Only Love

Motherhood finds me in the strangest places.

The cries of a son who doesn't sleep well. Groans as I force myself out of my bed to his crib. He stands there now and the tears fall from his face and the exhaustion is so real and potent that the compassion I should feel is evaporated. I hold him, and rock him, remind him that I am indeed there for him.

At least once a night now I hear the smallest pitter patter of feet, the slightest creaking of my door. My daughter crawls into my bed with her baby elephant and her green worn blanket. She snuggles into my arms and I can feel her breathing get calmer, slower. I close my eyes and turn my face away from her wispy hair. I can feel her become more and more peaceful. Until she crawls back into her bed, snuggled up with her animals, quiet, still.

I alternate between hating and loving these routines. Smiling at the power I have to help calm their little worlds. Crying in anguish over the messes and lack of sleep. The deep desire for everything to run smoothly, to have time to do EVERY THING I want to do. The list in my head grows and grows, constantly present. It is often put on pause.

Little hands pull at my pants legs. Little feet run back and forth in our tiny house between her room and the kitchen. I encourage the running. She has so. much. energy. Selfishness creeps into my heart, I want to sit and create. I want to make messes on paper with colors and shapes. I want to practice more and more. I want studio time. I long for quiet. I love for time alone. Joy is stolen by selfish desire.

My children Need Me. Constantly Need Me. My arms scoop them up when they are hurt, my kisses ease their pain. In the deepest black of night they long for me and only me.

There is a power in that. Quiet and strong. Of all the people in the world, and people who truly love them, my children long for and need...me.

As inadequate and selfish as I am, they need me. All my insecurities and hurts and failings fade when I hold them in the dead of night. I rock my son, his head tucked under my chin and I feel important. I snuggle my daughter close to me, my hand on her chest, her heart beating slowing from its erratic pace and I know I am loved.

Motherhood has taught me more than I will ever be able to explain. And yes, I write about it a lot. Why wouldn't I? We all have our jobs and passions. I am passionate about the job I have been given. These hard days with my children. These beautiful moments where they teach me about the self I want to be.

They don't know what time it is, they don't know about financial stresses, they don't know that I am completely and utterly exhausted two thirds of the time. They don't know what time we have to get up, they don't know what appointments we have. They only know Love.

And that I know I can give freely.

After: In The Flames

Today a rare and exciting thing happened. My kids went to their beds for their naps and I didn't feel the soul crushing exhaustion that I usually do. All the sudden there were multiple things that I could do. The possibilities seem endless.

It's been a while since I've been able to write. It happens. I'm a mom, I get busy. Really busy. Even now I feel guilty taking these moments to write when I look to my right and see the messes that are waiting for me to pick them up. And I hear the dishes calling my name, reminding me that there are still things that need to be done.

I wanted to write when Dean turned one. It was an exciting month for us, February was. We did a lot of things, saw a lot of fantastic people and celebrated with cake (several times) our little dude's birthday. There were presents and cake smashes and staying up way too late and pictures and it was great. It was really everything that I wanted for his birthday.

However I am experiencing this strange conundrum now. It's called After.

After a year of fighting and doctors and shots and medications and emergency air lifts. After a year of saying good bye to Ellie and being away from Blair and nurses. After a year of diagnosis and trips and asking, constantly, for help. After all this, what's left?

We're still a family, but we're not a family on the verge anymore. We aren't constantly worried he's going to go into heart failure (ok, fine, I AM not constantly worried he will go into heart failure). All the sudden the smoke is clearing, the fog is lifting and we get to do something phenomenal.

We get to simply be a family.

And oh man...it's a little hard.

All the sudden we can start to do things, we can go back to Church, we can go to the park and the grocery store. We're going on our first real family vacation. We get to worry about normal bills and cars and doing our taxes. We get to focus on disciplining Ellie and turning off the TV more. We get to paint and talk about our dreams. We made actual real life goals for the year.

All the sudden I'm working on learning ho to be a "normal" mom who doesn't live in a hospital. Who doesn't have to speak medical jargon. Who has time during the day. Who can sign up to do things with the Women's Ministry at Church. Who is learning how to incorporate the Lord into every aspect of my life.

It is not easy though for me. I'm having a hard time talking to my husband. I'm having a hard time remembering that I can go out and DO things. I am having a hard time juggling housework and quiet time and time with my kids, though I promise you, I know which is more important. I all the sudden can leave my son with people other than my parents or my husband. His godmother watched them on our anniversary so we could go out (WE WENT BOWLING AND IT WAS AWESOME) and I wasn't worried I'd get a "call" the whole time we were out. Ok. Maybe I was, but that's because I'm convinced this kid can't survive without me.

Truth is though that he is can. He is tough and smart and quickly learning what NO means. And this requires me to redefine who I am as a wife, mother, sister, daughter, and friend.

I'm dealing with a lot of other things as well. Things I'm not sure I have the courage to write about yet. Things that just are bringing me more and more to my knees. I feel like I have been so "strong" for so long that all the sudden... I can relax ever so slightly. My body knows this, but my mind is having trouble following that line of thinking.

We are still working on lots of things with Dean, we probably always will be. But we're in the sweet spot now, a sweet spot that seems to be TOO sweet to me.

I am still praying for the courage to write about all aspects of my life. I've always been proud of myself for being vulnerable and all the sudden God has taken that pride and shut it down and put me to the flames. When you're put to the flames, you have two choices, let it burn you or refine you.

I am praying that it refines me.

Thanks for tuning in my friends. It felt nice to sit and write this out today.

Just How Real IS the Struggle?

I think often about what I'm going to write here. I'll have a thought or something will happen and I will think, "That could be a good blog post." I further evaluate it and think "Is this worth writing about? Worth sharing?"

Will it help others? Will it glorify God? Will it let people into our lives?

And right now, most importantly, will my kids want to read this and be proud of their mother?

I've started and erased and rewritten fifty million times this week. I know I need to write something because there is a storm residing in my chest and maybe if I wrote it would let up. Maybe.

I do not feel like me. I don't feel...functional. I'm having a hard time going to sleep and hard time waking up. I'm having a hard time just being in the hospital room with our son. I am having a hard time justifying, everyday, needing a break. I am having a hard time, most days, breathing. I've never been one of those girls who needed to be around someone, but right now, when Blair is not with me, I feel like I am constantly fighting off a panic attack. Sometimes I feel that way even with I am with him. I had to put my hand on his chest last night to remember to breathe, in and out.

I am pessimistic. I am frustrated. I am angry. I am grieving for the life I wanted for Ellie and for Dean. I know it. And please, oh please, stop asking me how I am. Because the question makes me struggle. How much do I tell them, I wonder. How much do they really want to know?

Nurses and Doctors they ask this all the time. I don't know how to tell them that though I am glad they are caring for my son, with all of them there it makes him less and less like mine and more and more like a condition and I want to take him away from all of them. I don't know how to tell them that I am afraid to be alone with Dean right now because he HURTS and I can't do much to help him.

I feel like they gave me back a different baby after this surgery. He won't smile at me, and why should he? He's been through hell. Rubbing his head does not calm him, talking to him does not calm him, holding him does not calm him...so in a desperate attempt to help him sleep all I can do for him is push a button and ask for more drugs for him.

I feel like an awful mother. Everyone keeps telling me that it's ok to have bad days, but my bad days have strung into a whole week of "I'll try again tomorrow" and so I try again tomorrow and when I fail I feel like it's not even worth trying any more. If I am not with Dean I want to be sleeping. But if I sleep too much I feel guilty for not being with our daughter, who I miss terribly. She's going to be two this month. Will I be there for her? I don't know.

I heard lots of stories about how easy life gets after the Glenn and people keep telling me that. Maybe it got easier for them, but for me, it feels like it got increasingly harder. I heard stories about being home five days after. We've been here a week and there has been no talk of discharge, oh, wait. There has. But only because we are coming home with a medication that I have to inject him with. Two times a day until further notice I must give my son a shot. Grand. I'm so excited to be inflicting more pain on my kid, but hey, it's ok, because he gets used to it!

He gets used to it...

I don't want him to get used to it. I am angry that we had this tease of life at home and now here we are, back in DC. I am angry that I can't give people more information. It's more of the same. Hurry up and wait. If there were updates people, I'd give them. But there are none.

Blair suggested I go home for a while. Ha. Let's pile more guilt on top of the guilt I already feel. We'll have guilt cake, it'll be great.

In one 24 hour period I had three friends tell me they missed me, and then my husband told me the same thing as well. Don't worry guys, I miss me too. When I find me, I'll let you know, because this crap attitude I have is getting old.

I want to go home. I want to be home with my Ellie, I don't want my parents to have her any more. She's so tan right now. She's so precious. And I'm missing it. She has no idea what she's giving up...no idea how much I miss her...no idea how guilty I will feel about having to leave her with her grandparents for so long, no idea how jealous I am of my mother for spending every day with her. How angry I am that I am not there to pick her up in the morning, to hear her "Good morning, where Deedo?" My children are not only missing out on having their mother, they are missing out on one another. I am not looking forward to the awful adjustment period that we have together every time we come back from the hospital. I hate that I just wrote that sentence.

And I know I know, you shouldn't feel guilty, this is what you have to do, we're here for you if you want to talk, take it easy, you're doing a good job, we're praying for you, God is there when you aren't, people love you...does that about cover it? Right? Am I missing anything that someone might want to say to us/me? I feel like I've stopped trying to talk to people because I don't want to hear any of this any more. We've been here four months. We were home a total of two weeks and five days, and not consecutively. And I understand these are all ok emotions to have as long as I do not sin in them. Listen, I know the stuff ok. I know it. And I'm not asking people to even go the opposite where they tell that this sucks (I already know that), or that next year will be so different (I know that too) or to take things one day at a time (I do that).

I don't know what I need from people right now. I don't know what I need. I don't know how to be a good mother right now (And before you tell me that I am, somewhere in the back of mind I know that too, I just don't feel that way right now). I don't know if I am very strong right now (once again, please don't try to affirm how strong I am, I'm blatantly telling you, right now, that I'm not, telling me I am only makes me roll my eyes and want to sucker punch you. #truth).

I am trying to find the balance between "I'm being whiny about this" and "this truly has hurt my soul and been harder than I ever imagined". Did you know it's 10 and I haven't been to see our son yet? It is 10 and I haven't been to see our son yet. My feet feel like boulders. I feel chained to this circumstance. I am angry for Blair and for Ellie and especially for my son.

Did you know, I've had friends have babies while we've been here? I had to pray through a lot of things. The unfairness of it all always came unbidden when these precious babies were born. Oh, you were home a week after birth, that must be nice. Oh, your child isn't struggling with pain because they had their chest and sternum cut ok, how wonderful for you. It was a cycle of hurting for my son and being happy/angry with them and then feeling guilty again for being angry that other people aren't struggling.

I don't even know why I'm even telling anyone about all that. I don't even know what I'm writing right now. Maybe this is some desperate attempt to function better today. Maybe this is some last ditched effort to pull myself up by my boot straps and get to the hospital and be with my son. Do you want to know how real the struggle is?

Really real.

It's really really real.

And that's where I am.

I'm just in the middle of a really big struggle.

Chapter Nineteen: "Peace. Be Still"

Prepare yourself to be assaulted with feelings.

The words "going home" have been spoken. Videos have been watched, apps have been downloaded, baby has been put in his car seat (and passed his test), and g-tube has been placed. The date is still not official, so it's not being said "We come this day." It'll be a surprise.

I had a panic attack today for the first time in years. I think that last one was before Blair and I were married and I called him sobbing because I didn't understand what was happening. Today I had to stop and clutch the bed here at the Ronald McDonald House, lower my head and remind myself to breathe. I willed my hands to stop shaking and prayed that Blair would come up from taking the trash soon. I don't have attacks often...I never even thought I was an anxious person. Certain things though..they get me. If you've never had a panic attack, I'm glad. I don't ever say lightly that I do. It was awful today...felling like my chest was constricting and feeling like air couldn't get into my lungs...

I wanted my Mommy. Blair came up and hugged me and said "What do you need?"

My Mommy.

I am overwhelmed. At the thought of packing up the life we've lived here for two and half months, of unpacking it at home, at feeding Dean the right way, of now having to take care of him all the time, of adding Ellie to the mix, of doctors appointments, of warnings signs, at medications. My thoughts are rolling about fifty million miles an hour and I can't make them stop.

How I feel weirdly ashamed that I will still need so much help. How I am dreading the next doctors appointment, wondering if I can handle having Ellie and Dean and terrified that Ellie won't want to leave my sight. She knows now. She's caught on that we aren't with her. Blair and I saw her last Thursday for a while. She climbed up on the couch and patted on her right and her left and expected Blair and I to sit on either side of her. She has been with so many people, passed around. I know she was loved. But it felt like a thousand knives each night we were away from her.

I can't...explain how excited and terrified I am. How these emotions can live side by side and still I can keep going. I don't want to. I'm not sure what shifted, maybe my eyes aren't focused anymore, maybe I just need to go ahead and cry. Like a lot. Admit to myself that I don't have this.

I am 25 years old and I stood in the middle of this emptying room and cried because I wanted my Mommy.

I am reminded of something someone said to me, and that I heard her say, a lot. For the past two months a certain lady's words have come to mind, "Peace, be still." I know Jesus originally said those words to the winds and the waves and the storms. But I had never thought to use them in my every day life. Like when kids are being crazy, when the dishes aren't done, when the baby is crying, when you can't breathe because everything feels too much...those are the storms that we are facing. That's what Jesus says, "Peace, be still."

Stephanie Conley used to look at me over a cup of tea, with kids running around, school work strewn across the dining room table and a mountain of dishes and she'd just say "It's a process Maddie." I'm not sure why today all I can think about are those times when she would say these things to me, but they are resounding in my head like cymbals.

Which is why I paused in cleaning up our room here. Which is why I paused from the doing and the stuff and told Blair, "I'm going to write."

I needed to process things. I needed a moment. And maybe I need a cup of tea. And some chocolate.

This story, Dean's story, ours, Ellie's, it doesn't stop with getting to go home. This is a marathon and not a sprint...long term. And scary as hell. It is big and daunting and scary and new.

It is a storm.
And here is Jesus, the memory of Mrs.Conley, telling me, "Peace. Be still."

Chapter Fourteen: "Hosanna"

We decided today to get up early and drive home and be with our Church family.

We decided this last week, what we didn't know is that we would be celebrating.

After forty long days in intensive care, forty days of worry, of highs and lows, of tears and prayers, and phone call checks in the middle of the night. After one heart surgery, one heart cath procedure, we are out of intensive care.

Blair and I decided to take Ellie to the zoo Saturday (pictures to come, she loved the panda bears) and while we were there we found out they put the order into move him. This Mama cried. Right there by the panda bears. We went home when it started to rain, Ellie and I napped, when I woke up, they called us and told us they had moved him.

I can't begin to describe the joy I felt.

We got to celebrate with our church family. People who love us and have been praying for us. People who have supported us with financial needs, groceries, offers to clean our house, offers to visit us here in DC, to get our mail, to watch Ellie, and always always always they are praying. Always.

I completely forgot that it is Palm Sunday. Time seems to slip from me easily. So here we are with our church family, celebrating Dean's step down, celebrating the coming of the King, singing Hosanna.

I love that word, Hosanna. I love Palm Sunday. The celebration, the story, the start. Hosanna my heart sings, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna.

Last year during this time, I started a poem? Prose? Thought? Thought is probably the best word. As we sang the song Hosanna, as we welcomed the king, I asked my heart, do you truly welcome Him in?

We sing Hosanna often, not just during the Easter season. We sing it on a Sunday, we open our hearts, we are close to the Lord that day. How often though (And I am guilty of this) do we sing Hosanna on a Sunday morning and then go on with our lives as though we weren't just welcoming in the King?

Hosanna becomes just another word, we don't take into our hearts and live it.

I am learning how to live it though.
,
Hosanna, my heart sings, on those hard days when I feel like we won't make it through this.
Hosanna, my heart sings, when we find out Dean has had a great day.
Hosanna, my heart sings, when we find out Dean has NOT had a great day.
Hosanna, my heart sings, when I am pumping for the seventh time today.
Hosanna, my heart sings, when my husband makes a mistake and gets a ticket.
Hosanna, my heart sings, when I see Dean throw up from drug withdrawal.
Hosanna, my heart sings, when I get to hold him, wires and all.
Hosanna, my heart sings, when I can put my hand to his little chest and feel his beautifully patched together heart. The one that shouldn't be working. The one that did need and will need, so much help...

Hosanna, Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.
Welcome to the King of Kings.

This is not a Sunday morning ministration, but an anthem for the daily. I am learning to welcome the King, not just one Sunday in a year, but every day. In every way. Terrible things happen to people I love who I care for. Hard things that I want to carry for them, as I'm sure people wish they could have carried some of this for us. The fact remains that He. Is. King.

And as my pastor reminded me today, He Wins.
Over sickness and death, He Wins.
Over addiction and pain, He Wins.
Over bitterness and jealousy, He Wins.
Over loss and strife, He wins.

Live Hosanna with me friends.
Welcome the King into your life, not just once in a year, but every day.
Sing it in your heart. Cling to it in the darkness and the ashes.

I am greeting these next days with Joy in my heart that is unimaginable, with the hope that we are going to get to take Little Dean home. I see a light at the end of this tunnel...knowing that home doesn't mean the end of his medical need, but that it is a chance for me to snuggle him and Ellie close. That we will be a family of four, all together...something my very soul longs for.

My heart sings Hosanna.
It welcomes the King.
Every day.

Chapter Twelve: "There is Glory and a Story"

Tonight I started writing this in my head while I went down to get our laundry from the dryer. I talk to myself when I do this. I probably sound crazy. Most of the time what I talk/write to myself never even gets written out. I usually end up taking a whole different angle or don't even write what I was thinking about.

So what have I been thinking about?

This is long. This whole healing process is long. My son takes a long time to heal. Blair and I joke that he will be our pokey child. I'll tell Ellie and Dean to get their shoes on and Ellie will be in the car honking the horn ready to go while my son sits and cries because he doesn't know if he wants to put his left show on or his right shoe on first. He sets his own pace and his pace isn't quick enough for me.

I feel like I am chomping at the bit...and at the same time, I feel so guilty about stuff.

I feel guilty that I don't call the nurse twenty times in a night, especially when I get up to pump.
I feel guilty for thinking about quitting pumping, I hate it, I hate it so much, but know that this is best for my baby boy. So I keep going...
I feel guilty when I don't go at 8 AM every morning to go see him.
I feel guilty for forgetting the medications he is on and all the things they have done for him.
I feel guilty that I don't ask more questions.
I feel guilty that I don't stand by his bed for the hours that I am at the hospital with him.
I feel guilty when he cries while I pump, that I am not there to calm him and the nurse has to.

You can tell me I shouldn't feel guilty, but I still will. I will still have to work through those feelings. Slowly offering them up to the Lord. This is all I can do.

I don't have much to offer right now. I don't have time to help others, I rarely respond to people who I know care deeply, I feel like I'm sucking at keeping people informed. I'm not talking about the general public, I'm talking about family...at the same time, I feel like I text and tell them too much and they get annoyed with me...

We are in a terrible state of limbo right now. Caught between he's not just out of surgery and he's not out of Critical Care yet. It's an awful place to be. Some days he does well, some days he has small set backs, some days the changes they make for him are so small I have to slow them down to make sure I caught what they are doing. It's infuriating. Then I have to relay those things to Blair, because that amazing man is still working 40 hours a week, and he counts on me to tell him what our boy is doing. Sometimes I forget. I feel terrible when he comes and the nurses tell him something that is new for him but old for me. It embarrasses me.

I go through a wide range of emotions right now. Crazy things throw me off. Finding out they would fortify my milk with formula threw me into a funk last week. (That's a whole post in and of itself...) I meet a million doctors a week it feels like, all of them telling me new things about my son. Like they are watching his bilirubin levels because he was getting jaundiced. Found that out today. Or that he is STILL going through withdrawal from his medications. He was sedated for so long...so very long. He finally gets to be a "normal" baby now and they are trying to help him "catch" up.

Information. Overload.

I have to be so careful about my heart and my head colliding. I have to daily come to Jesus and lay down these things. Because this is hard. Especially because this is hard.

We have, in general, come to believe that if something hurts or that because its hard that we have this excuse to sin. That because this isn't fair, because we are sleep deprived, or someone we love hurts that all the sudden we can say or do or think what we want.

Can we though?

My son hurting is not an excuse to be angry at God. It is not an excuse to be mean to Blair or Ellie or my family or anyone for that matter. It is not an excuse to forget that my friends are hurting and might need a listening ear as well. It is not an excuse to withdrawal and let my Bible collect dust. It's not an excuse to be a jerk.

I am very careful about where my heart is when I talk to people about what we are going through. While it is hard and scary and there is so so so much unknown, sin is still sin. Worry is still sin. Self-deprecation is still sin. Hurtful words are still sin. Complaining is still sin.

It's not that I'm not talking about how I'm feeling (hello, I have a blog, I tell you guys a lot of stuff) I'm just trying to be careful about where my heart is when I do. And if I haven't talked to God about something, shouldn't He be who hears my feelings first?

Look I talk to God at three in the morning when I'm Zombie pumping next to my semi-asleep husband. I let Him know how much I'd rather be nursing my infant son and how much this hurts (physically now, I'm not even talking about the emotional part of it)(also, yes, I talk about pumping, because exclusive pumping is new for me and different and I still wish I were nursing my baby boy). I talk to God about how I hate that I'm not going back to work, but know how unfair it would be to my boss and my co-workers and mom. I talk to God about how I can't even think about next week...Blair tried to talk to me about me working from home and I almost lost it. Next month feels so far away and unattainable. I'm glad Blair can think about those things, one of us needs to.

There is a balance that I am working on finding. Between sounding like I'm complaining and simply explaining what is going on in my head and heart.

My son's heart surgery and recovery is not an excuse to sin. It is not an excuse to worry or forget God's promises.

I repeat 2 Corinthians 4:17 to myself like an anthem right now, "For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison." I mentioned that verse the last time I wrote I think, and here it is again. I write it everywhere and repeat it. Reminding myself that there is Glory at the end of this epic battle my son is fighting. There is Glory and a story and love and grace and the opportunity to offer hope to others.

There is no pain or hurt big enough in this world that God can't handle our lives. So using it as an excuse to sin is a cop-out. I'm not ok with that. I'm not ok with just getting by and saying "Oh it's ok right now because things are hard." Things will always be hard in someway.

I want my life to mean so much more. I want to not just get through this, but to overcome it. I want to be a Conqueror! I want to be MORE than a Conqueror! Gosh darn it...I've gone through too many "hard" things and used them as an excuse to be a jerk. In loads of ways. And especially to my Heavenly Father.

And I love Him to much to do that. And I love my kids and my husband too much to do that. I want my son and daughter to know that no matter how they are hurting that sin is sin. But it doesn't have to be that way. We don't have to balk against the things this world throws at us, we just have to accept that Christ is there to see us through.

If I want them to learn that, it starts with me.
So this is me. Not using my hurt and pain as an excuse.
So this is me. Accepting that Christ will see us through this.

Are you?

Chapter Eleven: "The Hardest Thing"

Want to hear something hysterical?

When I was 15 almost 16, I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to do was to move from where my family lives in Virginia Beach to where we live now. I thought I wouldn't survive it. I thought I would hate my parents forever.

When I was 19 going on 20, I thought that the hardest thing that I would ever have to do was to get through college and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I thought I wouldn't ever know "who" I was and I spent a lot of time figuring that out, and not always in the best ways.

When I was 22, I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to do was find a man who would want me after all the crap I had done. I didn't think it was possible for a man to love me. I made fun of those who tried. I gave up when I realized Blair actually did love me.

When I was 22, I thought that the hardest thing I would ever have to go through was losing a baby at nine weeks. I thought my heart would irrevocably break and I wouldn't ever be able to function again. I spent months crying and asking Why, and forgetting God's control. I was terrified when I found out we were pregnant with Ellie, convinced that if "it" would happen again, I'd never recover.

When I was 23, I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to do was to survive the birth of my daughter. I thought that I would never feel like me again and thought that Blair and I would never be "us" again.

When I was 24, I thought the hardest thing I would ever go through was a second miscarriage. This one I would push down, hide my feelings, run away so that I didn't have to feel. I felt jaded, cheated...this had already happened once...I couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that it was happening again.

Now. Here I am at 25, with a month old son still in the hospital after he had open heart surgery.

Why is this hysterical?

Because each of those things were the hardest things when I was going through them. Each thing stretched me and pushed me and amazingly, I got through EACH thing. Regardless of that fact that I thought I never would. Looking back, I realize how short term each of those things were. How temporary. How amazing. How God used those things to shape me into be more like Christ. How I grew.

"For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison". 

-2 Corinthians 4:17

The days have dragged on for us. Each one blending into the next. I cannot believe we've been here for a month. I cannot believe my son is a month old. I keep thinking that the "hard" parts are over only to get slammed with another hurdle we have to overcome. Another hurdle my son has to overcome. Some days, man does this get to me. 

Monday was so rough for me. I'm not sure where my heart was or my head were, but it wasn't right. It certainly wasn't focused on the Lord. I felt defeated, scared, frustrated, and weary. I crawled into my husbands arms and he held me while I cried, while I told him over and over again, "I just wish we were all home, I just feel useless, I just want to take this from our son." 

In those deep secret moments it is hard to remember that this is a light momentary affliction. It is hard to remember that one day, something else will come into our lives and I will think, "This is the hardest thing I've ever gone through." It is hard to remember that one day I will look back on this and see God's hand through it all, not that I'm not seeing it now. 

In the midst of the storms though, we often forget that sun light ever existed. 

It does though. 

Already I am seeing God shape me. Already I am seeing God use our son's life to touch others. Already I am growing from this experience, in ways I never thought possible. God's glory is profound and will not be stopped. I see it. 

Seeing it and feeling it though are two different things. 

I am fighting every day to make sure that my heart and head collide, and when they do, I make sure that the Truth is there. I have to or else I'd go mad...

When I think of how I felt that summer I was 15...I laugh at my younger self. How silly...to think moving would break me. I want to tell my fifteen year old self, "Just wait, ten years from now you will watch your child struggle to hold onto his very life...shut up and move. You're fine." At the same time...for me, then, it was the hardest thing I've done. I needed to go through that to know how to process my emotions. Do you know what I did then, to help myself cope? I wrote, painted, and colored. 

Do you know what I am doing now, to help myself cope? I am writing, painting, and coloring. (Seriously...I hand out coloring pages to his nurses all the time...they think I'm a genius and I let them think that...) 

My point is...life is hard. We go through things that we think we will never make it through. We struggle and cry and rage and have good days and bad days. We think our hearts will break and never be whole again. We think that we have nothing left to give. We think that we are at the end of our strength. 

But...we do make it through. We do survive. We do love again. We are made Whole. We do have more strength than we could ever imagine. 

On the worst days here, I repeat that verse to myself. Light. Momentary. 

The Glory that this little family will see at the end of this...all I can hope and pray is that we bring people closer to Christ. We share our struggles and joys and I share these thoughts and emotions. Don't miss what I'm saying. Don't miss Who is getting me through this. Don't miss Who is healing our son. 

This is hard. As of right now, it's the hardest thing I've ever gone through. 

So I can't help but be on the edge of my seat to see what God will ask of me next...

I can't help but wonder...will I ever think back on this time and think "Man, that was nothing compared to this!" 

Maybe. Maybe not. 

All I know is that I wasn't promised that it would ever be easy, only that He would walk with me through it. I take a lot of comfort in that. 

Chapter Seven: "Dear Ellie..."

Dear Ellie,

This is as much your story as it is your little brothers. You don't know this, but you are giving up so so so much so that Daddy and I can be with him. You won't remember so I want to tell you, because it is important.

You are such a little girl. So tiny still. I feel like your little brother will take very much after the Carrigan side of things, as you took after the Jaques side of things. He might outweigh you pretty quickly. You will always be the big sister though. You will always have 20 months of life on him and trust me, that 20 months will go a long way at some point.

Don't forget that I had you first. Don't forget how precious those 19 months of just you and me and Daddy were. Don't ever, even for a minute, think I don't love you as much now that you have a brother.

My heart grows to hold both of you, in big big ways.

I want you to know that people love you. Uncle John and Aunt Kackie who watched you while I was in labor, giving up their Super Bowl Sunday to come take you. Mimi who flew all the way from India to meet your brother and to be here to play with you...I can't tell you how wonderful it was to know that you were with her. That she was with you. Grammy and Grumpy who might have you for a month or two while we wait and see how baby brother does. All of these people love you, so much.

None of them are Me though.

I feel guilty Ellie. I feel like less of a Mommy because I can't do everything for both of my babies. I miss you during the week in the worst ways. I'm terrified I'm going to annoy Grammy because I ask after you all the time. I'm terrified that she will resent having to look after you for weeks while I'm here at a hospital. (She assures me this is not the case...but she's your Grammy, not your Mommy, and I don't want you to ever forget that). (So for now, it's fine that she gives you ginger snaps with whipped cream).

I have to fight every day to remember that this is what God has given us. I have to fight every day to remember that in Christ I am enough, and I want to fight, because I want you to know that. You are loved. You are enough. You are strong. You are beautiful. You are kind. You are a Daughter of Christ and His love for you is BEYOND what I will ever be able to tell you.

But if I don't believe those things for myself, I know you will never believe them for yourself.

So I fight.

We're fighters Ellie. We come from some strong women, women who have been through the ringer and come out stronger on the other side.

You and me, girlfriend, we're going to come out stronger from this.

I'm going to ask so much of you one day, especially when it comes to your little brother. I'm going to ask you be kinder and gentler to him. I'm going to ask you to protect him and watch out for him on the bus and while you guys are at school. I'm going to ask you to take care of him when I can't, and I'm going to ask you to stick up for him when I'm treating him like a fragile baby doll. He's not. My head knows this, but my heart doesn't yet. Be his Big Sister. Stand up to me sometimes too.

Already you are giving up so much time with me and Daddy. Already you are making sacrifices of love, already you are showing your little brother how much you love him, simply by letting me and Daddy be here while the Doctors fix his "owies" as you like to call it. Already you are strong and teaching me to be strong. Already you show me so much compassion when you snuggle me while I cry, just because I have the privilege of holding you.

We are going to argue one day Ellie girl. We are going to fight and scream and be so so angry at each other. I might not like you and you might not like me. In fact, I promise that we won't like each other for a while. I also promise that at the end of the day, there is nothing you could do that would make me love you less. Never. My Mama said that to me once and I will say it to you, because it's truth.

You won't remember the long weeks without us, you won't remember the Facetime calls or the Skype Dates. You won't remember the tedious car rides where you tell me "ow ow ow" just because you want out of the car seat.

You won't know that I cried the other night because I just wanted to be home with my babies, you won't know that my heart hurts every time I had to leave you.

You wouldn't know any of this, unless I told you. And I want to tell you Ellie girl.

Because your brother is fighting a battle. Because you and me and Daddy...we are all fighting a battle.

And without you, you brave strong beautiful little girl, we wouldn't make such a great team.

Deano's story is your story too Ellie.

Don't forget that.

Love,
Mama

Chapter Five: "Our God is In Control"

I hate that sometimes. I wrote the title and immediately was like "That's such a yuppie Christian thing to say. Ugh Madalynn."

Just because something is said a lot though, doesn't mean that it isn't true. This is truth.
God is in Control.

I remind myself of that a lot, I have to. We have so many ups and downs, I got sick, Ellie has a cold and will not be staying with us this weekend (and I will miss her something fierce), Blair finally admitted how useless he feels...how he was ok with me being sick because it meant he could take care of me.

We gave ourselves permission not to be at the hospital all night. We put our trust in our son's Doctors and Nurses and I told myself all afternoon, "God is in Control." I've heard it said that He's up all night so I don't have to be.

I find amazing comfort in that thought.

Some days, this just...this just sucks. Hard. A lot. More than I can describe unless you've gone through it. Not something similar, it. This. Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. Open heart surgery mere DAYS after being born. Do you know what newborns should do? Poop meconium, nurse at my breast, and make little sounds in the middle of the night that make me smile. They should be crying moving, wiggling, I should be changing his diapers.

My reality: I. Have. To. Wait. And pray and talk to him and rub his fuzzy little head and be away. And I can't plan a dag-on thing. I have NO idea when we get to come home. None. And even when I do find out, I won't trust it. Yesterday he was doing great, by this morning, they were doing an echo because they weren't seeing progress as he should. By this afternoon he was ok. Seriously, what the hell?

We don't go day by day. We go hour by hour.
And we wait. So much waiting.

Look though, there has been laughter. God knew that we would need laughter.

The day he had surgery his godparents came and sat with us. I love them. They crack me up and it was so good to laugh with them during that time of waiting.

Like the time my amazing mother in law and Blair's Mamaw came to bring Ellie to see us. They took us back to Front Royal to get things and boy was it an adventure. We made wrong turns. We got lost. I had to pump in the car, hysterical. I had them rolling. "Oh Hello DC, this is my boob, yup, it's happening, move alone."

Or the night I was just having a bad day. I have this weird thing right now that when I cry, I would just rather be alone. Most of the time, this happens in the shower. Blair knows. He lets me and I love that. I jump in thinking "I'll cry for a little and get it out and be done and move on." God knew that I needed laughter. Basically, with pumping, I had not been emptying myself well enough and had a knot. I worked it out in the shower and then just shot milk for a good two minutes and I laughed and laughed.

Yes. That was a story about me milking myself. You know what? I want my son to know that story some day. Because dude, it's FUNNY.

Wednesday night My amazing mother in law brought Ellie in to have dinner with us, and then she and Blair went to see Deano. When they got back I had given Ellie a bath and put her in her footie pj's. Her pj's don't have good traction. My girl LOVES LOVES LOVES the elevators, she dances in them, and tries to push the buttons. When we all got in to say good bye for the night, she ran and completely wiped out and fell on her bum and hit her head. And the three of us just laughed and laughed and laughed. (She laughed to, by the way)

Yesterday, Blair's voice randomly cracked while he was talking to one of  Deano's nurses. I thought I was going to pee my pants.

Here is why these things are so important: because God is in Control. He knew, he so so so knew that we would need to fill our time with laughter. He knew we would need to allow ourselves to laugh.

I've been thinking about that all day. I was sick and came back early and slept and prayed and talked to people. If I were in control I would have completely forgotten about Joy and Laughter.

My God is so good that He doesn't forget those things.

I've been told how strong people think I am. Suddenly, I feel it. Don't get me wrong, they did their echo today and I was terrified they would "find" something. Being strong doesn't mean you're not scared though. I think it just means that you cry when you gotta (in the shower or wherever) and then you wipe those tears and say ok. Next battle. Bring it.

There are so many people I wish I could thank. So many who have no idea what their kindnesses mean to me. My cousin was here to day, haven't seen that kid in forever, and what did I do? Fought tears and asked to drive me somewhere. Without hesitation he did. (His girlfriend is so lucky to have him...shout to Carter who has actually subscribed to my blog...you are winning, just so you know)(and so is he). My parents, Blair's parents, friends from church, my older sisters, my big brothers...strangers I've never met in person...God is using YOU all to remind me that this is not something we are fighting alone.

God is using YOU all to remind me of His unfailing wonderful Control in my life, in Blair's, in Ellie's, in my Son's.

Literally every time I start to feel discouraged SOMEONE texts me. Every. Single. Time.

I am blown away by God's control. I am blown away by His love.

I am hiding there. Sheltered in His wings. Crying and Laughing when I need to.

I am thankful. More than anyone will ever know for the way this is drawing me close to God and closer to those who love me and whom I love.

Chapter Two: "I'm scared Daddy"

I keep thinking that we've reached the hardest part. I keep thinking, nothing can get harder than this moment. I keep getting proved wrong.

Yesterday there was a lot of waiting. We started our morning at 7:00 AM. I sat in a chair and held Deano (newest best nickname, I've been using it, it's totally sticking, will explain it later) and kissed him and played with his toes. Blair held him too and gave him kisses.

We walked with our son to an elevator and they took him down. We took our infant son and gave him to people who we were trusting to take care of his tiny tiny heart. I cried when we said goodbye, praying that it wouldn't be the last time we saw him.

We walked back and got ready for the day. Decided to go get breakfast. We ended up spending a lot of time in the cafeteria, holding hands, eating food (so much food), and of course, reading.

We were given this pager that could give us updates. We knew when he went into surgery, we knew how he was doing, we knew when he was on the bypass machine. Breathing. Hoping. Reading the amazing posts from friends who were praying, people I don't know who, people who I might never meet. Oh how precious. Thank you. All of you. Oh how amazing the body of Christ.

Deano's godparents came to see us. They came and sat with us, talked with us, laughed with us. I appreciated their love. We could talk about baby boy, we could not, we could go eat, there was no real plan and it was nice. Katharine gave me a big bag of crafty stickers and smash book, I had no idea how much I would need it later. I had made all these plans to bring coloring books and my art journals...none of that happened. Which is ok. It left room for God to use Katharine.

We decided to go out of the hospital to get lunch. I went up to his room to pump, just as we got done and decided to go we were informed that he was out of surgery and we could talk to the surgeon. We did. Everything went well according to him, it would still be a while before we could go see our son. We went to lunch. It was an adventure, but I was thankful for the time AWAY from the hospital.

Then we got back.

When we got to the CICU we were told he was back there and we could go see him.

Walking into his room took...took everything.

He did not look like my baby boy, and I was more than terrified, I was ashamed of myself.

I didn't want to touch him, I didn't want to talk to him, I wanted to turn from that room and not see his open chest or the tubes or the machines or his closed eyes or his pale skin. I wanted to run. I struggled hard not to just start sobbing, but tears leaked from my face.

I went to use the rest room and struggled to bring myself back into his room. I was quiet. I didn't know who to talk to, I didn't know what to say, I didn't know where to go. I honestly, and I am not happy about this thought, considered how to get out of the hospital to get home. I wanted to go home. I wanted to bring him with me.

And I couldn't.

Blair and I...we just sat behind him on a couch together. Nurses rushed around him, monitors beeped, there was nothing we could do for our son. We were very very quiet.

My mom and dad kept telling me to talk to him and I just felt this deep deep shame that I couldn't bring myself to do it. Blair insists that I give myself some grace in this, because I was very tired and cramping more and more. I couldn't bring a chair to his bedside, so I had/have to stand when I talk to him. After Blair saw me swaying on my feet, he insisted it was ok for us to sit quietly in the back ground and let them work.

I thought about Ellie. I wanted her. I wanted to hold her and see her and hug and hope. I wanted to remember that I had a child who wasn't in the hospital, who was "safe", who could hug me and throw tantrums. I just wanted her.

I texted my daddy. I told him how scared I was. I think I was telling my Heavenly Father that too.

If I could have, I would have crawled into my Daddy's lap and let him hold me. But I knew that if any of my family were here with us during this time, I would just completely lose it. He did offer to come, and the offer meant more than he knows.

It was such a reminder of God's love. Blair and I sat and held hands. Just sat together while they worked on our son. And I just told told my Father in Heaven "I'm scared Daddy."

And that was ok.

Things were...so sketchy for a time, and I'm sure there will be other sketchy times. As I write this nurses and a surgeon are draining some of the blood from around his heart because it's putting too much pressure there. I can't see what they are doing. But I am trusting they are doing it.

He was losing a lot of blood yesterday night. At one point, we were asked to step out while they x-rayed his chest. While they were out doing it, his heart beat dropped quickly. We stood in the hallway while an alarm sounded and ten nurses came running down the hallway, all alert, all ready to do what they needed to do for our little son.

We stepped out. I got some snacks for dinner, I'm not sure either of us could have eaten much. I pumped. We just sat. We both admitted to how scared we were...and talked about how beautiful it was that they could do all this for him. We Skyped with Blair's Mom and saw Ellie. I sobbed.

In one week, I have had my second child, been through more emotional stress than I ever thought possible, have found out that people all over the country are praying for us, and heard my daughter use actual words! Whew!

Blair and I couldn't get over how big she sounded! And oh how good it was for my heart.

Things, for me, got better after that. We came back to his night nurses, who just touched my heart. One of them told me she had a friend named Dean and they all called him Deano, and she apologized for calling him that and told me she would stop if I wanted her to. I didn't. I love it. I don't know why, but ever since I keep calling him my baby Deano.

He started to do better. His color improved and they got to clean him up a little tiny more. I'm more confident and ready to rub his hair and talk to him. It still is hard for me to stand by him. I go in little spurts. I rub his head and tell him not to get used to all this attention. I show him the milk I've pumped for him and tell him he needs to get better so he can have some of it. I wait. I sleep. I pray. I write down some of the texts I've gotten so I can keep them forever. I hope.

There are not enough words to tell you how terrifying and shocking it was to see him after surgery. My heart aches for the people who have yet to go through this, and for the ones who already have. I am working on accepting and forgiving myself for wanting to run at first. I am working on seeing myself the way others have told me they see me: strong, but strong in the Lord. I am working on resting more and drinking more water.

Minute by minute. Day by day.

Daddy, Father, Lord, I am scared.

It's ok, He says, I watched my son on a cross. I know this hurt. I hurt too. 

Breathe.

And Praise God, my son is Four Days old.
And those four days with him have been amazing.

So Much Love

38 Weeks.

Belly? Henna'd. Huge. Uncomfortable.

Sleeping? What is that? Does that really happen? Can I roll from the left to the right side? No. If I don't do it fast it doesn't happen and I end up stuck on my back. I am a turtle.

Feeling? Hormonal. There were tears this week about wipes. There was anger at my husband about...well, wipes. And other assorted stupid stupid things.

Blessed?

Yes yes yes.

I feel the prayers. I feel the support. I feel the encouragement. Today I was surrounded by women and friends from my church who just...it was amazing. It made it all the more sweet that two of the people who made it happen have been going through some difficult things themselves. They still took the time to make this Card shower come together. Oh the sweetness.

I said it with Ellie, and I'll say it with baby Dean, I feel like Mary, treasuring all these things in my heart. The women who hug me gently and let me know they are praying. The ones who smile at me in church and tell me that me posting about my babies, ALL my babies, made them cry. The texts, the emails, the cards, the understanding. The offers to watch Ellie. The people who are coming home.

I am overwhelmed.

I am humbled.

We might not have to buy gas for the entire month of February. Wow.

We have money for food, groceries and elsewhere. Wow.

I have a book of support, prayers and verses (and some other pretty hysterical notes to make me laugh, hashtag whodidthat?). I have pictures. Ellie ended up with a bear (not intended for her) that she has been toting around and loving on. We have the most amazing artwork of the Tin Man for baby Dean's corner of the room. All the sudden, I really want to set up "his" space so that I can look at all the beautiful things meant for him.

Oh we are just...ready now. I'm ready for him to be here. I'm ready to hold him, I'm ready to fight, I'm ready to find out how God is going to use this little dude and his story for so many amazing things. I'm also very very ready to NOT be pregnant any more (seriously, the random projectile vomiting has got to go, I'm over it!).

From the very depth of my soul, to the people far and wide who are praying for us, I cannot begin to tell you how much you mean to me. I was telling a friend that we just don't know how well baby boy will do and she said "But Maddie, a lot of those other babies, while I'm sure they're loved, they may not have the power of prayer behind them like this baby does." It's true. So much power. So many good thoughts. So much love.

So much love.

What a wonderful way to end a hard week.

What a wonderful feeling to wrap myself in and dream of.

No News Is Good News

Thanks for all the love, support, calls, and texts today.

Basically, no news is good news. Our boy's heart looks pretty much the same as it did last month, which is actually good! It means there are no new complications and we can keep him baking in there for a while yet!

We are scheduled to be induced in DC February Ninth and are looking forward to seeing our son (I'm really hoping he has his Daddy's dimples!). Until then, I still go see lots of doctors to keep an eye on him and me.

There have been a multitude of people who have helped watch our Ellie girl while we were at appointments, and I can't even begin to tell you how much that means to us both. The prayers, listening ears, and hope that are thrown our way sure make this easier to deal with.

The closer we come to having him in the outside world, the more nervous I become I must confess. There are still a lot of unknowns. There are still a lot of risks. He's still my baby boy. I beg for patience and understanding, especially if I don't return phone calls or texts right away.

We are pretty tired tonight (as are my parents I imagine, who made the trip out to DC with Blair and I...which means more than either of them will ever know), so I this is probably all I'll say before drinking some warm tea and passing WAY out.

There are many blessings in this storm we are weathering (like he fact that we will be able to see Blair's Dad before baby comes, with the possibility that he might get to meet his grandson!) and we are sure to count them.

Regular pregnancy is certainly starting to takes it toll on this Momma too. I am BEAT by the end of the day. Our boy is getting bigger and bigger (he gained an estimated pound from last week to this week..I need more protein and less chocolate!) and rolling from side to side gets harder and harder.

We have around 20 days until we get to meet this guy, and THAT is when our REAL battle begins.

Sneaky Soul Killer

It's 9 and I'm pretty tired but not tired enough to shut down my brain and crawl into bed. I look around at out little room at the pile of dirty laundry, the unfolded clean clothes, and the various baby toys strewn about. There are two laundry baskets just sitting in our room and I'm not even sure why. As I look I think "How do other moms do it?"

And therein lies where my heart truly is.

Comparison. The kind that eats into your soul just a little at a time. It's so sneaky. So small. You don't even realize it's happening, until you realize that it's happening. And I realized it's happening.

I compare myself a lot to the idea of what I call the Put Together Momma.

Why can't I be as active as other moms? Why don't I go see people more, like other moms? Why isn't my ONE ROOM ALWAYS immaculate? I mean, other moms have whole HOUSES and they keep up with it. Why don't I have delicious dinners waiting for my husband to come home to? Why does 20 hours of working (no matter how much I love my job, and I do love it) feel like 80 by the end of the week? Other moms work 40 and still manage to have time with their little ones...

Other moms. Other people. Why this, why that...why do I even bother I want to ask.

This simple thing crushes your soul. I find myself asking if I'm good enough. I find myself begging to be better.

It takes a moment to sink in, that I am doing the best that I can with what I have right now. That the truth of my life is that by the time I get home from an 8 hour shift, I. Am. Tired. And I would rather take a hot shower than fold clothes. I would rather hold my snuggley baby at night rather than put her down and go to sleep myself.

I remind myself that we all have our struggles. While I appreciate those moms who seem to have to all together, I know they have their own moments of doubt. I think each mother does.

I will not compare myself to you, Put Together Momma. I will not. I will love you, like Christ loves me, because that's all I can do. And I am learning, slowly, to love myself the way Christ loves me. After all, I need Grace sometimes too.

Care With A Midwife

Recently, I've received a lot of questions about what Midwife care looks like. How it works, what happens when I go, that sort of thing. So I decided to take a small visual journey and show you all how my midwife works (with her permission of course! She loves my blog...:) )

I once wrote a post about how I got to take pictures and witness a birth, and I wrote about how awesome it was. I would link you to it, but internet here is not so fun, plus there's a storm. My midwife was the midwife that attended and helped that Momma in her journey. I loved watching her work. It was exciting and I agreed and loved all the choices she made for that Momma. I knew that one day, hopefully, Lord Willing, I would have her as my midwife.

Well, the Lord was willing, even last June when we found out we were pregnant the first time. Doran saw me through one of the worst times in my life. She sent me encouragement and love, and that is something that I will forever be thankful for. When we found out we were pregnant the second time, I felt that I could confess my fears to her without being judged. When I got sick and couldn't eat, she was nothing but loving and encouraging through that as well.

Me at our 38 week appointment! 

Doran is a CPM, Certified Professional Midwife and her practice is called Blessings Gods Way. She works out of Strasburg Virginia and has an adorable yellow cottage where she serves woman. Her website is incredible and can explain a lot of the questions that anyone might have.

I love visiting her. I love seeing her smiling face, knowing she's not only excited but that she already loves my little one, me, and my husband. Her cottage is warm and inviting and it always smells good.

Every time I visit Doran, I pee in a cup. I take a test strip and test that, and we look at it. The cool thing (for me at least) is that we look at it together. Together.  I like that I got to learn what the colors were telling me. I knew what was happening and I got to take part in it. That's neat.

The next thing we do, is we talk. I sit on her glorious comfy bed provided for us Momma's, and we just chat. How have things been going? How do I feel? Have I been swelling? How much water am I drinking? Do I have any questions? What's going on this week? I ask her about birth stories I've heard, I tell her how my toes only swell rarely and how I drink tons of water. I tell her about my family all coming in for the weekend, and she reminds me that I need to take it easy and rest when I'm tired. Another neat thing about it all, is that I an bring friends and family. My mother in law, Mommy, and two of my wonderful sister in laws got to come to appointments with me. My very best friend, birth photographer, and Ellie's Godmother were at our 36 week home appointment. Special people who uplift me and love me. 

She records all of my information in charts. 

Her assistant Jodi, they found out about this post and needed to "look like they were doing something", even though they always do!

Usually after chatting for a bit and writing down any information that's needed, they take my blood pressure and check my pulse. I think maybe there was ONE time that I had a high blood pressure, and immediately Doran said "Some one's a little riled up today, everything ok?" She was checking on me. Wanted to know if there was anything going on. At that time, there was, however, this has been resolved and my blood pressure has returned to what it is normally for me.

After those things are all taken care of, we move on to checking my fundal height with our little owl friend.

Fundal height measures how big my uterus is, to make sure that little booger is growing about where she needs to be.

After that is recorded, we listen to Lil Girl! When she's real little, we listen with a Doppler, but as she's bigger now, we listen with a fetal-scope. I love this part, even though my lil girl likes to hide from Doran. It's like she gets shy around her, which is silly, because the woman will be helping Blair catch her.

This part is really neat because once we find her little heartbeat, everyone gets to listen to her, they want. Angela and Karynne, my brother's wives, both got to hear Ellie's heartbeat, even though it can be a little tricky, and Ellie's Meme, my mother in law, got to hear it as well. And of course, I get to hear her as well, which always makes me smile a little.

So that is what an appointment looks like! We spend time together and I love it. I don't feel like it's impersonal or like she doesn't know me. Doran is not only my midwife and a professional, but she's my friend. She makes me feel calm and we have a lot of the same values. She serves the same God I do. That alone makes us sisters in Christ, which means a lot to me.

I've been asked when I'm supposed to call her, as in, what do I do when I go in to labor. Basically, I keep her informed. I've tried very hard to be in tune with my body, and nothing feels like something is too small to tell her. Even the other day I was kinda sorta unsure about something but needed to tell her anyways, and she was perfectly fine with it. Fun fact: I talk with her over Facebook chat. We're facebook friends. It's real life. :)

If my water breaks or my contractions become more intense and consistent, it's time to call her. I let her know about things like my mucus discharge (it happens while you're pregnant, just saying) and how I feel. We talk about lots of things, and sometimes she has to ask me awkward questions that most other people wouldn't ask. My favorite was when my sisters in law WERE at our appointment and she needed to know if um Blair and I...well...if we had happy fun times. It was awesome! But she needed to know, so she asked. We're close like that.

I also have this awesome sheet tacked to one of our bulletin boards called "What to do if Mom needs to push and the midwife isn't there yet". It kinda makes me smile a whole lot. HOPEFULLY and I'm sure this won't happen she'll be there in plenty of time to help me bring Ellie to this world.

I'm a huge advocate for women feeling empowered and comfortable where and how they birth. One more time for those who missed that:

I'M A HUGE ADVOCATE FOR WOMEN FEELING EMPOWERED AND COMFORTABLE WHERE AND HOW THEY GIVE BIRTH. 

For us, this means that we don't want to be at a hospital. I don't want to be hooked to IV's, have nurses constantly in and out of my room, be in some other persons gown, or to be restricted in any way. I want to be free to move. I want to be in my own room, in my own house, with my own people. That is what makes me comfortable. If a woman chooses differently, if the thought of having a home birth freaks them out, you won't be comfortable during labor, and that's no good friends. However, I wish more woman were truly educated, knew their rights, and fought for them. I also wish that birth and labor were less shrouded in fear and selfishness, but that is a whole other post. 

For me to feel comfortable  to have a baby, this what we chose. Luckily, God has made a way for that to happen. We've been incredibly blessed to be able to pay our midwife and to continue in her care. For a while, I was scared that HG would send me straight to an OB and the hospital. With God's grace, a supportive husband, and an incredibly midwife, who saw me through a rough pregnancy. 

So that's midwifery care. That's how things are done. If you ever have questions, feel free to ask and I'll answer to the best of knowledge, or ask Doran the next time I see her. :) 

And Doran, feel free to comment with anything that I missed! Blair and I love you, and are thankful for your service in helping bring Miss Ellie into this world soon! And you too Jodi! 

A Little Slice of God's Art

I recently started to think about the title of my blog. GodArt. I've come a long way from where I used to be, and what I used to write about.

I am still finding all the beautiful things that are worth writing about. People who support and love my husband and I, births that I've attended, people who've encouraged me, photographs of people that mean more to me than gold. I like to find the beauty of God's art in all things, not just some of them. While sometimes, this is hard (I recall my miscarriage and the start of my HG pregnancy) many times there are beautiful things that I am involved in (recall the births I've attended, that time I married my best friend, or when I met an amazing couple that encouraged Blair and I).

Life is a beautiful thing. The more I grow in my Walk, the more I get the option to see some truly beautiful things. Hard things, sad things, but absolutely beautiful things. Which brings us to today's post.

I was recently able to go see a family that has come to mean a lot to me. It's not for the best of reasons according to the standards of this world, but to me, it was beautiful.

I met this family by accident on Doughnut Day. They had three little girls and as I talked to them more, I realized that their Momma was pregnant with their fourth baby. Later that year, after we became fast friends, she gave birth to their fourth daughter. Since then, they have had to move, we have had to move, but we've kept in contact. That person who told me that not enjoying my pregnancy did not make mean I loved my baby less? That was her. She made me two butterflies that are on my fridge and held my hand 8 days after I lost Cara, while I asked God to hold the baby that I would never get to. Her friendship and encouragement mean a lot to me.

Earlier this year, they announced that they were expecting again. I was thrilled for her. To me, babies are babies man. If you want 8, go for it. If you want 1, go for it. If you wait four years or however long to have babies, that is fine with me! Your uterus doesn't affect me, but when you tell me you are pregnant, be prepared, I will be excited for you.

Not long ago, this friend called me after work with some news. Some devastating, earth shattering, life changing news. Her baby, that we all already loved, had passed away. I cried for her and with her. I kept my phone on and told her I was there when she needed me. I prayed and questioned, because I don't understand sometimes how God allows these things to happen, however, He assures me that I don't need the answers.

That Saturday after I was told, I took a drive down to see her. We talked, laughed, played with her girls, and then I was given an incredible privilege as a photographer and as a friend to take pictures of her pregnancy.

It was a humbling thing. To realize that these pictures are some of the only memories that she will get to have of what we found out later was her Daughter, who's name is Ambrosia Amore, meaning Eternal Love. It made my heart happy to be able to be able to give her this gift, while at the same time, these photographs make me want to weep.

I will not understand God's plan all the time. I've learned this. The beauty of that though, is not that He promised that we wouldn't understand, but that He would walk through with us.

I was given permission to share this story, and to share these pictures. Please join me in continuing to pray for this little family and to rejoice in their faith, strength, and love.

36 Weeks, This is Important

At 36 weeks, my midwife came to our house for our home appointment. This just might be the most important blog post of my pregnant career, strap in folks. Things about to get real...

First of all, I wish I had time/energy/finances to make shirts for my birth team. They would be red with blue capes and would say "Birth Team Assemble!" Because one, I think that would be funny, and two, I seriously love the people who will be in the room to help me bring my daughter to this world. I won't be over that. Ever I don't think...

Second of all, 36 weeks. Which means in 4-6, there might be a new little human on this planet. Whoah. Big deal guys, this is a big deal. For the record, I say 4-6 weeks because I believe that gestation actually can go to 42 weeks, and I'm not going to induce labor, therefore, if she comes in July, she comes in July. I'll just camp out in the pool. It's nice out there...I like it.

Third of all, this is the most important blog post BECAUSE I am going to tell you all some things that I think are worth saying. For me, and for any momma approaching the end of her pregnancy.

I know people are excited, I am too. I'm nervous and excited and on edge and emotional and weird and huge and all the things. I am all the things right now, and I need support. Here is how you can support me:

• Pray for us. Pray for a healthy delivery that is in God's hands. Pray that my daughter arrives here alive and hearty, I don't care about ten fingers and toes, those are over rated, I just want her here and breathing. 
• Don't ask too much of me. I'm so tired. I'm so tired most all the time. I get home from work and most of the time I make it upstairs, sometimes, I don't though. I just pass out on the couch for a while. 
• Be patient. My emotions are volcanic, I go back and forth a lot. A lot a lot. Sometimes I'm angry about stupid things and the next day I'm not and then I cry because I was angry and then I feel bad for crying and well...you get the picture. 
• Please, for the love of all that is Holy DON'T SAY ANYTHING TO ME ABOUT THESE THINGS:

1. Have you had that baby yet? No. I have not. Trust me please when I tell you that when she comes you all will know. Like I said, I will want to tell people. 
2. She has an eviction notice! Because you can control my uterus? Because it's a room and you're the landlord? I don't understand, shut your face. 
3. You've been pregnant for a long time! Dude, I already know. I already know that I've been pregnant, I know how many DAYS I've been pregnant, I know how many weeks and months and I don't need you to remind me. 
4. Weren't you due like a week ago? I don't remember my due date like a weird-o. I believe she will come when it's time for her to come. If I have to wait, so do you. 
5. Are you sure you're not having twins!? I'm not. I'm really not. Babies just take up a whole lotta room and mine is no different. I already feel huge and cumbersome, please don't remind me. It's hard to move and walk. Turning from side to side in the middle of the night is hysterical. 
6. Still pregnant? I think if anyone asks me this one, I'm gonna tell them I swallowed a watermelon. Whole. As a dare. 
7. We just want to see the baby!! I. DO. TOO. Promise. I want to see her and hold her and love her on the outside and snuggle and be excited and cuddle with her and Blair. 

I'm a very sassy human. I just am, I come by it honestly, my mother is equally as sassy. She already told me she would spank my older brother Nate who has already asked me if I've "had that baby yet" (ha Nate! You're in trouble now!) I just want to finish my pregnancy in peace. I want to be able to focus on the task that is ahead of me. I don't want to get mad about stupid things that people say, without knowing. Hence this post, I'll just go ahead and ask you not to say these things. Talk about them among yourselves. Go for it. Just please, don't say them to me. That's all I ask. Don't post them on my Facebook wall. I will delete them. I will send you frownie faces.  I will rant about you to my husband. Can't we all just avoid that? :) 

Are there any other moms who got annoyed with people saying things like this? I feel like I see and hear it a lot. Maybe I'm making it up and no one will say these things to be...but just in case...here you go. 

We're really excited. Just this morning Blair said to me "My poor baby, she's gonna get suck a shock when I catch her, my hands are always cold!" It was adorable. 

As for now, I'm gonna take a nap. Because as I said, I get super sleepy now a days. And if I can nap, I will. :)

I might be in love with this picture....

Love is Blooming

Maybe I'm just getting sassy in my old age. Or maybe it's all pregnancy hormones, whatever it is, I've decided some things. Some things that are worth sharing.

For the first time in my life, I'm on the other side of this being pregnant thing. Normally, I'm the one watching and waiting for friends or sisters in law or my mom or whoever. I get excited about babies. About ALL of it, the pregnancy, the labor, the newborn. I wish every women felt comfortable with sharing their birth stories, because I always have this burning curiosity to ask. I like knowing it all, how long it took for them to go into labor, how many weeks they are, all of it.

As the pregnant one now though, on the other end, I must humbly apologize for all the times I've annoyed a pregnant lady. Because you can be sure I've gotten annoyed a time or two myself. Here and there. About certain things. Little things.

The matter of the uterus a common topic, though we don't call it that. But if we're all honest and grown up and adult about this, that's where babies are formed and created. The uterus.  I don't like saying things about my daughter being in my tummy...makes me feel like I've eaten her and that's weird. She is where God intended her to be. The muscular organ that has grown SO very large.

Here's the deal though, my reproductive system, is the business of three people. Me, my husband, and my God. This includes but is not limited to how many children we have, how far apart they are, and when they come out of me.

I've decided that when I go into labor, I don't want people to know. I have certain expectations in my head. One of them is that I will be in labor for a while, like my Momma was. (She had LONG labors, that crazy woman) So informing EVERYONE once the contractions hit/the water breaks/however my body decides to do this, is for me, my team, and my husband.

I want to post a picture of a beautiful baby and invite friends to tell her Happy Birthday. Because that's what a birthday is people, celebrating the day that YOUR mother pushed/went under/whatever to get YOU out. (Think about THAT the next time you think your birthday is all about YOU)

My plan is for my team to know. And for my closest family to know. My older brothers and their wives, a few grandparents, but honestly, as much as I love all of you, you can wait. Just like I've had to for these past few months. Be patient. This birth is not about  you, and I'm not entitled to have to tell ANYONE when I go into labor. Plus, who knows when it will ACTUALLY happen, AND there is no way to tell how fast or slow a labor will go.

Don't worry, when she's born, I'm gonna wanna tell everyone. I'm gonna wanna show everyone. I have someone taking birth pictures for us, I promise you that you won't miss much (and don't think to much about birth pictures, there will be nothing too graphic). Every mother is proud of their baby. Every mother wants to show their baby off, I'm gonna want to, really really.

Now that that is said, here, look at some pictures my best friend/godmother of my child/Auntie Ameh took of me. I look like I'm gonna have a baby and what not...weird!

 

I know that most of you have seen these, because of the good old Facebook, but I still wanted to write about it. It meant a lot to me that she took the time to take these pictures for me (and hopefully, will take some of me and Blair together..?) especially since we went to the place that she had gotten engaged at the DAY BEFORE!!!

I love that I have someone willing to help me document this time. Especially since I never thought I would want to. Ameh is amazing, and she's doing such a wonderful service for us...and I won't be able to say enough how honored I am that she is part of her Lennie's life. She doesn't love in little ways, she loves with her whole heart, and that's...that's beautiful and something worth teaching my daughter.

This is a poem that she wrote, and it's beautiful. I want to frame this and put it above my daughters bed/her little corner in our room.

Love is blooming, right here, right now, right inside of me, and that is a precious gift that I am holding close.