Fierce.

I can recall a specific time when my mom showed me just how fierce she can be. 

We were at dinner, and my Dad was getting onto (read, yelling) at one of my brothers. I'm not sure what he did, but I'm pretty sure my Dad was being a little harsh at the time. We younger kids sat in silence, watching wide eyed. One of my younger sisters was probably crying because she has a tender heart, and if someone was in trouble she took it pretty hard. I remember watching my Mom during this exchange though...I could see her reaching a point that we did not like to see her get to. I vividly remember her SLAMMING her fist on the table (the dishes jumped I swear) and her telling my father "YOU will NOT talk to MY son that way."

I will never forget the look on her face.
Or the look on his. 

My parents had always been pretty united. They were one and the same. They made choices together, and even when they argued we watched them come to a conclusion together. Rarely did I see my Mother truly YELL back at my Father. This was one of those times and I think it's important that it was about one her babies. 

My mom taught me how to be fierce. She taught me to stand up for myself', she taught me that I was beautiful and talented. She cried with me, she prayed with me, she taught me how to be a woman of strength and dignity. 

And I have needed that knowledge and teaching more in the last year than ever before. 

Every day I am faced with the choices I need to make for my sons health. Every day I wake up deciding that today I will do whatever I need to do for him. Every day. 

And it. Is. Hard. 

It is hard because some days I don't want to. I want someone else to decide what to do for him. I want someone else to tell me what's best. I want someone else to know him better so they can make the tougher calls. It is hard because I don't want to tell the doctors that even though what they see looks good, something in my mama heart is still worried about our boy. It is hard because they hurt him, and I have to let them, because without it, his life would be forfeit. It is hard because I know too many woman with babies who didn't make it, babies who were doing just fine. Every day, we are faced with the fact that we might not have our son for long and every day I have to chose to say
"Thank you" for that. 

I have a beautiful friend. She has a project called the "I Chose Joy" project. It's amazing. She took what could have broken her and decided to find joy. To Chose Joy. Every single day. There are shirts  you can buy, I would highly recommend it. (The proceeds go to Joy Bags, which are sent out to parents who have found out that their little ones have HLHS...they offer support and love in a very difficult time.) So why bring this friend up?

Because I still need to be reminded to chose Joy. I still forget. I forget to see the Joy in the day, I forget to smile at nurses and techs, I forget to snuggle close to Blair and love on him. 

And I forget to tell God "Thank You." 

Thank You for giving our son half a heart. Thank You for making this road a hard one. Thank you for needles and medications and daily xrays. Thank You for shredded tires (that's a whole other story...) and sleepless nights. Thank You for clouded lungs and chest tubes. 

Thank You for drawing me closer to You, for reminding me how truly weak I am and showing up and reminding me how truly Strong You are. Thank You for teaching me, daily, to find MORE Joy. 

This is what I've been thinking about all day. Especially because I started a blog post that I will NEVER EVER PUBLISH. Seriously, I started writing, re-read some of it and closed my computer in disgust with myself. Boy did I need an attitude adjustment. 

And instead of my mom slamming her fist on the table, God slammed his mighty fist on my heart. Reminded me of the truth. 

And He told me to suck it up. Keep going. 

Every day. 

So I will do it all again tomorrow. 

I will fuss at the doctors and tell them that the way my son is acting NOW is the way he was acting before his lung filled with fluid and he turned blue. I will fight for more tests and more answers and I will advocate for the boy God has given me. 

And Lord have mercy I will be fierce. I will call on all the strength and dignity that I have and I will find the Joy. 

Because it's there. I know it is. 

Pockets

I have started and deleted at least three blog posts.
I have written countless things in my head and prayed for the time to get them OUT of my head.
I have explored topics and themes and thought about some of the "little" moments in life that have been happening, and some BIG moments in life that have been happening.

I have thought a great deal about Love and what it means and how we do it. Thought a great deal about how love is a choice and a hard one at that. How we chose to love our spouses, chose to love our kids, chose to love our family, our friends. Thought a lot about specific ways that people have chosen to love me, to love my small family.

I have thought a lot about love and a lot about loss. Because I have known loss.

We have become bosom friends. Nestled together. Loss of friends, loss of babies, loss of dreams and hopes. Loss has shifted the way I think, the way I handle things, the way I talk to God.

I woke up today wondering about loss and about pain. About why we chose to put a price on loss. "You have lost more than I have, therefore, your pain must be greater." No. We both have lost and that loss has created pockets of sorrow in our souls. Sometimes we can live and forget those pockets, sometimes our hands are stuck in our pockets, jingling those losses around like the key chains on my car keys. Sometimes those pockets are full and heavy and present. Sometimes they are light, the lint that is there...we barely feel it.

I've been having some of my own heart issues lately. Not physical ones, but spiritual and emotional ones. Ones that feel very very very big. Ones that make me a bad mother and bad wife and a bad Maddie. I drifted away from things I know I should be doing, forgetting the BEST things in pursuit of the GOOD things.

It is GOOD to have an empty sink, it is BETTER to have spent time with God.
It is GOOD to fold clothes, it is BETTER to lay on the floor and let Ellie climb all over me.
It is GOOD to work out and try to be healthier, it is BETTER to sit with Blair and listen to his day.
It is GOOD to tell people that I will be praying for them, it is BETTER to ACTUALLY pray for them.

I am working on bringing my heart issues to God and forgetting them there, Emptying my pockets of the sorrow and loss I have been carrying around for the past month. Letting go of the fear and the worries and expectations and pain that has rooted deep into my soul. It is a long hard journey. And to be very honest, I already want to quit, because some days, all my son does is cry and I want to scream. And while it is easy to say "I am thankful he is crying" it is another thing to LIVE that.

One persons pain and struggle does not diminish another.

It is what we chose to do with the pain we have that makes us all so different.
Do you give up? Do you let it ruin your life? Do you live in that?
Or do you get back up? Try again and again? Die to self minute by minute, because let's be honest, day by day is too hard...

I'm working on emptying my pockets of the sorrow and pain that I carry.
You should too.

You'll be lighter.

Part Two: Chapter Four: "Dishes"

I will try to write these thoughts as quickly as I can. I don't want to stop writing about what we are going through, though now it feels more mundane than the scary stuff we were dealing with in February.

Dean is in his swing, sleeping. Ellie is in her bed, talking/whining/singing to herself. There is a pile of books next to me that we read before bedtime, so so so many dishes in the sink, three piles of clothes to be folded, a load in the dryer, several that already need to be washed, and breast milk thawing for Dean's night time feed. There are things piled next to me on the end tables and still there are things in baskets that need to be put away. I want to sweep, mop, vacuum, clean the fridge, mow and weed eat, organize the garage. I want to deep clean the bathroom, organize the cabinets. I want to make dinner that is not a sandwich one night. The past three days I have left my house, with both kids, and done different things. I have been encouraged and uplifted and praised for "how well" I am doing with my kids.

We get told a lot, "you are doing so well" "I couldn't have done this" "wow you have it down". I love that people want to encourage me, but these things make me laugh.

Dean is still a baby. Bringing him home was much the same as it would have been had we brought him home when he was born. We just have to keep him on his medicine and watch his colors. Sure, I have to feed him most of the time through a tube and I don't like to let him scream for TOO long, but he's still a baby. He still is treated like a baby.

I'm still exhausted. I'm still a mom adjusting to having both my kids. Add in there that Blair had been gone since Saturday and won't be home for a while yet, and yeah, sometimes I wish I could throw one of my kids out the window. Don't judge. If you are mom you'd be lying if you said you had it all together.

Things are hectic. Crazy. I wake up every morning at six to make sure Dean gets his medication. Tomorrow we head back to our favorite place (le hospital uggghhh) for ANOTHER appointment. I will probably regret sitting down to write this because I'll look at the dishes and sigh to myself and then want to cry.

How glorious to be in the mundane. I don't always love it, but today I do. It's wonderful to be in my own chaotic home with my nutso almost two year old and my gimpy heart baby. I love it. In the moments when they are both crying and I have to decide who to go to first, I try very hard to take a deep breathe and remember those lonely nights when I had neither of them close to me. It helps me to be more intentional.

Every day I make an effort to write in my art journal. To work in it in some small way. Blair calls me every night and we talk for a minute. He tells me what he's doing and I tell him about his beautiful babies.

The days are flying by. I'm afraid that I will close my eyes and the next thing I know we will be prepping for the next surgery. I'm afraid I will close my eyes and wake up and Ellie will be 5, 10, 15 and I will regret not picking her up because I was too worried about doing the dishes.

Life is a balance. We must balance being good stewards of what we've been given and making sure we don't pursue the good instead of the best things. FYI, taking care of my house is good, loving on my children is better.

It's easy to forget at four in the morning that I shouldn't have my son. That his life has come at a steep price. It's easy to forget how scary it was to see his chest open, tubes in his body when he won't let me put him down and I need to pump. I remind myself every day, none of us deserve the miracle of the life that we've been given.

Good days and bad days. Days where I can forget the dishes and write a blog post. Days where I can't. Not every day can be the best day and there will be struggle.

But when Ellie gives me kisses and calls for me, when she asks to pray before bed...when Dean smiles at me, his ENTIRE face lit up...these are the moments to remember. Anyway...he's awake now, and any second will realize I'm not holding him.

I'll probably go to sleep with that pile of dishes waiting.

And that's fine with me. It really is.

Addendum: and sometimes, your OCD gets the best of you and you just can't help it and you do the dishes anyways and let the gimpy heart baby scream at you from his swing. He made it this far, he'll survive. ;)

Chapter Seventeen: "Let your Fear live side by side with your Joy"

I wish there was a formula for when I am going to have a bad day. I wish that I could wake up and know that today I would have to fight harder to be joyful. I wish that could battle better, hold onto the Promises more, take up my armor willingly.

I don't though. Some days I wake up and I think "what's the point of even going to the hospital?" Some days I wake up and want nothing more than to crawl back in my bed and stay curled up there. Some days by the end of the night, I would love nothing more than to say "I've pumped enough, I don't have to wake up every three hours tonight." Some days I want to shut out people...just like my son shuts his eyes and shuts down, that's what I want to do.

I don't know what happened yesterday but it was a day for me. I slept through alarms, messed up my pumping schedule, and when Blair tried to cheer me up I shut him down. "Oh. Sorry..." he said to me through text when I told him that his attempt to cheer me up really wasn't working. I didn't want to go see my son. I just...wanted to lay here in bed, pull the covers over my head and forget. I didn't want today to be happening. Didn't want to face the new challenges. Didn't want to go and hear more of the same...again and again. I couldn't find the Joy. And I was just Afraid.

We had so much information yesterday. It was the first time they even mentioned what we would have to do to get home. Feedings and tubes and trying to nurse. How if he puckers his lips shut that I should just back off because we don't want to do to much to soon. How he threw up while I was holding him, face red, gagging and retching. Have you seen a baby throw up? Not spit up, throw up? I hate it. It always freaks me out when he does that...I know how that feels. I can't do much but hold him and talk him through it and let him know I'm there. We talked about how before Blair and I can bring him home, we have to learn, well, how to do CPR. Just in case, the nurse said.

Just in case...

In case his heart stops, even after we get home. In case his oxygen saturation levels plummet. You know what I thought yesterday? What happens if we go home, and I have to rush him to the ER and I have Ellie and Blair isn't home? I have to plan for that. This is my life now. This isn't over. This won't be over for the rest of my life, this is the rest of our lives.

Yesterday, it was hard to find Joy.

I was annoyed and grumpy. I was cranky. I was hurting. I was sad. I was angry. I wanted to cry and scream and throw things and break things. I wanted to go home. Bu nott home home, back to this one room where we've been living for the past two months. I just wanted to lay here. I just wanted to cry. I considered calling my Mommy...because all the sudden, everything felt like too much, too big.

I couldn't find the Joy.

As the day wore on...we changed some things, talked to more doctors, more nurses. Waited and watched. Cuddled. I learned how to give him a bath...which is a whole new thing in and of itself...it has to be done a certain way because of the scar that goes down his chest. I put him against my skin for the first time, on my chest. He is seven weeks old and he doesn't know what it feels like to lay against his Mama's skin.

I am still very afraid. I don't know when I won't be. I don't know that I will ever not be afraid. An infection could put your kid in the hospital, it could kill mine. It is hard not to think about the future without a lump in my throat. It is hard to think of next week without my heartbeat speeding up. Every day feels like a bandage being ripped off. Every day I have to pick up the armor that I've been given, tell God that I trust Him and I have to fight.

And some days, that fighting is hard for me.

I wish I could tell you that something happened and my attitude turned around and I found the Joy yesterday. I didn't though. I just was negative and quiet. I thought I was going to go to bed with all these feelings pent up in me, an angry storm.

When Blair got to the hospital yesterday, he gave me a letter someone had sent me. "Let your fear live side by side with your joy" they wrote. "You are a joy filled person- keep that part of you even with the fear in your life."

It felt like I was being given permission to have a bad day. To recognize the fear and embrace it and give it over to God. It felt like an admonishment. Find the Joy, and when you can't- Look Harder. It felt like being told that it's ok to cry when I hold my son because he is so so so beautiful to me, and this is so so so scary.

I've wanted to go home with my babies from day one of his life. I want him and Ellie to meet with everything in my being and I want just one. One picture of the four of us together. It feels like every time one good thing happens, I'm ready to move to the next one. I can hear him cry, now I want to hold him. I got to hold him, now I want to do skin to skin. I got to do skin to skin, now I want to nurse him...it is hard to stop that thought process and remember, each thing is it's OWN Joy and I can WAIT in that. Bask in that. Stay there for a moment. Hold down the fear and anxiety with what is happening NOW and how NOW is good.

Fear and Joy are holding hands right now in my life, walking with me through this.  There is not one without the other, though I so wish that I was living without the one.

My reality. My life NOW.

There's a Need to Breathe song with the lyrics that say "God of mercy/Sweet love of mine/I have surrendered to your design". This has become a prayer and plea. That I could surrender to THIS plan. Partly because, I don't have a choice now. This is my son. This is his life. This is what we have to go through to give him Life. Every time I see his scar I am reminded that for him, life came through the knife. It just looks different for him. Which means it will be different for us.

Today. I am going to look harder. Because yesterday I was just blinded.
I will try again and again and again and again.
I will look harder, longer and then I'll stop there when I find it.
Because I don't know what else to do some days...

Chapter Eight: "Let There Be"

Imagine there is nothing. Just, nothing. No sun no light no dark nothing. No time.

But there's God.

He's there and He decides He wants to make stuff. Loads of stuff. Atoms and Giraffes and Bears (even Teddy Bears) and Hair and Sun and Air and Nitrogen and Balloons. He simply speaks and everything that we know to be, is. Because He says so.

When He did this, He saw everything.

He saw so far forward into the future that He saw a little tiny baby boy whose heart maybe needs a little bit of help. He saw how much that little baby would struggle, He knew that baby wouldn't survive without some help. So He started a Chain of Events.

First He made medicine and x-rays and hospitals where people with compassion decided they wanted to take care of other people. Then He made microscopes and gave people the talent and drive to figure out how to cut into people to help fix them. He knew that sin would be so crazy in this world that it would eventually affect our bodies and He wanted to help. So He sent people. Doctors and Surgeons and Nurses and Technicians and Janitors and Policemen.

Born to this world was a little girl, who grew up to be a woman, who went to school to be a doctor, who started to look at hearts, who started to look at little kids hearts, who meets moms and explains "This is what we found, this is what we can do."

Born to this world was a little boy, who grew up with younger siblings, who struggled to know who he was, who was lost for a little while, who met a girl who fell in love with him and he decided he wanted to be a man and they got married, and had a baby girl and then found out they were pregnant with a baby boy and that baby boy would have one ventricle in his heart.

God set it up. Boom boom boom, like a bowling ball, He set up the pins and set in motion what is happening right now.

He did this on the very first day that He created the world. He said "Let There Be" and there was.

There was light and dark and fish and birds and animals and grass and trees and science and math and time and day and night and there was Dean Blair Jaques V. Right from the very start of this world God was writing my little baby boys story.

How freaking cool is that? 

Pretty freaking cool.

What I Pray For

Many people will not like what I'm about to say.

Please bare with me and wait until the end.

Please keep in mind this is my personal blog, and I am writing to share/process this journey.

Please be kind.

I am not praying for God to miraculously heal my son. I am not praying that when he is born he will not need surgeries and that his heart will be healed. 

You may pray for these things if you'd like, but please, refrain from telling me you are doing so.

I promise you, I have reasons.

I believe that God is big. Bigger than you or I could ever imagine. I believe that if He wanted to, He COULD heal my son, in a heart beat (no pun intended there). I believe that God raised people from the dead, healed them by His touch, cured the diseased, and made the blind see. I believe He is the same God today that He was then, and if He wanted to, He could do whatever He wanted.

For some reason (one I may never know) He has chosen my son, our son, to have a heart condition. One that really won't ever be truly cured unless there are major advances in medical science (totally possible! Please pray for that!) or by a completely new heart.

Every month, a lot of times two or three times a month, I go to a Doctor's office, lay on a table, get some goo put on me and they check on his heart. I lay there uncomfortably and see exactly what the doctors are talking about. Half of my sons heart doesn't work. I see this. Every. Single. Month.

When I went in December, maybe...to be truthful, I was hoping that the ultrasound they showed would be wrong. I was hoping I could get in the car and call about five million people and say "See, look, God HAS healed him!"

But this is not what God did. This is not my sons story.

There are lots of people praying for miracles. Lots of people who have loved ones going through terrible battles who would love to see God's hand in their lives...in the way they WANT to see God's hand.

I am...am asking a lot of God right now. I am asking for strength, and patience. I am asking for Joy in the middle of what could possible be something terrifying. I am asking for Guidance, to do the right things as we go to have our son and as he prepares for his surgery. I am asking that no matter what I keep my eyes and heart focused on this Big God who has chosen us and my son to do Big things.

But I do not need to ask God to miraculously heal him. Because maybe to God that means my son goes to Heaven before I do. Maybe to God, THIS is our miracle, that we get to draw deeper and deeper to Him in this, our time of utter dependence on Him.

I am praying for God's Will to be evident in our lives and in our sons life, and that We, as a Husband and Wife, as a Mother and Father, glorify Him, no matter what the outcome, no matter how hard, no matter what.

If my son is born and they find out that his heart is fine, Praise God.

If my son is born and whisked away because half his heart doesn't work, Praise God.

If my son doesn't survive birth, Praise God.

If my son doesn't survive the first, second, third surgery, Praise God.

If my son survives and thrives for 20 years and developed complications later, Praise God.

It is easy to say these things now, hard as they may be, but it will so much harder to live them out. Please...please pray that We glorify God in this situation. Please...please pray for the Doctors and Nurses that will be taking care of our son. Please...please pray for the other families who just spent Christmas and New Years in the Hospital, praying that their child's numbers get good enough to come home. Please pray that Blair and I have the opportunity to pour Hope into other families facing the same challenges. Please pray that God's Will be evident and that we accept it with Grace and Beauty. Please pray that we rely on the Lord and the amazing Support that we have had during this time. Please pray that my emotions stay in check when they induce me, that the Lord give me a Spirit of Strength and Hope, that I do not fear. Please Pray for Blair as he misses work, and tries to take care of me, Ellie, and our Son. Please pray that Ellie have such a grand time with others that she doesn't realize how long Mommy has been gone. Please pray that the she is taken care of so well that I don't even have a second to worry about her. Please pray for our own hearts, as we see our child hooked up to tubes, with a scar down his chest. Please pray that we budget well, that our finances stay secure while we are in the hospital.

Please Praise God with us, that we have had our son as long as we have had him. Praise God that we have seen an out pouring of love and support.

Life, in and of itself, however God chooses to bring it, is a Miracle.

We don't need one my friends, we already have one.

Thank you.

9.5

I don't think that you should force creativity. I think sometimes, you'll feel more creative than other times. It's a stage, and it all comes and goes in stages.

Lately, I've wanted to draw and paint and sketch and play and doodle and and and all the things. There was only one problem, sometime in our move from tiny apartment to tinier apartment in his parent's house, I lost/misplaced a journal.

This had never happened before. I wasn't sure how to handle it. I panicked, maybe cried, maybe made my husband drive me around to several places to see if I had left it somewhere else. I love my art journals. I've been keeping them since I was probably 12 or 13...I have stacks of them. I re-read them, see how my life has changed and been documented. So to lose one, to not know where it is...it's like...it's like loosing someone you love. Not to mention, when we lost our baby last July, I journal'd a lot to get through that. It's...it's a heavy journal. It's one I need to remind myself that I got through it. I follows this ocean tide of happiness and sadness and eventually, hope that I would carry as far as I am right now with Ellie.

And I don't know where it is. I still don't. 

But...but, I've come to terms that it just needs to be hidden right now, for whatever reason. This did not change the burning fury in me to creative and doodle.

This week I was at a friends house, well, this past week. As I'm sitting and talking to my friend, I see a fairly large black journal. Without asking whose it is, I take it and begin to draw what's been in my head for weeks (a Dandelion...), and from there, it was allllll good. It turns out the journal belonged to my friends husband, who knew I had lost the other journal so he says "Take this one."

Flabbergasted, I informed him that if he gave it to me, I would NOT be giving it back. It just...I wouldn't. It would become mine, but he knew that.

So here I am now with journal 9.5.

And a big huge heart full of thank you to D.J. Trevor for knowing me better than I know myself. I found that I can't go without an art journal. I need it. It's my way to keep in touch with the art that I love so well and to express the things that I can't otherwise.

I'm incredibly thankful that I have friends who know me better than I know myself. I'd be a hot mess without them....

Baby Growing, Mother's Day, Middle of May!!!

Well friends I feel like it's been a long time since I last wrote anything to you. We've been awfully busy. My new job, Blair's new job, growing a baby, no biggie. :) Not to mention that when I DO have days off I feel this incredible need to be SUPER productive. So I end up scheduling myself for about a billion things. I promise you I'm trying to slow down...it's just not so easy.

As always, I've been thinking about five million different things that I want to share with my few friends who follow this blog (are you following me? I would love for you, I really love sharing my thoughts). I am trying to think of the best way to organize these thoughts and make them coherent. It's not easy, especially with the Ellie STEALING MY BRAIN. Seriously, Baby Brain, it's real. In fact, let's start there!

I have become VERY dyslexic as my pregnancy progresses. I mix up letters and numbers and words like it's my job in life. When I'm researching something for the Library or looking up a book for a patron, I end up typing it all backwards. I have to re-try quite a bit. So in advance, I apologize for all grammatical and spelling errors. I should let the Fairy Godmother read these before I post them...it would probably cut back on me sounding illiterate.

This past Saturday I took pictures for some of my very favorite people (side note, why, at the END of my pregnancy have I decided that spending all this time taking pictures for people is a good idea? Oh yeah, I love it...got it...). We walked FOUR miles. And I did the WHOLE thing. I won't lie, for me, this was a big deal. It helped me sleep and walking is such an amazing thing to help with labor. What's more, those pictures turned out amazing and I love them. Plus that family is one of the best. No joke. I even let the mom use my camera to document me. My husband has been on a lot of my photo shoots lately, and I love it. I love when he comes with. We both got thousands of bug bites, but it was so so so worth it.

I feel very big now. We're almost 34 weeks and man...I marvel at how big she is, and that she will just get bigger. How did God DO this? This right here, what I'm doing, makes me feel like more of an artist than anything I've ever created before. I'm helping to MAKE a HUMAN. How...how can this not blow your mind? Even on the worst of days when I just want to skip to the part where I push her out...I can't help but think about her in there growing and moving. She's so funny, so full of personality. We went to see Shrek the musical (which my younger sister Evie was in and who did an AMAZING job) and Eleanor LOVED it. Very rarely does she move that much! I think we have a future theatre/musical geek on our hands.

I celebrated Mother's Day, and herein lies a small rant. While at Church, I heard someone make a comment when I raised my hand to signify that I am mother. While it was not the right time or place to call said person out, I so badly wanted to. Being pregnant, counts. You. Are. A. Mother. What's more, even if I hadn't been as pregnant as I am, I would have raised my hand. Cara counts. To tell the mother of a lost baby, whether miscarriage or still born, is to deny that she had life inside her. To deny that life...is unacceptable. And mean. And cruel. Being pregnant with Ellie certainly helped this year, however, I still felt the sting of our loss. Because my plan for this year, was to actually have a physical baby to hold, and not just a memory.

For the record, if you know a woman who suffered a loss in any way, and it's mother's day, make damn (yes, I used that word, get over it) sure to tell her Happy Mother's Day. And if in your opinion said person is NOT a mother, keep it to yourself. You have no idea how your comment will affect her. I'll get off my high  horse now, but that one comment I heard behind me really...well, it got to me.

We are doing really well. Pregnancy wise, moving, in general is getting harder and harder. Even flipping from side to side at night takes a lot of me. I think it's hysterical, Blair sometimes...not so much. I'm pretty sure I woke him up last night because I moved his pillow because it was "trying to eat my face"? He grumbles, but he will always scoot over or help me adjust the thousands of pillows I sleep with. He's a trooper, I love him.

Stretch marks have finally decided to REALLY show up. It seems as though in the past two days I've gotten these beautiful lines marking up my belly. I love them. I love the evidence that I am carrying life.

Let's talk about yoga for a second, because I love yoga. I wish I was going more frequently. I feel very good about myself and my baby after we go. Everything hurts less. :) I also like that most of the poses are things I can bring home and do on my own. My instructor is wonderful and adorable and makes me feel incredibly at peace. (In fact, after this, I'm gonna go do some stretches...things be tight up in here yo!)

All in all, we're just getting more excited. I keep praying about labor, and trusting in my midwife and listening to Blair when I feel crazy (which has been rather frequent I must admit...) I'm drinking lots of red raspberry leaf tea and another tea called NORA tea (Nettles, Oats, Raspberry leaf, and Alfalfa) and I feel strong. Most of the time. Sometimes, when I'm still for too long and then start going again, I get weird and move really slowly. I've got the pregnant waddle down, even though I try really hard to walk normally.

It's already the middle of May and June is almost here! I keep in mind that Little Miss might decide to come in July (which I can TOTALLY see her doing because she's half Blair and he's stubborn like you would not believe) just to mentally prepare myself that I might not be "done" when the calender says I should be. Babies come when they're ready. I'm ok with that.

I will really try to post more! I have lots of things that happen and I think, "That would make a great blog post" and then I get home....and Eleanor says "SSSSSSSSSLLLLLLLEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPP" and I must admit, I'm willing to oblige the little goober. :)

Full

There are all these little things that are happening that just make me smile. Conversations that I've had, people who've stopped to see me, encouragement right at the right time.

I think about how my husband and I realized how incredibly selfish we are with and for one another. If we have spare time, we want to be where the other is. Three times Blair has come by the Library just to see/be near me. He showed up today and confused the heck out of me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I wanted to give you a kiss." He said. And then he did.

Our schedules have gotten much busier than we are used to. I work more now that I have been in MONTHS and I LOVE it. It just means that we don't get to spend our afternoons together the way we used to. It's all worth it though, because I love what I'm doing now. He sees this, knows it, and embraces it.

Today I saw a friend I haven't seen in a LONG time. She said "I love seeing how much you love Blair and Ellie." First of all, I love that she called them both by name, and second of all, I love that my actions speak that loudly. I want people to know who I love. I want people to know about my Faith and about these two people who mean so much to me. They are gifts, shouldn't we treasure our gifts? I've been thinking all day about that conversation. It kept me smiling.

Tonight my little brother took me to get frozen yogurt for cutting his hair. He looked at me and said "You're not the same Maddie as last year." All these things in just one day, my heart feels full.

We are officially in the third trimester. Ellie Girl feels huge, shoot, I feel huge. It freaks me out a little that she's not done growing and that I'm going to get even bigger. I can't imagine that it's true. I still get sick in the mornings, but I'm so tired of talking about throwing up, that I just ignore it when it happens. I've gotten to this divine acceptance that THIS is what pregnant looks like for me. I have two choices, complain, or accept it. While some days it's hard to accept, still, most days, I just take care of business and carry on. I like it better that way. Having two or three nose bleeds in a week tends to make me a little (read, a lot) fussy, but I'm really really trying to control that attitude. I know there are plenty of women who would love to have what I have sickness wise if it only meant that they were pregnant.

All the sudden I've got this voracious appetite. I want all the foods all the time, expect first thing in the morning. By ten though, man...it's like a food monster lives in me. At night, I feel like I get so hungry I could eat and eat and eat. I'm trying to remember all the things that are super good for us though. I may not have been able to eat well the first two trimesters, but hopefully I can now.

I've also been treated to a pedicure and a steak dinner in the last week. It amazes me the amount of wonderful people that surround us. I told Blair that we've got to start getting out more, if only because truly, people miss us. It goes back to that being selfish with one another. We're entirely too content laying next to eat other in bed reading or talking about books. However, I know that there might be a time when we really won't have all this time for one another, so be patient with us as we try to make the most of it now.

My heart feels full today. Almost like I was empty and needed some words of love without even knowing it. It's amazing to me how God works things together to fill us, even when we don't know we were running on empty.

The Cost

Blair and I were reading not long ago that when you blog you should do so with some sort of purpose. I'll be honest, I'm not sure what my purpose is for writing except that I like to and it helps me organize my thoughts. I also live under the impression that if you can help someone else in ANY way, well, you should. Especially when you're a Christ Follower. When did we become so tight lipped? Why is it so hard to want to share our lives to help one another?

Granted, at the moment, I'm all about Baby Girl. I'll be honest, it's been a journey, and I like to chronicle it here for you people/maybe a little for myself. We as a couple and individually have learned a lot. It's important for me to share, because for once, I didn't let the bad outweigh the fact that God is still working in my life. I'm learning things about the character of God that I'm not sure I understood before.

This weeks post centers around one song, ONE. We went to visit the Fairy Godmother this weekend, because I have been feeling AWESOME and wanted to see her. She got to feel her Lennie (NO ONE ELSE IS ALLOWED TO CALL HER THAT, HER NAME IS ELLIE OR ELEANOR)(for the record) kick, made us dinner, we watched stupid movies, and she had no idea that we were coming. We also got to see the Fairy Godfather. The whole hour long drive there, we just got to be together. Just got to live. Just got to chill out man. There was much talking and much singing. This song has been in my head all week.

"Real Love is not afraid to bleed."

Soak that line in for a second. It stuck with me and I started to think allllll sorts of thunks. 

See, I love God, I do. I love Jesus, I love the Bible, I mean, if you can't tell that by now, then you might have missed something. I am learning how to live in my life in a quietly bold way. One where I am able to say my opinions without being a jerk. Christians, we can have our beliefs, it does NOT mean we have to be rude or mean about it. I believe that Jesus, being God, took the form of man, came down, died for me. 

Died for me. Bled for me. Think about this. The cost for Jesus to LOVE me the way He wanted to, was to bleed for me. This song says "I've counted up the cost, and you are worth it." What is the cost?  Me. The cost of following Jesus is that I pursue Him, love Him, seek Him, get to know Him. I'm not selfish enough to think that this world is all about me. I forget it sometimes, but in reality, I know that in the end I want people to know WHO I loved, instead of just that I did. 

As my belly grows bigger and bigger, I think about what this baby costs us. Not money wise, but time wise, and life wise, and physically. In just a few short months I will prepare to work in such a way that I have never worked before. I will get tired, I will want to quit, I will want to stop, it will hurt, it will take all the strength I have, but in reality? It's not about me. 

What you might say? You being in labor is not about you? Are you crazy?

No. Labor is about bringing new life into this world. Therefore labor is about my child, not about me. I hope that what I'm saying makes sense. Because all the sudden, I understand Jesus just a little more. He knew the pain that awaited him, I know the pain that comes from childbirth. He knew that he would bleed, there is a fair amount of what people call "birth grossness" when it comes to labor. He knew that the cost of what He was doing was worth it. I know that the cost of having my daughter with us is all this HARD work that I will have to do. 

But I've counted up the cost, Eleanor Amanda Ray is worth it. And it must be real love that I feel for her, because I'm not afraid to bleed, I'm not afraid to spend hours waiting and working for her, I'm not afraid of whatever pain might come, because at the end, I get her. 

As I thought about this, I thought about my Jesus in those hours before the cross. You know, Easter is coming, and while we celebrate the fact that um, you know, He ain't dead, let's go back and read what He did. Read those chapters in John. Out loud. Let yourself cry because of the pain and blood loss. Remember that He did it for you, just because it's real love, just because He loves you. Remember that all He wants is a better life for you, all He wants is your Heart, and man, once you've tasted that Love, it's hard to want anything more. 

Then call your Momma, if you can. Say thanks for bleeding for you, working for you, for bringing you here. Tell her thanks for thinking you were worth it. And if you can't thank her, or you don't speak to her, thank God. The fact that you are alive means that someone really truly loved you. No matter where you are now.  

This Comes Up A Lot...

We aren't even through one pregnancy and something keeps popping up, so I decided to just go ahead and set this to rest right now.

Here's what people seem to want to know: After getting so sick, will you and Blair have more kids?

Let's put this to rest right now: YES. 

We celebrated one year together yesterday on the 23, and it was hysterical. I got sick in the morning and he ended up in the bathroom with me putting a cool cloth on my head. THAT my friends, is what REAL love looks like. Everyone likes to ask Blair this question, and I get it a lot already too.

It's a fair question really, considering how sick I did get. It was really scary there for a few months. November and December and the beginning of January were not my favorite times. I can understand why people ask...though, I'm never sure why people are so interested in my or anyone else's uterus. Either people don't have enough and the uterus should be filled, or you have to many and should remain empty...everyone seems to have an opinion about it...no matter whose it is....but I digress...

After going through Hyperemesis, knowing there is a chance we (yes we, Blair and I go through this TOGETHER, it's not just me...) could we or do we want more babies?

Why in the world wouldn't we want more? We've both known we want the blessing of children, and after loosing our first, that thought solidified even more in our minds. Do I want to have babies back to back? No. Am I a little frightened on not living close to family who can help take care of us? Yes. Does this stop me trusting that God already knows what He's got in store for us? Heck no.

Even now our Ellie Girl is worth the wait, and worth the sickness. I look forward to seeing who she looks like, to be privileged enough to be her mother, to get to know her as a human, to talk to her about Jesus and how much she is loved by Him and by us. I look forward to poopy diapers, and nursing in the middle of night, I'm even excited for the first time I think "Oh crap, I can't do this" and I call my Mommy or best friends crying because she's crying and I don't know what to do. I look forward to tell people how big she is, what her name is, why she is named that, and I look forward to her being a big sister.

I understand that God has his plans, and if it's His plan that I only physically have her, that's enough, there are so many babies out there unloved who need families. We would be more than willing to have them, I know it. It makes me giggle a little that people think that because I got sick this time that I won't want more...silly people!

You know, the first time I tried sushi I didn't like it, but then I ate it some more and it was ok. I didn't like roller coasters at first and now I freaking love them. I had a bad experience once with friends who turned their backs, doesn't mean I love less now. There were a string of guys who hurt me deeply and badly, didn't stop me from finding and loving my husband.

This pregnancy has been hard and rough, but it will not stop me from loving our Daughter. And it will not stop me from Trusting that my Father in Heaven knows what He's doing, and if it means I get sick seven times with seven babies, then God help me through it. 

He doesn't just leave us when bad things happen. He equips us. He helps us. He sends us people. He has sent people to help me clean, to encourage me, and most importantly, He matched me up with a Man who when I puke, comes and sits with me in the bathroom. He has shown me great Love and great Mercy. And we got pregnant again, He would do it again. I would find out even MORE about this God who I love so so so much.

Being sick during a pregnancy doesn't stop God from being Holy. Of all things I've learned, through these past months, is that God is still God. It's not like He quits or something...

So yes, Blair and I, if the Lord allows, are still VERY willing to have more babies. Hyperemesis or no...:)

An Old Man, My Momma, and Pants.

Today was an interesting day. It didn't start off so well, but it ended up being pretty awesome.

I got sick yesterday and again this morning. I've been having a hard time convincing myself that bad days are just bad days, and that really, I will survive. I have a flair for the melodramatic so I get very "woe is me".

Yesterday, I made sure to get out of my bed. This is a big deal for me. When I feel that crummy, I don't want to move that much. I made it out to the mailbox, and when my Blair came home from work, I was on the couch not in our bed. I had a thought during the day "He would be so please, knowing I'm having a crummy day, if I was not in our bed." I was right. He was pleased. It was adorable.

This morning was one of those barely-make-it-to-the-bathroom type deals. So special. I'm laying bed thinking, Maybe today will be better, and my mouth fills with...well...it was very very special. I sat in our bathroom floor, cried for a second (throwing up usually makes that happen to me anyways) and then thought, How can today still be good? 

I'm tired of accepting defeat. I'm tired of having these days when I feel debilitated. So I got dressed. I picked up our bed room. I got a text from my Momma, asking me if I would like to go grocery shopping/baby carrier/stroller shopping with her. I went out on a limb and said yes, praising God the whole time that she was driving and I was not. When I drive on these days, I make it one  place and then head home, HG wears you out physically too people.

I folded a basket of clothes. Made the bed. Went out with my Mommy.

And it was ok. 

I got tired and had to sit sometimes. I had to be clear about how I felt and my limitations. I don't last long, and one or two things make me super tired. But there was some things that happened that made it so worth it.

For example, I met a man while I was resting who had been married 61 years. Told me that his wife was still the most beautiful and elegant lady that he'd ever seen. Told me where he was from, talked about Sight and Sound in Lancaster PA, and about his great-grandchild due in April. He explained that he hated shopping, but went with her because she liked it, and how hungry he was. He asked me how long I'd been married (a year this Sunday!!) and congratulated me on our Ellie Girl. We talked food, groceries, life, and the Bible. His wife called him over to help her get the groceries checked out, and on their way out, he shook my hand and said "God bless you, your husband, and your baby." His wife told me that if we didn't have a name picked out, that Rebekah was a great name (it was her name!). When I told them we did, and who and why she is named what she is named, they both big smiles, he said, "That's a beautiful tribute to what sounds like a great man and some great friends. That's a good name."

My mom checked out soon after, and told me she should have given me the keys to the car, but I'm so glad she didn't. That man made my day, and if he is the only reason I went out, then God knew what He was doing.

So often we see broken marriages, and hear the horror stories. This world can be harsh, cruel, subjecting us to some things that hurt our heart. Coming across a man, woman, human, that make our hearts burst with joy and love, that's something special.

I hope one day, when Blair and I are married for 61 years, Lord Willing, and out grocery shopping, he or I get the chance to sit next to a 22 week pregnant woman and encourage her like I felt today. A complete stranger...he has no idea how much that conversation stuck with me.

Most importantly today, I got to spend time with my Mommy. I covet this time with her. She knows that sometimes I can't do so much, and that I need breaks. She walked into my messy house and never said a word about it. Grace comes in all forms. I realize how special this time is, and how incredibly blessed I am to be near her. Granted, she knows and I know, we both have our own busy lives. We don't do EVERYTHING with one another, and she knows my time with Blair is very...special and we both covet the time we get to spend together. And I know she's still a Mommy to three younger siblings, those things are important.

As I am on the journey to holding my baby (I already am a mother...) I just think about what it was like for her, all those times she was pregnant, all those times she prepared her heart to bring into this world another beautiful Carrigan baby. When our Ellie Girl wriggles and moves (which feels like a lot right now!) I think, you know, once, my mom felt this way about me. The wonder and excitement never gets old, I pray that it doesn't even get old. Each movement, each flutter is a reminder that she truly is there, that she is ours for a while, that we are blessed.

She dropped me off this afternoon and I passed out for a while. :) I am not kidding when I tell you I get super tired. I'm feeling good, ok, and I'm excited, because this means I can go to work tomorrow, Lord Willing. Mornings in the past week or so, have become hard for me again. It's like November all over again. Each day is new though, and I've stopped trying to plan what will and won't happen. I can't do that. I don't know. I don't know if I will wake up tomorrow feeling awesome, or if I will want to crawl back into bed and pray that my stomach stops hurting, that I won't puke more.

God is Holy. And...the more I come back to Him, and focus on what He says instead of what I feel, I do better. It's hard. It's really hard sometimes. When I throw up, yet another time, it's hard to think He hears what I've been begging. But you know, at the beginning of this pregnancy all I ever did was pray and pray and pray that we would make it this far, I never even thought to ask Him to make the pregnancy easy.

So really, He's answered all my prayers, and I just keep praying that He would help me focus on Him. Because really, trust me, I'm a better human when I do. I really am. :)

On a different note, I finally bought myself a pair of maternity pants! I had to call my Blair to make it was ok, because it feels like a lot of money, but I do miss wearing jeans, and my regular ones really aren't very comfortable. But these suckers! Oh man! Why don't we wear pants like these all the time?! I'm not kidding...I'm gonna wear them after I'm pregnant, I know it. I really am. :) I also bought a size down from what I normally buy...one, because I couldn't find my "normal" size, and two, because these fit very well. It was....it's nice. It's not the WAY I wanted to lose weight (sometimes, I feel like I'm bulimic... to a point where I need to go the Dentist to make sure my teeth are ok..yipes!!!) but you know, it's kinda a blessing, and I will take those where I can get them.

Momma's Birthday

Shhh, don't tell anyone, but my Mommy turned 50 years old last weekend! Almost a week ago we celebrated the life of one of the best woman I will ever and have ever known. My dad planned a surprise party for her, because well, my family loves to surprise one another, it's a thing we like to do. We're famous for it.

It was an amazing gathering, and my mom cried like a baby, because she likes to cry. We're criers to, me and my Mommy. You tell us something nice, we will cry. You give either one of us a surprise party we'll cry. There are many reasons why we cry, usually its because we're so overwhelmed that's the only way we can express ourselves. She cried when she saw videos of her other kids and her grand kids  She cried when she got gifts. And she kissed my father, and it was adorable.

I love my Mommy, and if I grow up to be even a little bit like her, I'll be on a good route. As Proverbs 31 says, her children do indeed call her blessed.

²⁹