Be Still

1. Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side;

With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain.

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In ev'ry change he faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul: Thy best, thy heav'nly Friend

Thru thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

2. Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake

To guide the future as he has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

Be still, my soul: The waves and winds still know

His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

3. Be still, my soul: The hour is hast'ning on

When we shall be forever with the Lord,

When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.

Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past,

All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

There have been times in my life when Heavenly Father has let me know He is "there" and aware of me in very special ways.  Back in 2010, I documented one such instance.  It remains one of my most precious memories, because I knew He was communicating with me in a special way that day.  Today I will document another so I never forget.

Today, our church bulletin indicated that we would be singing "Have I Done Any Good?" as our closing song for Sacrament Meeting. But what we actually sang for closing is posted above. I don't know why it got changed, who changed it, or when.  But I know what that song is for me.

I don't believe in coincidence.  But I do believe in a loving Father and a Savior who love me.  And They love you, too.

So,
Be still, my soul: ...
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

Humble and Kind

I've had four weeks to contemplate what I wanted to say.  And this song kept popping into my mind.  Because when I thought over my 35 years with my younger brother Brad, those are words that stood out to me to describe who he is.  Humble and kind.  Without guile.  Chooses joy.  Hopes.  Keeps trying.  Forgiving.  Non-judgemental.  Funny.

The reality is that, though I was the older sibling (by a mere 13 months), he has always been my example.  And I will spend the rest of my life learning from his 35 years.  I cannot claim to understand why this happened; why it was God's will.  I just have to trust that I will understand in time or in eternity. 

Brad was my first best friend.  And he remains one of my best friends.  Forever.  And my heart breaks to know that -- for the rest of my mortal life -- I can't pick up a phone to text him something silly like "coy!" or "Sucky Judge Reinhold".  I don't quite know what to do with that.  He understood my humor, and I understood his.  After all, we grew up together and we did everything together for so many years. 

I'm so grateful he is my brother.  So grateful, beyond words, that I am one of the few who can claim him as such.  He wasn't perfect, but he was (and is) amazing.  Losing him now leaves me with sorrow and regret over things I could have done better. 

Like the time, when I was in Tuscaloosa, he and I got in a fight over the phone because I (in all my at-the-time-childless-wisdom) criticized some of his parenting.  In anger, I hung up on him and went to Institute class.  Where I proceeded to feel incredibly guilty for how I'd behaved and for the things I'd said.  I planned to go home and call him after class to apologize.  But he called me first to apologize.  Even though, really, he hadn't been in the wrong.  He was like that.  He was always the first to say sorry. 

He lived in the present and hoped for the future.  It is why he fought so hard against the cancer that finally took his life last night.  He didn't spend a lot of time looking back at what was, but instead, with faith and hope, looked to the future to what would be.  Oh how I can learn from that.  For that is one of my greatest weaknesses.

Brad was selfless.  Brad never had much of material things, but he would give anything he could.  In one way or another, he was always giving.  Usually it was his time or just opening his home.  Which may not sound like much.  But when I first moved to Washington and had no job and no friends, Brad told me to come over to his house any time I wanted.  And he meant it.  How grateful I am for the time we spent together. 

I could say so much more about my beloved brother.  Though my heart is breaking and the pain is raw, I still know that he continues to live, and I will see him again one day.  And when I do, I will throw my arms around him and hug him tight.  I know he is now whole and far from the reaches of cancer and the pain that it caused.  And I know, because of what our Savior did for us, Brad will be resurrected one day and he will be perfect.  Until then, there will be a void in my life.  I know this.  I will miss him.  I already do.  But I know Brad is not that far away.  And I know my Savior will help me carry the burden of grief and loss.  For surely He has "borne [my] grief and carried [my] sorrows" already. 

God be with you 'til we meet again, Brad.  I love you more than words can say.

A Mother's Love

The past few days have been a little rough around our house.  Monday around 9:30, Corbin suddenly got really fussy.  He took an early nap.  In the afternoon, he was up and down with fevers and moodiness.  I was crossing my fingers it was just his big bottom molars coming through.  Monday night he fell asleep early in my arms with a damp rag on his forehead, because he had another fever. 

Tuesday he woke up happy and fever-free.  Yay!  And then, after nap...  It was back to the fevers and unhappiness.  The clingy-ness and miserable-ness.  My poor little guy.  At one point, he had a temperature of 102.8.  I told Jeremy I just wanted my "naughty" Corbin back.  Funny what you want when the babies aren't being themselves.  Tuesday night was really rough.  He didn't sleep well, and he and I ended up in the recliner all night.  At about 2 in the morning, he woke up burning up!  I didn't take his temperature, but he was hot.  I could feel his body through his sleeper -- including his little feet through the footies.  I ended up getting him water, giving him ibuprofen, and stripping him down to a diaper.  His fever finally broke around 2:30 and he managed to go back to sleep about 3. 

This morning, I wasn't chancing it again.  He woke up fussy (but no fever -- he was probably just tired from a bad night sleep).  Even so, I called the nurse and she made an appointment for us to check his ears for infection.  And what do you know?  DOUBLE ear infection.  The poor boy.  He was so upset when the doctor checked his ears. 

The rest of the day was a story in and of itself.  And I should write it just to look back and laugh one day about the regurgitating toilet at CVS that was repulsive -- and I ended up not letting Lynnaea use it... we just went to my dad's, since he is close by.  Lynnaea talked about that disgusting toilet for the rest of the day.  Or so I can chuckle about when I went back to CVS after nap time to pick up the prescription, but since I was focused on how I almost tore my driver's side mirror off on our garage entrance while backing out, I actually forgot to close the garage door :/...  And only realized it once I was at CVS.  Yeah, it was a day full of adventures.

But the real reason I wanted to write was because, though Corbin is feeling so much better, the evenings are still the roughest part.  He spiked another fever (not as bad as the ones yesterday) and wanted me to hold him.  And I texted my mom about how he has a double ear infection and that it's been a rough few days.  And she responded with how sorry she is and how she has been there and knows exactly what we're going through.  And in that moment, I imagined my mom as a young mother with young children.  I imagined her holding me when I was sick and loving me.  And I realized how much she must have sacrificed.  How much work she must have done.  All of which went unrecognized at the time.  I get it now.  I wish I had gotten it then.  But, just like a quote I really liked (from a book I otherwise didn't) reads:  Some lessons can't be taught, only learned.  

I've learned what a mother's love can accomplish, endure, and do.  And I'm ever so grateful for my own mother, who set the example for me.  I miss her.

When Life Hands You...

Sometimes I think I will never allow my children to enter another fast-food restaurant play place ever again.  Ever.  Never.  Ever. 

We skipped town the weekend before last (as in, not Labor Day weekend).  Jeremy went to Louisiana to help with flood relief efforts with our church Stake.  I decided to take the kids and run away.  Run away!  Hahaha.  In retrospect, I guess I should have just stayed home and gone to the library book sale.  Even though it was way awesome to get away. 

But anyway...  I try to give the kids a break from being in the car.  So I stopped at a Chick-Fil-A.  Because they have a play area.  And because Chick-Fil-A just seems a little cleaner.  Because last December, Lynnaea picked up some pukey virus, and I'm pretty sure it was from a McDonald's play place.  So I've been leery of those ever since.  But Chick-Fil-A has always seemed safe. 

Until now.  When my kids picked up hand-food-mouth disease from one.  Blah.  And okay, it's not the end of the world.  It's no worse than chicken pox, really.  There was a day of high fevers, and then a day of no appetite because it hurt to swallow.  But other than that, the kids have been fine.  Except for the pesky fact that they were still contagious.  For 7 to 10 days.  So we are still in quarantine.  For a couple more days.  My children may never see the inside of a play place again!  ;). 

So yeah, when life gives you (or your kids) hand-foot-mouth disease (and you have to stay home for a really long time)...  Well, then you just turn into the wolf-lady ;).

Because what else is there to do?  (Lynnaea loves to play dress-up.  Corbin likes to put these around his neck and smile like he's the stuff.  That kid cracks me up.)

I have done other stuff.  Not just don wolf ears.  I up-cycled a #10 can and organized all my plastic bags.

(that's the life cycle of a THRIVE Life #10 can ;)).

I've been reading.  And working on to-do lists that I can accomplish at home.  I've set some goals.  And I've been mama to my babies :).

 These were the rough days of fever and bad sleep.

But then they felt better and wanted to eat apples and peas!

Yep, some days being a mama is hard.  But it's so good.

"Oh Barnacles!"

Okay, so I've never been a particularly huge fan of Spongebob Squarepants.  I mean, there has always been something disturbing to me about a cartoon in which Mr. Crab lives in Bikini Bottoms.  I'm just sayin'. 

But I've recently discovered how oh-so-appropriate that line from said cartoon: "Oh barnacles!" can be.  Unfortunately.

So Saturday was another beautiful day here in Western Washington.  Seriously gorgeous.  Sure, a little on the chilly side.  But beautiful and sunny.  Cloudless sky.  Jeremy was not scheduled to work the weekend, and I felt like we should get out and do something fun.  Something different.  And so we did.

We went to the store to buy a Discover Pass (required for parking in State Parks now -- but we figure this has it's benefits, since fewer people want to pay for said pass and therefore the beautiful park is not crowded).  We also got picnic stuff.  We stopped at Lowe's for Jeremy to grab some stuff.  And then we headed to the State Park. 

Lynnaea had a blast.  (Well, at least at first).  We started out playing at the playground area.  She threw little rocks, rode the teeter totter and her first big girl swing.  She went down the straight slide.  She even had the guts to climb the ladder for the slide by herself with neither me nor Jeremy nearby.  Which sort of gave me a heart attack and I made Jeremy go over and stand near her. 

This was her first time going up the ladder -- and it was a supervised climb.

Here she is reaching the top and getting ready to go down the slide (Jeremy climbed up behind her and got her seated for the slide).  I never did get a picture of her sliding down, because I was always waiting at the bottom.

Traipsing around in the gravel, which she also enjoyed throwing and putting in the swings ;).

It was nice in the sunshine, because it wasn't too chilly.

Here she is getting ready to put rocks in the swing.  We had to convince her to teeter-totter.

But once she'd tried it, she loved it!

Eventually we started hiking down the trail to the water.  We took our bag of picnic stuff with us.  She wasn't as sure about the uneven, unpaved road, so she liked holding hands.  Until she got braver.  Then she wanted to do it on her own.  Little miss independent.

Unfortunately I didn't take any other pictures.  But here's how the rest of the story went: 

We ate our lunch.  We wrapped my sweater around Lynnaea while we ate, since we were in the shade and it was colder there and she was an ice cube.  She hated being wrapped in my sweater (I'd left her jacket in the car like a dodo...).  But we made her tolerate it.  Then we went out on the dock.  We showed her the water.  The tide was out, so we went down under the dock on the beach and let her grab sand.  And then, after we'd been down there all of 3 minutes, she ran away from Jeremy, tripped, and landed on a barnacle.  And sliced the base of her right palm open. 

Oh my gosh.  Blood.  So. much. blood.  It was awful.  She cried worse than I've ever heard her cry.  I held her hand to my sweater (which by this point was back on me, since we were in the sunshine).  I didn't care how much blood got on it.  In fact, I didn't even think about that.  I wanted to get as much blood off her hand as possible so I could see the wound.  But the blood kept seeping out.  Jeremy took all the stuff and hauled buggy up to the van (a very steep incline which he practically ran up).  I took her to the little bathroom (that lacks soap) and washed her hand off as best as I could.  She really didn't like that, though.  But she had calmed down quite a bit by then and was just looking at it and touching it with her other hand.  Which I discouraged, as I was trying to minimize germs.  We got some toilet paper and I held it to her wound as much as she'd let me.  And that thing just kept on bleeding.  Jeremy pulled up and we loaded her up.  She started crying again, because I drove home and Jeremy sat in the back.  And, being that she was so exhausted and now traumatized, she wanted to sleep.  And she sucks her thumb.  On her right hand.  Which we couldn't allow her to do with it dripping blood everywhere.  So Jeremy wrapped her hand with his sweater and held it.  She finally fell asleep as we sang to her I am a Child of God.  She got about a 10 or 15 minute nap on the way home.  And then we had to wake her up when we got her inside so we could clean her wound. 

Oh so sad.  We washed with soap and water.  It had stopped bleeding during the drive, but started again while we doctored it.  However, we were able to get a better look at it, and it wasn't super deep.  Long-ish (especially on a toddler hand).  But not deep.  We dumped hydrogen peroxide on it -- and she just kept crying.  We put antibiotic ointment on it and a band-aid and paper tape wrapped around so she wouldn't mess with the band-aid.  She wasn't thrilled.  But we managed to get her into her pajamas and I just held her until she calmed down.  And then we gave her a million treats.  Is this parental guilt, or what? 

So far, so good.  We've been praying that there would be no infection.  We clean it and re-dress it every day.  It's looking not-so-bad, and I finally snapped a picture tonight after her bath.

"Oh barnacles" is right, Spongebob.  My baby's first major wound, and it was thanks to a barnacle.  Not my favorite first in the whole wide world.  But I guess this is a welcome to toddler-hood for me!

And just a note:  she has been the biggest trooper ever since.  She doesn't cry when we clean it and re-wrap it.  She watches intently and wants to touch it.  But she lets us do what we need to, and she doesn't cry.  I think she's amazing!

When the Day is Long...

So I decided to make this a song title post.  This post has been brewing in my head for a few days now.  It's all about perspective.  And perspectives change.  Particularly when something that was once merely a dream becomes a reality.  Like motherhood. 

I think I was once in la-la land.  From the outside, motherhood looked like a cake-walk.  And it was something I wanted so very much.  I had no idea -- none at all -- how much it would change me.  Motherhood is beautiful.  And I wouldn't trade it.  But it's also no cakewalk. 

Sometimes the days are long.  Very long.  Like today.

I finally fell asleep between 12:30 and 1 this morning (I'm going through some insomnia nights, which is crazy to me, because I'm an exhausted pregnant lady).  Jeremy's alarm went off at 4:30 and I am pretty sure I woke up.  I went back to sleep, though.  But woke again around 5:50 because I had to pee (another pregnant lady casualty ;)).  I slept about another hour.  Lynnaea woke up around 7:10.  And she was ready to get up.  None of this letting her chill in her crib for a bit longer while I try to doze for 15 or 20 extra minutes.  So I got up.  Got her her "milk milk" and retrieved her from her crib.  And she's always so happy in the morning.  She makes it worth it.  I decided what to do for breakfast (cream of wheat).  I cooked it.  We ate it.  I changed her diaper and her clothes.  I changed mine.  I brushed and flossed my teeth -- and brushed Lynnaea's.  I made a gooey pumpkin cake.  I started feeling sick and had to sit on the couch for a bit while I let my toddler watch Elmo.  Which she is totally cool with.  But sometimes I feel like a bad mom.  And I was just hoping I wasn't getting sick or something.  But maybe I just didn't have something filling enough in my stomach (cream of wheat) for the pre-natal vitamin?  Because it eventually passed, and I was fine.

She came down with yet another cold.  Blech.  So I knew we wouldn't be going to toddler story time today.  But still wanted to go check out new books at the library.  So we headed down to the library at 9:50.  Which means I had to convince my toddler she needed socks, shoes, and a coat on -- it's cold outside.  This takes time, believe me.  I load up all the books in a bag.  And the diaper bag.  I feel like the bag lady.  I remind Lynnaea to grab a spittie (these are essential accessories...), and we manage to get out the door.  I put the rent check out for the mail.  Lynnaea decides she doesn't want me to carry her down the stairs, but instead wants to go up the stairs and around the building to the car.  I relent, because I'm already heavy-laden with books and such.  And she's almost 30 pounds.  So we walk up the steps, down a couple steps, and around the building to the carport.  I load her into the car and get in myself.  And after letting the van warm up for a minute or so...  We're off!  We make it to the library a bit after 10.  We return all our (18) books from last week (plus 4 DVDs).  We get our holds off the hold shelf and look for some new ones.  I let my little girl wander around the kids section.  Yes, I'm that mom...  But there aren't many people there, and she's not being disruptive.  We get our books and check out and we're back in the van by 10:30, when story time usually starts for us.  Lynnaea was not wanting to leave... 

We get home, only this time, I carry Lynnaea and everything up the stairs.  I feel old and tired and fat and pregnant.  We check the mail.  We get in the house.  I unload.  Lynnaea wants a nap.  I want her to wait until after lunch...  We're still adjusting to the one-nap-a-day thing.  But I know if I let her nap early, she'll want to nap again later -- and then not go to sleep at night.  So I do what the "good mom" in me does in emergencies:  I put on a DVD.  Sigh.  (Mommy guilt is a real thing.)  Also, we eat a piece of the pumpkin cake.  Or maybe more than one...

Then it's time to start making lunch.  Cheese quesadillas.  We eat, and it's now a little after noon.  Lynnaea wants to watch another Elmo.  Mommy says no.  She's watched enough for now.  But how about we read some stories to help us get ready for nap-time?  So Lynnaea agrees, and we do.  We read 3 stories.  Including one of her current favorites:  Wow! Said the Owl.  And by the time we finish, it's about 12:40.  So I tell her it's nap-time.  I sing to her as I carry her to her room.  I put her in her crib and she rolls over and sucks her thumb.  I remember I'm supposed to be putting her down in the toddler bed for naps so she starts getting used to the toddler bed (we'll need the crib eventually for this baby).  Oh well, maybe I'll remember tomorrow.  I go lay in my bed and read for 15 minutes.  But I'm so tired.  I just want a nap.  So I roll over, but my baby has spent all those 15 minutes coughing.  And I feel bad for her.  So I go in to see if she can fall asleep while I hold her in an upright position.  But that ends up being a mistake.  Because now she won't go to sleep.  No. matter. what. I. try. 

In frustration -- knowing she needs a nap.  Knowing I do too...  I put her in the crib and let her cry.  I figure she'll eventually go to sleep.  She cries for 30 minutes.  I get no sleep.  I only feel guilt.  Because I've never done that to her before.  Not for 30 minutes.  I am a terrible mother.  Selfish.  I finally go in.  She's standing in her crib, tears streaming down her face.  And now I feel even worse.  We come out to the couch and I hold her.  I tell her I'm sorry.  I promise never to do that again.  And I mean it. 

It's 2:00.  It's anyone's guess if Jeremy will be home at 3 or 5.  But based on the last couple weeks, it'll probably be 5.  But hey, there's over-time, right?  Haha...  Sometimes it's not worth it.  I sit on the couch and play with my baby girl for a while.  I know I need to get started on dinner.  On figuring out what all dinner will be.  By 2:30, I think I've decided on scalloped potatoes.  They cook for 1 1/2 hours.  So I need to start those around 3:30 or so.  I need to cut the veggies for stir fry.  I need to wash the dishes.  But maybe Lynnaea and I should make a smoothie first.  So I consult with my little sous chef.  She agrees.  So we make one (with kale).  And we share it.  And then I put on another Elmo so I can do dishes and start on dinner.  Yep, I'm awesome today...

I get dinner going.  I'm sitting down for a few minutes to relax when I notice Lynnaea is doing her plank stance.  Which means she has to poop, but is holding it.  So I say, "are you pooping?"  She says, "Elmo potty?"  Which means she wants to sit on the potty and use the tablet.  I know this:  she will probably not go to the bathroom on the potty.  She has already succeeded in squashing the urge.  But she wants to use the tablet, and the only way she can is to sit on the potty.  I give in.  Because I don't want to discourage her desire to sit on the potty.  Sometimes she actually does end up going on the potty and we celebrate and make a big deal out of it.  And one day, she'll ask because she wants to go, not just to use the tablet.  So I'll hope for those days and give her the chance when she asks.  Even if I know it's just for tablet-time.  It's 4:50.  She has 10 minutes.  If she does go on the potty, she gets extra tablet time off the potty.  If she doesn't, then her time is up.  So I sit on the bathtub edge while she sits on the potty.  Jeremy comes home.  It's 5:00.  And time for me to finish up the rest of dinner. 

I get everything in the oven (30 minutes to cook) and I'm contemplating washing the dishes so I don't have a mountain to do after we eat.  I also remember I have thawed pumpkin in the fridge and was going to go ahead and make more pumpkin chocolate chip bread to freeze.  And I wanted to get the batter ready so I could pop them in when dinner was done (oven's already hot, right?).  But then I look at my toddler laying on the kitchen floor, sucking her thumb.  She is nearly asleep.  I can't stand to watch her sleep on the kitchen floor.  And, honestly?  I'd rather she didn't sleep at this point.  I know she's tired.  I know she didn't nap. But I still want her to go to bed at a decent time tonight.  I pick her up.  I tell her Daddy will be done with his shower soon, does she want to play with him?  She lays in my arms, sucking her thumb.  I hold her on the couch, and she falls asleep in my arms.  I let her.  Because she is my baby.  Jeremy comes out after his shower and I fill him in on the day.  I tell him how I feel like I've failed today as a mother.  It's been a hard day.  And I didn't even do anything really productive, unless you count making food.

I lay Lynnaea down on the bean bag chair and she continues to sleep.  I make a mess of my kitchen trying to make vegetables and pumpkin bread batter before everything is ready to eat.  The scalloped potatoes have overflowed (which I anticipated) and when I heat the oven up further for the bread, the drip pan -- which remains in the oven temporarily -- starts to smoke with all the potato stuff that overflowed.  And the smoke alarm goes off.  We manage to eat dinner somewhere between 5:45 and 6.  Lynnaea wakes up a bit before we get everything on the table.  Her nap was not long, and not where she normally naps (in her room).  She is disoriented, and wants only mommy.  So I hold her as I try to get everything on the table (and Jeremy tries to clear the smoke out of the house).

We eat dinner.  It's a pretty successful meal.  But the dishes are mountainous, and I want to start washing.  So I do.  I dread the potato dish and the drip pan (which I should have prepped better than I did...).  I get about 5 dishes washed when Lynnaea almost falls out of her chair at the table.  (She likes to stand in her chair and sometimes doesn't watch where she's walking...).  She's tired, so everything is melt-down worthy.  And mommy is the one she wants at these times.  So she starts fussing and runs into the kitchen to get me.  I pick her up and sit with her on the couch for a few minutes.  She sits snuggled at my side.  Really, she just wants to snuggle, which is rare for her.  Jeremy comes and sits on her other side and she decides she'll accept Daddy so Mommy can go back to washing dishes.  I get almost all the dishes done and take a break to get a shower.  When I am done with my shower, I hear Lynnaea banging on the bathroom door, "mama!"  I open it up and let her in.  She is so happy.  I take a break (or waste some time) and scroll through facebook.  Lynnaea wants to sit on my lap and "help."  I let her.  It's after 7, and getting close to time for her to get into her pajamas and have her night-time "milk milk" and have a new diaper.  So we move into that routine.  We have scriptures and prayer and sing a church song.  We brush her teeth.  I give her a small piece of floss too.  Because she's seen me and Jeremy floss, so she wants to as well.  She's content with 3 inches ;).  We pick out 3 stories to read.  But that becomes 4.  It's 8:30, and I put her to bed.  I sing to her as I carry her there.  I lay her down and cover her.  I come back out to finish the dishes.  The "hard ones."

I finish them.  Finally.  I pull the remaining of my Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies out.  I deserve them tonight.  My baby starts crying.  I go in for her.  She is standing in her crib.  I pick her up.  She has only been in there 15 minutes, but she is sweaty.  Her head is soaked.  And her forehead feels cold/clammy.  I realize she must have had a low-grade fever.  Still feeling like mother of the year over here -- I didn't even realize it.  Her fever has broken, I guess.  I feel bad.  I lower the heat in her room and bring her out to the living room to cool down (her room is the warmest in the house).  She wants to read more stories after I snuggle her for a bit.  And then she wants to play "throw the ball."  I agree to the stories -- not to the ball.  It's bed-time, after all.  By 9:00, I am able to take her back to her room.  But she says, "Rock rock."  This is how she asks for me to rock her.  She doesn't always want this anymore.  So when she asks, I do.  Because I've already seen that these moments are fleeting.  I lay her down after a few minutes.  I am able to come out and have my "me time."  Jeremy is in bed already. 

11:00, and I hear Jeremy cough and then I hear Lynnaea call out, "No!"  So I go in to check on her, expecting her to be awake.  She isn't.  She must be dreaming.  So I rub her back and sing softly to her.  I don't want her to have bad dreams.  She continues to sleep.  I have finished my book, so I decide to blog.  Even though it's late.  And even though I'm tired.  It's been a long day.  It's nearly midnight now, and I'm wrapping up.

Yes, motherhood is no cake-walk.  I have felt a wider range of emotions than I knew existed since becoming a mother.  I have felt guilt and not-good-enoughness (there is a word for this, but my tired brain can't grasp it right now) like never before.  But I have felt love like never before too.  And joy.

The other day, I was at Trader Joe's.  They have these little carts for kids to push around.  It's still a little too big for Lynnaea (she has to reach up to push it, and her eyes are looking underneath the handlebar), but I let her try pushing it.  She loved it.  And everyone in the store thought she was the cutest.  One older couple, as they smiled while watching her, turned to me and said, "They grow up fast."  They are not the first to tell me.  I shared with them a quote I read not too long ago.  It is a quote that has really stuck with me -- and probably will for the rest of my life.

The days are long, but the years are short.

They agreed.  It's always older people who tell me these things.  And they never say it in that "oh thank goodness these years pass quickly" type of way.  I hear in those statements what they don't say:  cherish every moment, even the hard ones, for they are gone so quickly and you will miss them terribly.

Yes, the days are long.  And pretty unglamorous.  I make a million mistakes.  I get frustrated.  But I wouldn't trade it for the world.  And the years are short.  The last couple of weeks, I've looked at Lynnaea, and I realize:  she is not a baby anymore.  She is growing up so fast.  She looks like a little girl.  Where have the last 2 years gone?

And so, I try to remember.  I try to remember the unspoken words:  cherish each moment, even the hard ones.  It's not always easy.  But I try.

Lynnaea today at exactly 1 year and 9 months.

Lynnaea one year ago at 9 months.

Me today at 25 weeks.

Today Was [Not] the Greatest

It's a song-title post!  Like the first in forever! (I love this Smashing Pumpkins song.  I remember watching it on MTV.)

The good news is that the day ended on a good note. 

The rest of the day... not the greatest day ever. 

It began at 6:40 when the munchkin woke up.  I tried to convince her she wanted to sleep longer with me in my bed.  She was having none of that.  So we got up. 

And she was uber-fussy.  And I was uber-grumpy.  She yelled at me because I wouldn't give her one of my pre-natal vitamins (the audacity, Mommy!).  Yep, she's entered the tantrum phase.  And so we've started showing her that the only place it's okay for her to throw tantrums is in her room.  We carry her in there, put her on her toddler bed (which she isn't currently sleeping in yet, but it's a good option for her when she's not really being punished and can therefore leave her room of her own choice) and tell her she is welcome to come out when she is ready to not be angry with us.  Then we pull the door to (not closed, so she can get out) and return to what we were doing.  She usually comes out within 30 seconds. And so far, her mood improves just as fast...

She also yelled at me because I insisted on holding the cup with the chocolate peanut butter banana smoothie we were sharing, even while she was drinking out of it.  Because I didn't want it spilled all over the place.  We again talked about where tantrums were appropriate.  (Not that we are super-excited to have her throw them... But we acknowledge that she has opinions and she is her own littler person with likes and dislikes and frustrations.  We believe she has the right to express herself, but there is an appropriate way and place for her to be in a bad mood...).

Of course, maybe I should have stayed in my bed all day since I was grumpy.  Too bad mommies don't have that option.  I'd have gladly taken it today!

Anyway, I did a lot of baking (prepping for the Christmas goodies give-away I do every year...).  Plus I had a friend coming over with her kiddos for dinner since her husband is away for work and she needed a mommy break -- and her kids love rough-housing with Jeremy.  Plus I was making enough to take to another friend who just had baby number 5 -- and the first one via c-section.  So, I was in the kitchen a lot, and Lynnaea didn't like that, because she kind of likes to be played with a lot. 

And I'll confess, I let her watch way too much TV today.  In the interest of her being happy and me getting stuff done.

And we did blow bubbles for a while -- which she thought was great.  Until she wanted to hold the bubble solution and I wouldn't let her.  Then she yelled at me again.  Repeat the "your bedroom" discussion. 

By the time Jeremy got home, I was just not in the happiest of moods.  I was exhausted and trying to finish everything.  My house looked like a disaster. 

And my thought:  This is why some women choose to work and send their kids to daycare! 

And then I felt guilty.  Because I have, for as long as I can remember, always wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.  But some days are hard.  And, until you're in the thick of it, you don't realize there are really hard days.  Before you are a stay-at-home mom, you live in ignorant bliss of what that really means. 

So, I thought of my own mom a lot today, while I was being the complete antithesis of the kind of mom she has always been -- and the kind of mom I aspire to be:  patient always, loving always, generous and giving always.  Being that she is, in fact, human, I am sure my mom had her frustrations when she had two toddlers running around -- or even a toddler and an infant!  But I cannot recall a time where I ever felt like she regretted being home with me -- or wished I'd just go away. 

And so, today, as I had those thoughts...  I felt a heavy heart.  Shame.  Guilt. 

Because I love being home with my Lynnaea.  I love her so very much.  And at the end of the day, as I hold her while she starts to fall asleep, and I sing to her...  Or while I read her stories before we head to her bedroom, and she calmly and sweetly sits on my lap and barks at the appropriate spot in the doggie story (she says "woof!" every time I point to the dog in the book; so I point to the dog every time the story says "woof!" -- it works great, and we're reading together :)).  In those moments, I look back over the day and think, "What was so hard about today?  Why couldn't I just deal?" 

And the answer is, I don't know.  Jeremy says we just have our ups and downs... 

But even so...  I want to be better than this.  Lynnaea deserves better.  And so, though today definitely wasn't the greatest day of ever...  Tomorrow is a new day.  And I'll try again.  To be the mommy I want to be.  And the mommy my precious girl deserves.  True, mommy-hood is not all roses.  But it's a wonderful blessing.  And I honestly wouldn't trade it -- or being home with my daughter -- for anything.  Even if, for a split second, I think I might...

Uncertainties

I know how everyone loves the deeply personal, right?  The real life.  The nitty gritty. 

Some people may not approve of my openness about things.  I'm okay with that.  Everyone has their opinions and feelings about things.  I keep lots of things close and unspoken.  Others I feel fine with sharing. 

Pregnancies -- or lack thereof -- are among those I feel fine with sharing. 

So here's the thing:  before Jeremy and I got married, I had a very real fear that I would not get pregnant easily (if at all).  And if I did get pregnant, I feared the high probability of miscarriage.

But then I got married.  And we got pregnant like right away.  I was so happy I didn't have to fear not getting pregnant. 

But then I miscarried.  And that was incredibly traumatic for me.  I lived in such fear that I would miscarry every baby I was able to conceive.  I felt like it was my fault.  My body had failed me.  I was afraid of going through it all again.  But I wanted a baby so very much.  It had been my dream for so long.  And so we tried again, right away.

And I got pregnant again.  Right away.  It was then I realized we wouldn't have problems conceiving like I'd feared.  And I breathed a sigh of relief.  Somewhat.  Because I still feared miscarriage.  And, at 7 weeks, I thought I'd had another one.  Turned out it was a blood vessel or something.  Because Lynnaea came along despite what I thought :).  And it was amazing.  Pregnancy was amazing and wonderful.  I loved feeling her move and seeing her move.  True, motherhood was a shock to my system in many ways.  And it took me by surprise and took me longer to adjust than I ever anticipated it would.  But I love it.  And I knew I wanted to do it again.

And so, when we got pregnant again in May without really trying (but not really not trying), I was again reassured that getting pregnant would not be difficult for us.  3 pregnancies as soon as we "tried" made for great statistics. 

But then I miscarried again.

We felt certain we'd be pregnant again, though.  As soon as my body went through a regular cycle and we tried again. 

...But we didn't get pregnant that month.  Or the next.  And not this month either. 

And, yeah, I know it doesn't always happen right away...  But for us, three times, it did.  And now... Nothing.

Will life be miserable if we do not have more children?  No.  We are incredibly blessed with our sweet Lynnaea.  In fact, I often wonder if we aren't being spoiled by what a mellow baby/toddler she is and our next kiddo will be the opposite ;).

But I have always wanted to be a mother of more than one.  I want Lynnaea to have siblings. 

And so, with 3 months in a row being unsuccessful (though when I say we are trying, I don't mean we are taking temperatures and being all scientific about it) after a miscarriage; and knowing I am getting older...  Well, I am starting to be a little worried. 

It makes me sad to think we may never open up those boxes of infant clothes again.  Or that I bought a bumbo from a friend after Lynnaea was too old for it for nothing, because we'll never have a baby to put in it again.  I don't want to give away all our baby stuff one day, knowing we had hoped for more babies but didn't get them in this life.

...But many women have that happen.  And who am I to think I shouldn't be one of them? 

So, I'm not giving up hope.  Just sharing my thoughts.  We are very blessed.  Lynnaea is amazing and I love her so incredibly.  I hope to give her a brother or sister (or both ;)) one day.  But if not...

It'll be okay.  Even if it will be sad.

Of Things That Matter

Well, because I tend to put blogging to the side often, I don't keep quite as up-to-date as I used to with things.  But there have been quite a few things going on.  And some of them are of great significance.  Especially to me.

We were expecting a baby earlier in May.  We found out for sure on a Tuesday.  But we lost the baby on Friday of the same week.  We hadn't originally planned to get pregnant again quite so soon.  But we knew it could happen.  And we were excited when it did.  Imagining how things would be.  With two munchkins running around.  But it just wasn't meant to be right now.  And though it was still so new (I was only 5 weeks on the day I miscarried), it was sad to lose the baby.  In fact, I was so emotional that day, I started crying outside of the JoAnn's store because I didn't realize I could use two coupons and ended up spending $5 more than I needed to.  Dumb reason to cry?  Yeah, probably.  But I was emotional.  And I think I wasn't really crying about the $5 anyway.

I'm grateful I took the picture of the pregnancy test.  Because though we won't hold this baby in this life, I know there was a life growing inside of me, even if only for a very short time.  And I'm grateful to have picture evidence.

The truth is, I'd planned to tell everyone about the pregnancy earlier than we did with Lynnaea.  Though I knew there was the possibility of miscarriage (because it happened before), a part of me had decided I wanted to share joyful news, no matter what the end result was.  The reason is because we thought we'd lost Lynnaea, just like we lost the first baby.  It ended up being a broken blood vessel that time.  But even so.  We thought, at 7 weeks, we'd lost her.  And if we had...  Well, no one would have known.  Because we waited until after I was 13 weeks along to tell anyone.  And I guess, for some, they prefer it that way.  And I respect that.  I also understand that.  I've done things both ways now.  But I decided from here on out, I want to celebrate the blessing of life.  Even if it ends up being hard later on.  Because there is always hope, until there isn't.  And even then, I think there's still hope.  Just a different kind.  So, I was planning to share our news sooner than later.  But I hadn't decided how I wanted to do that, and then it was too late.  And so I sat on the news for a bit.  Contemplating if I wanted to share it at this point or not.  And I decided I do.  Because, for a short time, I was going to have another baby.  And that is a blessing.  Babies are blessings and miracles.  And, as one of my new favorite quotes states:  "Each new life, no matter how brief, forever changes the world." 

In other news...  My Lynnaea looks like the picture above when she wants the camera and I don't give it to her.  She does like things her way...  And she looks like the picture below when Mommy makes a less-than-tasty dinner.  Which you can check out here, if you feel so inclined.  I have to give her props for eating the stuff I put on her plate.  She made a face with every bite (and I wasn't forcing her to eat more than one bite, either... she just kept going back for more.  Maybe in the hopes it would get better?).  In the end, I gave her leftover macaroni, chicken, broccoli, cheese skillet.  She really likes that.

And this is how she looks when she's ready for church!  This was today.  Such a happy little bug!  And, by the way, she's pretty much mastered walking.  And she's very excited about it.

She really didn't want to look up at the camera.  She was more interested in playing with her barrettes. 

And as I write this, at 9:45 at night on a Sunday, my husband is over helping a friend finish the roof of the house they are selling.  And need to be out of Tuesday morning.  A friend whose wife (who is a dear friend of mine) is staying with her in-laws along with their two kiddos while he works on completing the house.  Because she is on a bed-rest.  Because she miscarried and then hemorrhaged over the weekend.  And because she texted asking for help.

And why do I include this?  Well, because.  Because I was having a funky mood day.  I was throwing myself a pity party about feeling old and ugly (because I do that sometimes...).  And then I was blessed to help a friend.  To serve them.  To make dinner for her husband so he would eat.  And it gave me an opportunity to get outside of myself.  To stop having a pity party.  To realize there are people with real struggles.  And sometimes that person is me.  But sometimes it isn't.  To remember that we are here to help each other.  It was a blessing to our family that they asked us for help.  It was a blessing to me.  And as I pondered all of this... pondered things that matter...  I remembered another quote I found years ago.  A quote I've saved and I've loved.  We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another. -- Lucretius.  Oh how I realize more and more each day how true this is.  How much we need each other.  How grateful I am for a good husband who drops everything and goes to help a friend in need.  On days like this, he is my hero.

And it made me grateful, too, for our church congregation.  Because a call for help has gone out.  And I am beyond positive tomorrow will find many helping hands at that house, cleaning and finishing the packing, and helping this wonderful family we love so much so that they can meet their deadline.  What a blessing it all is. 

Flashing Back

Do you ever look back at your blog (if you have one) and see what you were doing this time last year, and the year before, and the year before?

I do.

Probably because I'm way too salty.

Be that as it may.  I do. 

Most of the time, I realize I have become a way boring person.  Because nothing like this happens to me now-a-days.  And I don't plan things like this anymore. 

I don't even write the way I used to. (This one just cracked me up! I'd forgotten about this...)

But sometimes when I look back in the past, I read something I wrote that helps me in the present.  And it makes me super glad I have kept this blog.

The truth is, I'm still going through a rough time.  And I'm hating it.  I'm tired of growing.  I'm tired of the "Refiner's Fire," if that's what this time in my life is. 

My hair is falling out again (pregnancy hormones helped new stuff to grow... but now the new growth is going bye-bye).  Kind of reminds me of some really depressing days in Tuscaloosa.

And I feel absolutely no motivation to lose the rest of the baby weight.  In fact, I think I've gained about 5 pounds back.  Yay me. 

And there are other things that are not so superficial and are more eternally significant.  But that's all I'll say about that.

My trip to Alabama can't come soon enough. 

Don't get me wrong.  It's not motherhood that's bugging me.  I love being Lynnaea's mom.  She is where I find my joy.  The rest of life right now is just me plodding.  And trying to re-apply the lesson I learned from my first year of growing tomatoes.  It's where the hope is.

*The camera is in Lynnaea's room, and she's down for the night.  So I'm not going in there for the camera.  But there will be more cute pictures of my cute sweetheart coming soon!

**It's true that my problems are probably very small compared with those of others...  I'm just venting.

The Pit of Despair

...Don't even think about trying to escape.

Quick!  Name that movie line!

Seriously, though...  That's where it's felt like I've been living for the past two and a half months, up until about a week ago.  It's why my blog has gone largely ignored (save for mostly picture posts for my dad).  I'm happy to say I think I've managed to claw my way out of that pit now.  And I know the strength to do so did not come from me.  I'm thankful for the blessings and strength that have come from Heavenly Father -- sometimes in the form of people who care about me, sometimes in just a boost of sheer willpower from within.  But they have come.  And I have learned.

Pregnancy was easy for me.  The beginning of motherhood... not so much.  I had a pretty healthy dose of post-partum depression.  Not the "I want to hurt myself or my baby" type.  Just the "I feel like a failure at everything" type.  I cried a lot.  I made huge mountains out of little molehills.  I cried a lot more.  I worried incessantly.  And cried some more.  (Okay, so I still haven't conquered the whole "worrying" thing... But that's always been a part of me).  I really came to dislike who I was.  And so I cried even more.

But here's what I've learned:

Motherhood is hard.  It's not for wimps.  And it leaves no room for selfishness.  It made me examine myself and who I am -- and who I want to be.  I realized quickly that I have been a person quite prone to selfishness.  And so, for the first two weeks of motherhood, I struggled immensely.  I realized my identity had changed.  I could no longer plan on just doing whatever I wanted to.  Because everything I did, and everywhere I would go, would include a little girl.  I lacked sleep, I was dealing with a lot of pain, and as I looked at pictures of me I have around the house, it was like I was looking at a stranger.  I couldn't remember being the person in those pictures anymore.  It felt like I was looking at someone else.  And I began to wonder why we wanted to have a baby.  Which, by the way, leads to an incredible amount of guilt (at least for me).  How could I feel those things about this precious spirit that we wanted so desperately and were so blessed to receive?  I felt ungrateful.  I felt like a horrible person.  And I felt like a miserable mother to a precious child who deserved so much more than me for a mother.  I frequently asked Heavenly Father what He had been thinking -- sending one of His sweet spirits to someone such as I.  I felt sorry for Lynnaea for having me as her mother.

But I loved her.  I love her.  She is amazing.  And though I still think she deserves better than me, I am so grateful she is mine.  And I'm thankful that Heavenly Father entrusted her to me (and Jeremy) to love and cherish.  And I want to be the mommy she deserves.  I want to be a good example to her, so she can grow up strong and confident and selfless.  I want her to be better than I was...  Better than I am.  And so I will work to be who I need to be for her. 

And call me stupid, but I was unprepared for how adding a child would impact our marriage.  I naively thought we would be unaffected.  Hahaha...  Wow.  After a year of marriage where everything was mostly blissful and stress-free, we entered the realm of parenthood.  And we had to learn to work together.  If you had asked me 3 months ago if Jeremy and I worked together well and compromised well, I'd have said, "Heck yeah!"  And you know, we do...  But it took a lot of effort the last couple of months for us to work together in raising Lynnaea.  Even at this early stage. Part of that is because I am a control freak.  I want things to be my way.  And, actually, Jeremy feels that way too.  And before, when we were married but still doing most things "our own way," it wasn't a big deal.  But parenthood is different.  We both have a vested interest (for lack of a better term) in raising Lynnaea.  She is a product of both of us.  And we both have opinions about what is best for her.  So we've learned how to communicate better.  And we're still learning.  And that was just the tension of dealing with working together to raise a child.  Added to that is the fact that our "us" time went from anytime we were both home to almost non-existent.  Babies are a lot of work and require a lot of attention and tending-to.  (That's a lot different now that Lynnaea has mastered night-time sleep, and she goes down for the night anywhere between 8 and 9).  So, whereas before, we didn't always make date-night a priority (because every night could be date night if we felt so inclined), I can now see why it needs to be a priority.  It is vital that we maintain our relationship and strengthen and nurture it -- and it's for Lynnaea's benefit as well as for our own.  Our marriage is the foundation of our family, so it needs to be nurtured and strong.  Thankfully we have a ton of friends and family who have volunteered to take our little munchkin for an evening so we can make sure to have our dates :).  Last Saturday we went to our favorite Mongolian Grill place while Lea and Chuck kept her.  Then we took yummy ice cream to Lea and Chuck's and enjoyed it with them as a "thank you" for watching our sweet girl.

And here's where my dad can say "I told you so."  When I would get on my soapbox about what he and my mom should do in regards to a few things as parents, he always told me "Just wait until you have kids."  You see, I used to think there was a clear and big fat line designating between hurting and harming.  And I don't mean physically here.  I mean those little things that you do because you want to help your kids; but sometimes you're really hurting them by holding them back or solving all their problems for them, thereby not allowing them to learn valuable problem-solving skills, etc.  For example:  homework.  If you give your kid all the answers, or "show" him how to do every single problem on the page by doing it for him...  Maybe you think you're helping.  But you aren't.  You're hurting his growth abilities.  That's an obvious example.  But there are a million others that maybe aren't so obvious.  I really thought I wouldn't be a bleeding heart.  But I was wrong.  Sunday evening was the end of a day where Lynnaea had only had one good nap all day -- and it had been that morning.  She was grouchy grumpy.  I knew she was tired, and usually I could get her to fall asleep by holding her to my chest, covering her with a blanket, and bouncing/walking her in the dark bedroom.  She wasn't having any of it.  She fussed and cried and cried and cried.  I started singing I Am A Child of God, which usually quiets her crying, and once she has stopped crying, she falls asleep on me.  Not that day.  So Jeremy came in the room and took over.  And he got her to fall asleep on him.  But the second he put her down, she woke up and cried.  Dinner was ready for us, and I knew there was going to be no silence from this little girl.  So I decided to try letting her cry it out -- though it really rips at my heart.  I told Jeremy I'd let her try it, and if she was still crying in 5 minutes, I'd go get her.  Well, she quieted down by then, so we started eating.  Within 5 more minutes, she was up crying again.  So I started the clock going again.  And so for 30 minutes she would quiet and then cry.  And you know what I was doing?  Sitting at the table, eating my dinner, crying.  Crying because I realized in that moment how hard it is to find that line sometimes.  Was I helping her or hurting her by letting her cry after trying everything I could?  Would it be helping her or hurting her to pick her up and try to get her to sleep again, even though I'd already tried it all?  That line seemed very, very fine to me in that moment.  And I thought about the future.  Will there come a day when Lynnaea comes to us for money to help her?  Should we give it to her?  And if we do, and she comes back again and again and again?  Is it helping her or hurting her to bail her out every time?  And it gripped my heart to realize that I will face these types of situations often as a mommy.  And so I cried.  Because with all my heart I want to keep her from all the pain and discomfort of the world.  But I can't.  And so I will know what it is to hurt because my baby hurts.  And I will have gained a deeper understanding and appreciation for my mom and dad, who have spent 32 years feelings those things for me.  And I know all I can do is do my best.  After 30 minutes of her crying off and on on Sunday, I went in and got her.  I walked around with her more, and she eventually fell asleep on me for about 30 minutes.  By that point it was about time for her night-time bottle, so I fed her and put her down when I couldn't get her to sleep on me again.  She fussed for maybe 5 minutes, and then she was asleep.  And that was the first night she slept through the night.

And now, as a result, I'm learning yet another lesson:  letting go vs. holding back.  You see, Lynnaea doesn't need me as much anymore.  Yes, she still needs me a lot.  But she used to require me for falling asleep.  And, though it was cutting into my sleep, and though I thought I was ready for her to be able to not need that, on many levels I cherished it.  And I was completely willing to continue doing that until she was 6 months old and I felt it was appropriate to work on the dreaded (for me) sleep training.  But she learned it on her own.  And so I am losing out on a lot of time of just holding her on me while she sleeps.  And so I'm glad that we had that time together when she still needed me.  And yeah, I suppose I could hold her back and try to make her dependent on me like that again.  But I don't think that would be right.  She sleeps better and longer when she puts herself to sleep, and that's good for her.  It would be wrong and selfish of me to stop that for my own desire to hold her close.  I need to let go when letting go is appropriate.  I need to allow her to gain independence at the right time.  I need to let her grow up, even though to do so is very hard in emotional ways.  The second night she slept through the night, I lay awake in bed remembering the little baby we brought home.  It wasn't so long ago, and yet it sort of feels like it was.  She needed me for everything.  And even though I made it a point to hold her when she wanted me to, I still feel like I took it for granted.  Because it was hard at times.  It was very, very exhausting.  But it was also short-lived in the grand scheme of things.  My baby is growing up, and as time goes on; she will need me less and less.  I talked to Jeremy about that.  I said to him, "How much do you need your mom these days?"  He acknowledged it was very little -- almost not at all.  And so I said, "But you see, Jeremy, you were once this little baby to your mom.  And you once needed her for everything.  And now you don't.  Don't you think she ever misses just a bit of that?"  He thought about it.  And I reminded him of when we were in the hospital.  The day Lynnaea was born, he knew his parents were coming to visit that night.  He called his mom and asked her if she could bring some food for him.  And when she came, she had brought a huge Costco-sized box of ritz crackers, some cheese, several cans of V-8, some nuts, and a container of home-made soup.  He laughed and said it looked like she was expecting him to be there for several days.  But in that gesture, I saw a mother's love.  Here was a mother whose son doesn't need her for much these days.  Hardly ever asks her for anything.  And so when he did, she went a bit overboard to take care of her "little boy."  I've seen that same love coming from my mom as she stops by unexpectedly, because she has the extra time and knows I wanted to get stuff done, but had a hard time when Lynnaea was so clingy.  She could have had that time to herself.  And who knows, maybe she got something for herself by hanging out with her little grand-daughter.  But I saw it as a mother's love.  And I realize that, one day, my sweet Lynnaea may be living states away and needing me very little.  And I'll have to let that happen.  I'll have to let go many times in her life as she grows and develops.  I will need to allow her to spread her wings and be who she is intended to become.  Even if it hurts a little to let go.

Yes, this journey of motherhood has been a hard one.  But they say nothing worth having comes easy.  And it is definitely worth having.  I have learned a lot already.  I have grown a lot already.  I have come to understand and know emotionally (and through experience) what I knew existed intellectually before -- and that is the unconditional love of a parent.  I was watching something the other day that had a character of a teenage boy who was mentally handicapped.  At the end of the show, all the teens were at a school dance, including this boy.  And this girl went over to him and asked him to dance.  And not because she was doing it as a prank or anything.  But because she wanted to do something nice.  And, though it was just a show, I sat there crying.  Because all I could think about was that boy's parents, and how he would be able to go home and tell his mom and dad that he had fun and that a girl danced with him.  And how that would mean the world to his mom.  Because his mom loves him, despite his disability.  And all she wants in the world is for her little boy to be happy. 

Well, another weekend has passed since I wrote all that!!!  And Lynnaea is now in her big girl crib in her own room.  It's just amazing how she's grown!  I love being her mommy.  She is precious and amazing.  And no matter how hard this journey has been and will be, it truly is a "never go back" moment.  I am forever changed.  And I love it :)!

 This was moments before she had a lovely poop that necessitated not only an outfit change, but also a washing for the chair cover...

 My little thumb sucker!!

 Before church yesterday.

 Waking up this morning.

If I Was a Cow, I'd Be Dinner

So all my life, I wanted to be a mommy (well, minus a couple years where the idea of an episiotomy made me want zero kids...).  And it was just a part of the plan that I would breast-feed.  For a number of reasons:  cheaper, bonding, healthier for the baby.

Life had other plans for me.

I mentioned a few weeks back that I'd gone to a lactation specialist to discuss ways I could prepare my body for breast-feeding.  Because of my hormone issues, I knew there was a possibility that breast-feeding would be difficult.  That I wouldn't produce enough.  But there was no way to know until I had a baby and was at that point.  So the lactation nurse gave me some tips to try once I was closer to my due date that would stimulate my body to produce and tell it, in essence, "get ready!"

I think it didn't help us that Lynnaea and I missed the "golden hour" right after she was born, since she had to be in the nursery.  But that may not have made that much of a difference for me anyway.  I was certainly nervous about the whole latching experience.  This is key to good nursing experiences, and I was afraid I would be clueless.  So once we had Lynnaea in the room with us, I talked with a lactation nurse at the hospital.  And then another one that night who brought us a breast pump.  And then another one the next day.  I was feeling confident that things would work.

But then Saturday, after we got home and I tried to feed her that night...  It was not so easy.  It was like we went in reverse.  It didn't help that my headaches were present if I wasn't laying down (and how do you lay flat and figure out breast-feeding?).  Plus my back was hurting really bad (I think a normal result of all the muscles I pulled while pushing during labor).  Things basically went from bad to worse as the days wore on.  It became apparent that the latching thing got harder and harder.  Lynnaea was crying all the time.  I was in tears constantly, feeling like I was failing my baby.  I felt like a horrible mother.  I was essentially starving my baby, because I couldn't figure out this breast-feeding thing.  By the time we went in for her well-check and another lactation visit, she was down 15% from her birth weight -- which is too much.  So we got set up with a supplemental system.  So what was happening was this:  I wasn't supplying enough for her, and it wasn't worth her effort, so she was less interested in latching on, and when I would try to feed her, she would just scream in frustration, and I would just cry.  So the nurse wanted to encourage her to see breast-feeding as a positive thing.  So rather than using bottles to supplement, we got this little system where we would tape a small tube to my breast and formula would flow through there and she would think she was getting it from me.

Plus we got a new routine.  I would feed her, then I would pump, then I would massage, and then I would pump again.  So basically all of this was about an hour.  The plan was to build my milk supply through these steps by telling my body, "Produce!  There's a baby to feed!"  Also, I started taking fenugreek capsules, which are supposed to help increase milk supply.  We started that on Tuesday evening.  I was supposed to see results in 2 to 3 days.  When I sat down on Saturday evening to do the pumping and ended up with a total of 1.4 mL (and Lynnaea was needing to eat about 35 mL per feeding), I got completely discouraged.  All that effort -- and for what?  I just cried and cried.  I felt trapped and tied to the breast pump with no progress.  I couldn't do it anymore.  It was like a glaring light was being shone on my failure as a mom.  So I fed Lynnaea through the tube one last time, and then Jeremy kept her while I went to the store and got bottles and nipples.  It was like a weight had lifted off my shoulders.  It's not what I had wanted.  But at least I didn't have to have my body's failure staring me in the face in that way.  At least I didn't have hope come crashing down every time I spent an hour pumping for, essentially, nothing. 

The irony is that that night was the first night I leaked milk.  Life is ironic that way.  And so I decided on Sunday that it wouldn't hurt anything for me to just feed her what I could and then give her a bottle.  So I did.  And Monday went back to the lactation lady.  I told her my experience, and she said that my body probably just doesn't have the necessary glandular tissue, but that by continuing to feed Lynnaea what I can, it could help increase my milk supply.  Plus it will help for future babies, since my body will be more likely to lay down more glandular tissue.  Plus this will help me be more comfortable with it for the future too.  And so Lynnaea will get a dose of good stuff (anti-bodies, etc) from me, and then her life-sustaining needs will come from the formula.  I am grateful everyone is very supportive of me doing it this way -- and so far, so good.  Lynnaea is still willing to nurse before taking a bottle, even though the bottle is much easier for her.

Yeah, it's not how I hoped it would be.  And if I was a cow, I'd be dinner, since I wouldn't be a milk producer ;)...  I just had to realize and accept that you can't always get what you want -- even when the desire is a good and righteous one.  I'm not sure what I am to learn from this experience, but I will say that I am so grateful that I live in a time when I have options to keep my baby alive.  At first, when I thought I wouldn't be breast-feeding at all, I had looked at nursing pads and started crying about the loss of what could have been.  Jeremy sweetly said, "At least we feel disappointed only in nursing pads and the loss of breast-feeding.  It would be so much worse if we were looking at an empty pack and play, because we didn't have a baby to put in it."  Oh how right he was.  Even typing that here makes me tear up.  Our baby is able to grow and be strong and healthy because we have access to formula.  And I am grateful for that.  She has regained her birth weight now -- and possibly surpassed it at this point.  Her little cheeks are chunky and so is her little tummy.  And we like it that way :).

She and Daddy were having a great conversation...

Part of Lynnaea's room.  I plan to put a family picture on the right side of the picture with blue.  The picture on the left is one of the Savior holding an infant.  And the big one in the middle is the poem I cross-stitched.  She isn't sleeping in there yet... We are keeping her in with us for the first 2 or 3 months.  But it's pretty much ready for her when she's ready for it :).

Stretching

I officially have a new stretch mark.  Yes, I said a new one.  Because once upon a time, I weighed this much without being pregnant.  And I got stretch marks then.  Attractive, huh?  But reality.  They mostly faded over time and weren't noticeable.  But I will say getting stretch marks from being overweight is not the kind of thing you want to remember.  Stretch marks from pregnancy stands for something beautiful.  Even if they, themselves, are not beautiful.  So now I have one beautiful stretch mark :).  And don't worry:  I won't post a picture of that.  Haha.

So yes, physically, I am stretching.  And growing.

I think I'm doing that figuratively too.  Not by choice.  And I will be honest:  I'm not a fan of the growing and stretching process for one's character.  It's usually quite painful.  Without the details, I will just say I have had a hard few weeks.  I assume some of it can be attributed to the extra hormones.  I've read the books, and they indicate such.  I have crazy mood swings.  I'm more irritable.  I feel overwhelmed with some of my responsibilities.  I feel frustrated with people.  I feel "not good enough," not likeable, and not liked.  I feel like crying at the drop of a hat -- or when I get a text from Juliebean saying she wishes I was there watching "The 80s: the decade that made us" documentary (because I wish that too).  I feel like running away (and sometimes that entails going back in time -- impossible).  And then I feel guilt.  Guilt for feeling so woe is me.  I feel like an ingrate.  Sounds like fun, huh?  I will say I'm grateful for Jeremy who is riding this wave with me and reminding me that I can keep going forward when I feel like I can't or -- more often -- when I simply don't want to.  I'm grateful for how he loves me and bolsters me and encourages me and tells me that I'm a good person, even when I feel like I'm not.  So I'm trying really hard to push out the sad depressing feelings that are quick to attack.

And Jeremy and I kept our calendars clear this Saturday for some us time -- and a change in routine.  I need it.  I have less than 5 weeks until my due date, and 2 of those weekends are already packed full.  And the other two that aren't right now will have me even bigger than I am now.  Then we will be a three-some.  Our days as a couple are almost over, in a sense.  So we are planning a day together tomorrow, and who knows what we'll do :).  Maybe we'll go to the Cheesecake Factory :).  It'll wear me out -- the walking in Seattle -- but I think it will be fun.

I had another doctor's appointment yesterday.  All still on track.  Baby still head down.  My blood pressure still good.  Weight gain not so fabulous as last time (6 pounds), and, of course, that made me want to cry.  But I'm trying to just stay positive and know that (as indicated in my confession about stretch marks above), I have lost this weight before, so I can do it again :).  The doctor and I discussed more in-depth stuff this time -- like what I plan to do for pain and whether we plan to circumcise if it's a boy.  I will schedule the Stork Express visit at the hospital for next week or so, so I can get pre-registered.  Then it'll be back to the doc a week after that, when I'm at 37 weeks.  Appointments are definitely getting closer together!  I feel baby daily now in one way or another.  Not so many kicks, but lots of wiggles.  It does seem the baby goes into hibernation mode for a couple days where the movements are less frequent.  I think it's an interesting pattern.  I've also noted Baby is much more active at night.  I think it takes after mommy that way ;).  Baby likes to sleep in -- just like I do!

So since I was at the doctor's clinic, I ran some more errands in that area.  One of them was to get an actual maternity something for my baby showers.  I can't believe how expensive these things are!  I guess I'm just cheap.  But I wanted something nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt.  I found something I liked, and it was on clearance for $10.  It's just a top, but I can wear it with jeans and it looks dressier.  So I'm happy with that.  And I happened upon an awesome sale at JC Penney's!  Nothing maternity (they informed me they only carry maternity stuff online now), but all these kids' clothes for $3!!!  So I got some Christmas presents for the nieces and nephews!  5 pairs of jeans and 2 shirts for $23!!!  I walked the whole mall -- and it wore me out.  But it was pretty fun to find such a deal!

And so I have some pictures.  Sorry for the abundance of them, but I took a few this past week and figured I'd just post them all.

This is me at 34 weeks and 1 day. After a walk in the misty rain with Tawni.

This is the view I see when I look down -- at 34 weeks 6 days.

And here I am at 35 weeks exactly.

And here is my new shirt -- front view. 35 weeks 1 day.  Dressing room shot ;).

Side view. At least this makes my legs look skinny ;). Haha.