibling to look up to as a social example.

And also, its my fault.  I was so controlling in her younger years, and even sometimes now, that I was always correcting her, always feeding her lines, basically teaching her there was a right way and a wrong way to socialize.  Although, to my knowledge, I've never punished her for this, the tape I've set up to play in her head isn't a great one.  Its full of correction, full of direction, and lacking in encouragement.

I'm trying with all my might to learn how to parent a child who deals with this beast, but its pretty hard when the same beast has lived in your head for as long as you can remember.

I'm just praying the Lord does a miracle.  I'm praying he gives her buddies that truly love her.  I'm praying he gives her confidence in the creation he made her to be.  I'm praying he gives me tools and skills to help her on this journey.

Social health, relationships, is really the food our souls survive on.  When you struggle in this area, life can feel lonely, confusing, and depressing.

Lord, please save my angel from this.  I will gladly take it all if she can somehow be spared.  Please Lord, give me direction.  Please correct the tape that plays in her head.  Please Lord, you are all powerful, fix her brain, break mine more if you need to, but please fix hers.  I can't bear the thought of her living like I have.

And even more Lord, please give her companionship in you.  Please steal her heart and make it yours.  Please help her to hear these words and practice them:

"You are never really by yourself.  God is always there.  If you feel alone, just talk to him.  It would make him so happy.  And it would make your heart happy too.'

Darkest Days.

Its a 'husband is out of the house, both kids are glued to the TV, dog is barking nonstop, I am hiding under the covers in my bedroom balling....ignoring them all' sort of day.

Yikes.

Myth of The Mansion.

I live in a mansion.

Ok, not really.  But to me, it's a pretty huge house.  Our house is 2,500 square feet (last I heard), that is 2,500 square feet of livable space.

Here is the rundown:
1 master bedroom
4 decent size bedrooms
5 bathrooms
2 good size living rooms
1 large dining room (playroom for us)
1 stair case
1 huge kitchen
1 good size mudroom/laundry room
a few hallways
and a large middle area we call the foyer (we use it as a sitting area)

In addition to this, we have a medium front yard, a small back yard, a large back porch, and two gardens.

Let me tell you folks, it is ALOT ALOT ALOT to take care of.

When both my husband and I worked, it was not biggie.  I would clean it once a week, straighten it twice a week, and it looked almost perfect most days.  Why?  IT WAS SITTING THERE EMPTY 40 PLUS HOURS A WEEK!!!!!!  And the other hours of the week, when people were in it, they were always adults.  Adults clean up after themselves.

When I had just one kid, I could still keep a pretty good routine of housekeeping.  My standards had to drop a ton, but I could definitely keep up.  My one kid would be easily distracted by toys, movies, naps, independent playtimes, daddy, or watching me clean, and I could still get alot done.

When number two arrived, things changed a little bit.  It helped that this little bundle took several long naps a day, so at first it wasn't a huge adjustment.

But now, number 2 is just as much of a kiddo as number 1, and they are both making sure I have my work cut out for me.

Then there is the dog, oh the dog.  Dog hair.  Need I say more.

So my perfectly clean house that used to sit totally empty for 40 hours a week, now has a zoo living in it everyday.  From the big girl, to the little girl, to the doggie, and don't forget the pregnant mommy, we are ALL making messes nonstop.

Add pregnancy in, and its all over.  My two hour window, where chores used to get done with two active kiddos around, has now disappeared.  My husband many times works the night shift (like this entire work week he works 12-9 pm), so this means my goal for the day is reserving energy in order to make it through the crazy hours, from 5-8 pm, alone.  I cannot possible express my distaste for spending this 3 hours alone most days.  I would much rather my man work 5 am to 5 pm, if he could be home from 5-8.  It is a sick sick joke, those hours.  The kids go into crazy mode, and I go into tired mode, at the same time.  I am stuck cooking dinner alone, while trying to manage them, which means they are off destroying any cleaning I did that day.  Then right after we eat, my tired very pregnant body is ready for bed, and they are ready to bounce off of the walls.  Torture.  So now, my two hour window a day, when the kids are in their quiet times, is used for resting.  This usually means reading a parenting book, and just praying I don't fall asleep.  Naps for me bring back the morning sickness.  Another cruel joke.

Life has made the ultimate switch folks.  We used to use the weekdays for getting chores done, and the weekends for relaxing and having family fun.  But now, the weekdays are for survival, and the weekends have become totally full of chores and projects, with the occasional family time here or there.

It sucks.  Weekends that are supposed to be used for relaxing are becoming busier and busier.

Take today, for instance.  Its our friday, and we have a TON of house work today.  There is dog hair absolutely everywhere.  The toilets are getting rings, and the floors are a sticky mess.  In my stupidity I thought it would be fine to use part of the kids quiet time to get a head start on the weekend chores, therefore saving my man from part of the work, but that was a huge mistake.  I made it one hour, and then piled on the floor in a heap of tears.  Defeat.  Failure.  Overwhelming exhaustion.

I've been googling to try to find ways of how to make this balance of chores and motherhood an easier one for me, and guess what answer I always run into?  Hire a nanny/housekeeper.  LOL!!!!!!!!!  They obviously don't live in reality folks.  Believe me, if that was at all possible, I'd have hired help.  But that doesn't exist for me, at all.

Its days like today, where I cry so much in defeat that I question the wisdom in putting on eye makeup that morning, that I just want to SIMPLIFY!!!!!!!!!!!

Today, I want a small house.  1,500 square feet sounds good.  3 bedrooms, 1.5 bathrooms.  1 living room, a small area for a playroom, an eat in kitchen.......  Something easy to keep clean.  I also want  a husband who works monday through friday 8-5.  I want a simple, boring, life.

If you are reading this, and you have found the ultimate solution for balancing your roles as mother and housekeeper during the day, please, do tell.  I need your wisdom.  How do I ever keep up with the endless crumbs, puddles of milk, dog hair bunnies everywhere, a minefield of toys, and don't even mention the laundry.

I read once that the best way to protect a marriage is to enjoy it.  Have fun with your spouse.  Is that the best way to protect a mother/child relationship too?  To enjoy it?

Really, how, in the midst of the endless work, am I supposed to take time to do that.

I can't even breathe.