3

Seasons and surrender.

Today at the library I checked out a book on color schemes. We’re finally starting to decorate our house, and I’m loving how it’s coming along. The furniture, the colors, the textures. Everything says ‘cozy,’ and it’s becoming a place I’m proud of and a place I want to be.

Of course, with all of the changes, there’s this voice in the back of my head reminding me of the very real chance that in two years the army may decide to relocate us. If not, then my husband only has two more years before he retires, and then who knows where we’ll end up.

So tonight, as I’m cuddling with my main men in bed, my mind wanders – when it’s time to move on, what will I miss most about this house? And the answer is immediate: this is where we brought home our baby.

Suddenly, I want to go back in time and undo all of the changes we’ve made.  Here I am, correcting all of the ‘imperfections’ in my environment, not realizing that one day I will look back and associate them with September 1st, 2013 – the day our lives gained another level of purpose.

Yes, I want to be comfortable in the house I’m living in. But I wish I had at least documented the way things were before. Was it pretty? No. But it was a symbol of that chapter of our lives.

I know exactly how I will picture it in my brain forever:

The post-baby-hibernation-mess that happens when you haven’t left the house for weeks because you’re learning how to care for another human being. (Burp cloths stashed in every corner!)

The embrace of stillness as my universe, all 7 lbs 12 oz of it, rested peacefully on my chest.

The ever-present dim lighting, making it feel like it was always a varying degree of nighttime.

Maneuvering through laundry piles to rescue a distressed newborn at three in the morning.

The rigid tension in the air those nights he refused to sleep and I thought it might kill me.

I’ve heard women comment, occasionally, on their fear that they won’t be able to love their second baby as much as their first. At the time, I remember thinking something like, “Well that’s just silly! Of course you’d love your second as much, right? Isn’t that innate?” But now, I understand. Kenneth and I, we’re battle buddies. We learned something scary and new together. We figured each other out, and he was patient with me as I knocked down the walls that allowed me to meet his emotional needs. Now we have this bond, this crazy-insane bond, and I can’t imagine what it would take to build something similar with number two – to be honest, I can’t imagine why I’d invite another family member into this nicely-balanced triad we have going. Gosh, that sounds so mean! (Future second child, I apologize to you!)

But I digress. I suppose what I’m trying to say is, time goes by so fast. Before you know what’s happening, your walls are a different color. And ya know what happens next? You’re packing up the house you brought your baby home to and moving across the country.

During the aforementioned cuddle session with my boys, I had my hand on Kenneth’s little foot, and as he startled he brushed my hand with the toes of his free foot. I was reminded of the butterfly-kicks in my belly, before  I’d ever laid eyes on those precious little toes. Holding his little feet, I would have given anything to live in that moment forever. Or even to stop time just for a little while. Instead, I’ll go back to bed, and fall asleep praying that he won’t be all grown up when I open my eyes in the morning.

Aside
5

Disclaimer: A page worth of self-pity follows this sentence.

Does anyone remember Xanga?

I’m about to divulge my insecurities, which briefly took me back to high school, which reminded me of that wonderful web-diary where I jabbered self-indulgently about which girl had said what to me that week at school, and how long I’d spent on the phone with my boyfriend each night. Ahh, those were the days…

I wish someone had told me that high school isn’t actually so different from the ‘real world.’

I still feel like I’m being judged by every girl I meet.  Like it’s some sort of competition or something.  Ridiculous, right? It’s not like I’m an adult, or anything…

I just find it a bit outrageous that I woke up at 6 a.m. this morning to get ready for a play date. When I say ‘get ready,’ I mean I spent an hour and a half showering, shaving, putting on makeup, styling my hair… I put on perfume, for Christ’s sake! And made sure I had on the proper number of accessories. Needless to say, I put more effort into preparing to hang out with these girls for 3 hours than I do on a daily basis for my poor husband.

This is only the third play date I’ve been to, and the first was at the mall.  But the last two times, both houses of the hostesses have been perfectly clean, with candles lit, a spread of food – today’s even featured a Valentine craft.

…Okay, the craft was cute and I’m glad that we did it, but seriously!? I’m not Martha Fucking Stewart and I’m gonna stop going to these silly things because A) my son can’t even crawl, much less play and B) I leave feeling terrible about myself! Who are these people? Last time I checked, we live in Florida, not Connecticut.

Am I the only mommy out there who doesn’t always have a face and house and hair that are perfectly put together? Is it wrong for me to feel like I’m being ‘fake’ with these people? I wanna make friends here and everything, but I don’t wanna clean my house for hours before I invite them over!

Before I got married, I waited at least three or four dates into a ‘relationship’ before letting the guy see me without makeup. I am three play dates into this mommy-group, and still wearing a mask.  Does that say something, or is this charade what ‘normal’ people do every day? I just don’t know! It certainly doesn’t come easily to me – if you’ve read any of this blog, you know I have a vested interest in keeping things real. But I’ve never moved anywhere new, and never had to work at making new friends.

Days like today, I’d give anything to be back home and see something familiar. When I left the house this morning, I realized I’d memorized where the exits were between here and the next suburb over, and that felt like a milestone to me. Like this was starting to become home.

And then I tried to fit into this group of people that just aren’t my people, and I realized how much it would mean to me to raise my baby and grow my family around people who already love us.  I guess I took some things for granted – I never knew love and friendship were such hard work.

15

Who I am vs. who I’m “supposed” to be.

So. It finally happened.

I was on the phone, today, with a deceptively-kind-sounding salesman, when he said something that revealed the wolf beneath his sheep’s clothing.  He asked me what I ‘do,’ and I replied that I’m a stay-at-home-mom. This guy replies, “Ah, one of those ‘domestic engineers,’ eh? I laughed for about 15 minutes the first time I heard that one!”

Wait.

15 minutes? It’s not that funny. And not all that far from the truth.

Perhaps I was already on edge after reading an article that an acquaintance posted on the lovely Facebook (if you must read it, you can find it here). The gist of said article is that women who choose not to chase after a career for fulfillment are inferior to women who do.

Say what?! Oh no, she didn’t! (But yeah, she really, really did.)

So here’s this poor guy who’s just said exactly the wrong thing to me at exactly the wrong time. Only, I’ve never been faced with this situation before and never even considered how I would handle it because it wasn’t until reading this stupid article that I realized people actually still feel this way.

What a slap in the face. First, some lady writes some obnoxious article arguing that the role I chose to take on in my family contributes nothing to society, and then this guy, this stranger whom I have never spoken with before, laughs at the term ‘domestic engineer,’ as if to say, “Why on earth would you compare something that doesn’t require a college degree to something that someone without a college degree couldn’t possibly have the aptitude to understand?”

Wait, wait, wait… Let me give you some background information.

I got my discharge papers in the mail yesterday. My attempt to go back to school courtesy of the United States Army collapsed around me in the wake of a surprise pregnancy.  And BAM: the unspoken-of, not-so-happy ending to that story arrives yesterday via certified mail.  I am no longer a member of the military. My bonus? Gone. My GI Bill? Nope. That 97 I scored on the ASVAB? Doesn’t. Mean. Shit.

So the message that I’m some sort of failure isn’t just coming from all around me.

If I’m 100% honest, it’s coming from within me, too.

I am so disappointed in myself.  I am such an intelligent woman… I have test scores out the wazoo to prove it. So why the hell can’t I finish anything I start? Why can’t I be that person who powers through college and walks away with a diploma to show for it?

The truth is, it just doesn’t matter enough to me… And the reward isn’t worth the risk. What I’m afraid of (and I think many men and women of my generation can relate) is taking out loans, investing four to six years of my time, doing everything everyone has told me I “need” to do to get ahead – and coming out with a job that pays just over minimum wage. Or, worse, not being able to find a job at all.

There are five or six things I think I would enjoy doing, but the only thing I have ever known I needed to do, the only thing I’ve ever felt called to do, was to be a mother.  I know I’m capable of graduating college.  I just can’t bring myself to give so much to something that matters so little to me. I’ve never been a career-minded person. I’ve always felt most alive with family.

I don’t know that I need to justify this to anyone else. After feeling angry over the whole deal for a couple of hours, I decided Ms. Amy Glass and Mr. Salesman-guy can suck it.

Sadly, I do feel like I need to justify it to myself.

So:

Dear Lindsay,

You are doing something so very worthwhile.  If you need a reminder, just look at the man who’s closest to you – look at the hurt he’s suffered at the hands of a woman who should have made sure he only ever knew what it felt like to be loved.  This world needs more mommies.  Its children need hugs when they’re afraid. They need someone to take their picture, so they know they’re worth remembering. Someone who will stop anything she is doing at any time to make whatever is wrong, right. They need someone to accept them just as they are, wherever they may be. They need to know that, yes, they can make mistakes, and yes, they are still worth loving. Someone in their lives has to take the time to create opportunities for memory-making. Someone has to perfect the art of making a house a home. Someone has to be patient enough to recognize that even though all of the little things she’s doing can sometimes feel like ‘nothing,’ together they add up to something really, really important…

…Love.

I know that sometimes you feel like no one sees the things that you do. No one recognizes the value in the person who washes the dishes and does the laundry and makes the beds and cooks the meals. No one sees the sacrifices you make for your mission, your goal.

But God does.

Please know that everything He’s brought you through up until this point has prepared you for this, and you will not fail. This is what you were created to do. Sometimes you wish you were one of ‘those’ people, and that’s okay. Go ahead and let yourself feel that way if you must. But after you’ve felt it, let it go. You are right where you need to be.

Maybe the people you’ve loved will, one day, recognize just how much of yourself you’ve given. But probably, they will never fully understand.  And that’s okay, too. What you are doing has a forever impact. An eternal impact. For now, make peace with not always being able to see the big picture. And quit trying to change your ‘stripes.’ You are more than enough.

Hugs and kisses,

Me

3

Who needs who, here?

Happy New Year! Kenneth turned 4 months old yesterday…. I wish I could say that it’s gone by so fast, but truthfully, it feels like it’s been WAY longer than four months. I have to admit, there’s been a huge learning curve that I never anticipated when it comes to caring for an infant. Don’t get me wrong, certain things came naturally:  Showering him with affection? Done. Easy. Changing diapers? Middle-of-the-night feedings? Check, and check! He’s a baby, and he requires a lot of attention, but I love the crap out of him so it doesn’t really phase me. 

It’s the little things that no one explains to you about becoming a mother that get me.  How do you balance keeping a home with caring for such a small, defenseless being?  How do you deal with the anxiety of putting him down to walk away and do something else that just doesn’t seem nearly as important, big-picture wise? It’s been really difficult for me to let go. At first, I felt so uneasy any second that I spent not focused on him. I had to have him within arms reach every second of every day (imagine my husband’s disdain when I realized I was a co-sleeper, and he realized he wasted tons of money on nursery furniture!).

I just went out for a few hours alone for the first time this weekend. When I say “for the first time,” I mean for the first time of my own accord. My husband dragged me out on my birthday, so we left Kenneth with a sitter for a few hours, and twice we’ve had to have someone watch him for a couple of hours when we went to counseling.  But just the other day, I had this very sudden, very strong feeling that I needed to get out. I needed to take my ‘mommy’ cap off for awhile, and just be ME.  It felt so good to hang out with one of my girlfriends sans baby, and though I felt a twinge of guilt when I walked out the door, it was appeased when A) I recognized that I left him with his daddy, and I can trust him to take the best care of our precious baby and B) I felt like a new woman when I got home. 

Today, I discovered that having him next to me is part of the reason I’ve found it difficult to get anything done around the house. I left him in bed, turned on the baby monitor (which we’ve used, oh, probably less than 5 times since he was born), and kept it close by as I worked on laundry, cleaning, etc. while he slept. And oh. My. Goodness. I got so much done! It’s hard to explain, but when he’s in the same room as me, I find myself checking on him constantly. Even now as I write this, he’s sleeping in his swing, and I’m glancing over there every 30 seconds, then losing my train of thought. It’s like my “maternal instincts” have been in overdrive since he was born, and are just now starting to wind down.  (I’m glad I’m seeing improvement, otherwise I was going to ask my doctor for some tranquilizers at my next OB appointment! Holy anxiety.)

Re-reading this, I know I sound like a crazy person.  There are probably lots of mommies out there who have had all of their shit together since day one, but I must admit, I am not one of them.  I don’t know if this paranoia is related to my miscarriages, or postpartum hormones, or sleep deprivation, or what… But it could be worse, right? I’m certainly not neglecting him! On the contrary, he is so adored by myself and his daddy. And he’s such a happy baby, you can tell that he knows it! 

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4

Mombie Attack

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I apologize – I know these images may be disturbing to some viewers.  Sadly, I must take the initiative in raising awareness of a nationwide epidemic. The Mombie Virus is running rampant, infecting new mothers across the United States every day. Risk factors include (but are not limited to) mothering a child under 6 months old, being a stay-at-home mom, being a single mom, moms who have chosen to breastfeed, moms whose babies are particularly fussy/high-needs, and moms caring for a newborn as well as a toddler.  If you are a mother who has recently given birth to twins or triplets, you are at even higher risk – please skip to the end of this article and follow the treatment described there as a precautionary measure.

Husbands/new dads, the following are signs/symptoms that your counterpart may be infected with the Mombie Virus:

  • Walking more than 2 feet across your bedroom requires at least one good light source.
  • Upon asking your wife when the last time was that she left the house, she spends more than ten seconds searching for her answer.
  • She’s spent more than one week cycling through the same two pairs of pants (particularly if they are pajama pants).
  • You’ve run out of clean drinking glasses before she’s gotten around to running the dishwasher.
  • You’ve asked your cleaning service to skip a cleaning to give you more time to get your house clean enough for them to clean.
  • She spends the majority of her day topless, as her baby requires constant feeding (this is especially concerning if she has subsequently forgotten what wearing a shirt feels like, and has ventured outside half-naked).
  • She hasn’t had 4 or more consecutive hours of sleep in longer than 6 weeks.
  • She complains of ‘phantom crying,’ believing she’s heard her baby cry when she’s separated from him/her, only to discover the  baby sleeping peacefully once she’s rushed to its aide.
  • She seems consumed or obsessed with the idea of being the perfect mom, and has neglected her own needs in manic pursuit of this elusive status.

If your wife exhibits 5 or more of these symptoms, please execute the following steps immediately – Start by having her spend no less than 45 minutes in a warm bubble bath. Then, send her out the door with your credit card and a map of the closest nail salon and massage parlor.  If she exhibits all nine symptoms, add the closest DSW to the map.  If you’ve followed these directions explicitly, you should see improvement within 24 hours.

**Note: This treatment is only effective if you remove the baby from her care before sending her on her way.

5

Baby Love

Well, Kenneth turned one month old yesterday! It’s hard to believe – it feels like we just brought him home from the hospital. I remember, a couple of days after he was born, thinking back to a few nights before that when his daddy and I had been watching The Walking Dead every night and how it felt like that was a different life. Things are starting to feel ‘normal’ now, and this is starting to feel like my ‘real’ life.  It’s hard to remember life before Baby Kenneth – I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss my old schedule (i.e., no schedule, and unlimited sleep!). But I think I’ve definitely got the better part of this deal. Yes, things are totally different now, and (almost) every second of every day revolves around this little life we’ve created.  The truth is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I don’t know what I’d do without him, and can’t imagine life before him.

There’s this thing about parenthood that I’ve discovered – which also holds true for marriage. People tell you congratulations when they learn you are expecting, they smile like they’re so happy for you, they give you words of wisdom and try to tell you what it might be like.  But it’s one of those things that you can’t possibly understand until you’ve done it.  And behind the smiles of the well-wishers is all of the knowledge they won’t be able to impart upon you. The things you just have to figure out for yourself.

Things no one tells you about parenthood:

You will change consecutive diapers.  It will feel like a waste of money when you hear those velcro tabs sealing followed immediately by a sound indicating a 4- or 5-wipe job.  It’s not a waste of money. Consider the alternative, and thank God that you got the diaper on in time.

A shower becomes a token gesture.  Please, continue to shower every day for your own sanity, and so that others in your household don’t judge you. But accept the fact that many times, you will barely have dried off before you are covered, again, in poop or pee or breastmilk, or a combination of the three.

God invented the breast pump for a reason. So mommies can have 15 minutes in which no one expects anything else from her. So that hubbies can let their wives get a 4-hour stretch of sleep. And so that said wives can enjoy an alcoholic beverage on football Sunday. Cause let’s face it – after 9 months of watching every substance that passes through your lips, you’ve earned it, mama!

On the subject of bottles – you will feel guilty when you see your hubby put the ‘artificial’ nipple to your babe’s lips.  Simply recall the hours you spend each day with your darling at your breast – or even better, in the middle of the night! That should nip that guilt right in the bud. Also, you may feel something else unpleasant, and it may take you a moment to realize that it’s jealousy.  Yes, your child will willingly take his nourishment from something other than you.  Yes, your feelings might be a little hurt.  That will disappear the next time he falls asleep while you’re nursing him.  Nothing will ever replace you as his mama.

On the subject of sleep – you will discover that you need much less sleep than you thought.  There are parents who will brag about how their 5-week-old baby is sleeping 7 hours a night. Don’t expect to be one of them.  Don’t expect to get more than a couple of hours of sleep at a time.  But know that you were made for this, and that when your baby is up for 3 or 4 hours in the middle of the night, you will find the strength within you to push through.  And no one wants to tell you that you might briefly resent your baby for this.  Don’t worry, that’s normal, too.  It will pass.

Also in regards to sleep – no one tells you that for every night that it seems like someone stole your angel baby from his bassinet and replaced him with a demon child, there will be a night that’s almost magical.  You’ll wake right as you hear your baby start to stir, take him in your arms, and nurse him until he passes out, drunk off your milk. And you will follow suit – drunk off of baby love. Everything will happen just how it’s meant to, and you’ll feel like the best mommy in the world (and yes – you are!).

There will be times, when your milk lets down just before he tells you he’s hungry, or when he’s laying on your chest and he matches you breath for breath, sigh for sigh, that you feel more ‘one’ with your baby than when he was in your body.  Everything will feel ‘right,’ and you will know down to your core that this is what you were created to do.  These are also usually the moments you are overcome with emotion.  It’s okay to cry. You were part of a miracle.  Drink it all in while you can – you’ll never get these moments back.

In celebration of Kenneth’s one month birthday (yes, I’m totally about to become that obsessed mother who thinks her kiddo is the cutest one in the world. Except, mine actually is! :P) :

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fuzzymonkey

daddytummytime

cutestbabyever

babytoes

angelbaby

 

AND in celebration of mommy – cause I worked hard to make this baby, and I’m damn proud of my body for the way it took it like a champ!

Six weeks pregnant.

Six weeks pregnant.

One month postpartum.

One month postpartum.

Not bad, if I do say so myself! And that’s with zero exercise – unless you count breastfeeding (’cause let’s be real, sometimes it feels like a workout). If I didn’t have a blood clot the size of Texas in my leg, I’d say my body handles pregnancy pretty darn well.  Who’s ready for round 2!? 😛

 

2

Baby Kenneth’s Grand Entrance

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted, but my baby boy is finally here, and I feel compelled to document his arrival.  🙂

Starting in my third trimester, I had experienced period-like cramping every day, and was feeling Braxton Hicks contractions almost constantly. I’d been switched to heparin injections from lovenox to prepare for labor, and had been driving to the hospital twice weekly for non-stress tests to make sure my baby’s environment was still in good condition. On August 30, I went to my regularly-scheduled doctor’s appointment, and they measured my cervix between 1 and 2 centimeters dilated.  Even though I had lost my mucus plug almost a week prior, I didn’t read too much into this.  I’ve known many women who lost their mucus plugs weeks before giving birth, or been dilated at 2 cm for 3+ weeks before being induced.  I was well aware of (and counting on) carrying him to 40 weeks (although my perinatologist did say that they would induce me at my due date because with my complications, the placenta is known to deteriorate after that point).

The next day, I felt a gush of fluid when I stood up after getting out of bed.  It wasn’t a constant trickle like I’d read about with your water breaking, so I put a panty-liner in and didn’t think too much of it.  I told my husband what had happened, and he assured me I was probably overreacting when I wondered aloud if my water had broken.  I knew it wasn’t normal discharge for me, and it happened a few times more when I stood up after sitting.  After changing my panty-liner three times in three hours, I decided to call the on-call doctor and ask for their opinion.  She agreed that it was hard to say whether or not we needed to be concerned without checking it out, and asked me to come in.  Dear husband was not very happy when I told him we’d be driving an hour to the hospital for what was most probably a false alarm.  In fact, he convinced me to leave behind the diaper/hospital bags, and asked me, on the way there, if we were going to drive to the hospital ‘every time I thought my water had broken.’

Needless to say, after checking the fluid that was pooling up each time I sat down, the doctor confirmed that my amniotic sac had indeed sprung a leak, and that we would be having our baby almost 3 weeks early. And we hadn’t even taken the car that had the car seat in it!   Image

This is what a woman who is not in the least bit prepared to be a mother looks like after finding out she lost the 3 weeks she was counting on having to get ready!

Phone calls were made, grandparents boarded planes from halfway across the country, and we kept our fingers crossed that our baby would take his sweet time getting here, so that we wouldn’t have to return all of the jewelry we’d bought with September birthstones. 😛

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These aren’t pretty pictures, but I do treasure them… Childbirth was not easy.  I lasted about 3 hours into actual labor (they popped the rest of my water, which had been cushioning me from feeling the contractions) before asking for an epidural.  Time seemed to pass so quickly.  I was so, so exhausted by the time I started to feel the urge to push. I’d been awake for almost 24 hours, and every time I went to get some rest like the nurses kept advising me, someone new showed up to visit me in the hospital (note to self – next time, don’t tell anyone you’re having a baby until you’re ready to start pushing!).  Yes, I let my manners keep me from preparing to push a human being out of my hoo-ha.  Newbie mistake.

Once it was time to push, I kicked everyone out except for my hubby (which I’m sure my mom didn’t appreciate, but after everything we’d been through together during this pregnancy, I really wanted our baby’s arrival to be shared between just the two of us. A special time, so to speak.) Two hours of pushing later (Kenneth got stuck on my pelvic bone, and finally, my doctor decided to just cut me open down there to expedite the process) he arrived, at 7:02 a.m. on September 1st, measuring at 20.75″ and weighing 7 lbs, 12 oz.

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I had to ask Ken about the time after I gave birth later – I guess I was so tired that I forgot all of the details. I remember seeing him for the first time, but I don’t remember holding him for the first time.  I remember watching the doctor pulling him the rest of the way out, and looking at my hubby, and realizing that both of us were crying.  And he told me over and over, “We did it.” I remember asking if he was okay, I’m not sure why, I guess because he was so quiet.  He didn’t cry and wail like I expected him to, and the umbilical cord had been wrapped around his neck. But everyone assured me he was perfect.  I had to ask my hubby to bring him to me so I could see him, because I didn’t trust my arms to hold him.  My whole body felt so weak.  My arms were like noodles, and my whole back hurt, like I’d been using muscles in it that I didn’t know existed, and my legs shook the entire time the doctor was stitching me up.

My memory, at least where I am more ‘present,’ picks up again when we switched from the labor room to the mother-baby room.  The first time he opened his eyes, and looked into mine, I lost it.  With all of the scares for my own safety as well as that of my son, I never dreamed I would say I would do it all over again.  People told me it would be worth it as soon as I held him, and I sort of laughed at those people.  Those people hadn’t spent a week in the hospital with doctors stressing to them how serious their condition was, trying to politely dance around the specifics of when I need to be afraid for my life and call 911 should the blood-clot I’ve been fostering that’s the size of Texas decide to break off and head somewhere important, like, say, my brain or lungs or heart or something.  They hadn’t been giving themselves shots twice a day, or been worried sick about the health of their little one since day one due to a history of ‘spontaneous abortions.’ Basically, my body hates pregnancy, and these people have no clue what they are talking about.

Except they were right.  It was all so very, very worth it.  I would go through it all again for him, and more.

It’s funny, but before I met my son, I was never afraid of dying.  I’ve always believed in Jesus and in my salvation, and sort of even looked forward to getting to heaven one day.  Now I look at this amazing little boy, and my heart breaks at the thought of leaving him.  It’s hard for me to imagine that anything could possibly get any better than this.  I love him so much that it practically hurts.

I know this sounds melodramatic. I’m not always this super-sensitive (I’m blaming it on my postpartum hormones).  But there’s something about this kid… We’ve found out, since giving birth, that this may be our first and last child.  Found out, in fact, that my previous miscarriages were most likely the result of a clotting disorder, and that for all intents and purposes, my little guy shouldn’t even be here.  I think about the night, when I was in training in Virginia and DH was in Kansas, that I called him in tears.  I’d been spotting, similar to what I’d experienced with both of my previous pregnancies, and I didn’t know how I would handle it if I lost another baby. Didn’t think I could take it, so far away from home and anyone that I loved.  I remember it so clearly – I prayed with my hubby, over the phone, out of desperation.  I don’t think at the time I even really believed God would hear me or that He would intervene.  But the next day, when I woke up, the spotting had stopped. And I knew deep in my soul that this time would be different.  We’ve had some scares along the way, but indeed, it ended differently for us. More beautifully than we could have imagined.  And I wouldn’t change a single thing. I would do it all again – every single valley along the way that felt too deep to climb out of. And if he is the only child we ever have, he will be more than enough.  I will love him like crazy, with everything that I have.  It’s hard for me to believe that my life was so different, just a few days ago. It’s hard to imagine anything else.  Image

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“Hold me, hold me just a little bit closer

I don’t wanna lose this moment

Your love has covered me

And now I can’t get over you”