I'm sorry...how many babies are in there?

Yes, we're having twins. No, we did not plan that. Yes, there are twins on BOTH sides of our families. Yes, I took fertility drugs. No, I did not know we had twins in the family until after said drugs were swallowed. Thanks for leaving that bit of information out, Grandma.

I have been absent from this blog for 2 reasons. One is because one of the last blogs I wrote created a poop storm & burned my biscuits enough to take a step back. That was wrong. I don't care about other people's snarky attitude towards my snarkiness. Reason number two is because I was trying to keep the biggest secret of my life. I did ok. I slipped sometimes or just needed someone to know, so I told. I told more people than I wanted to. And every time it slipped out, I believed that it was a jinx - no, I don't believe in jinxes, but I believe in my crappy miscarriage history & how that has played out so well. I knew that people would ask questions (many of you did. So nosy.) because I had been vocal about taking fertility treatments. Naturally, people want to know the outcome. In all honesty, I believed if I told people before yesterday that it would like the other times where I'd have to make an announcement that, once again, my body rejected everything & I was miscarrying. Even as I type that, fear creeps in that it could still happen.

But enough of that. Twins are coming. In May. I laid in bed for about 5 weeks straight, sick as a dog, but I am feeling much more like myself these days. Yes, I am excited. Yes, I am utterly terrified. When we made the announcement, the reality of what life is going to be like, the reality that there are TWO growing babies inside of me, the reality that I am going to be as big as a barn hit me like a ton of bricks. And I sobbed. Hard. For 24 hours. The kind words, the texts, the offers of help & encouragement were overwhelming. I'm not confident that I can do this. In fact, most days, I'm sure I can't, but that's neither here nor there any longer. I don't have a choice. I have to do this. And I have to be good at it.

Now that my slight freak out is over, the excitement can begin. I have an ultrasound on Christmas Eve. My favorite doctor, Dr. P, is going to see if he can determine both genders. If he can, we'll have him write it down, seal it in an envelope & we'll open it Christmas morning with all of our other presents! Pray those 2 cooperate because what a rad Christmas present!

Thank you all for your kind words, words of encouragement, offers to help, prayers, love & support, and everything in between. They mean the world to me. I feel loved & supported like I never have. Thank you for sharing in our joy. Side note, you're always welcome to bring me a cookies n cream shake. Just sayin.

xoxo,
A.

5 Things to do to be Happier

Lately, I find myself unable to be too terribly happy about the things that bring me joy. Over the last year plus, we have had 3 miscarriages. Shortly after the last one, I had started having massive panic attacks again. On the flip side, I have an amazing 3 year old who makes us laugh all day, everyday. We have a home, we have a new car, we have each other, I have 3x the business I had last year with my photography. Things are good. Really good. Sadness, heart ache, and complete darkness just happen to be circling. Like buzzards. Waiting to suck me back into the black hole of an-Oreos-and-Grey's-Anatomy-marathon-of-despair. 

I wish that I could say that I made it through all of One Thousand Gifts, but I didn't. The writing killed me. I made it to the list. I started my own list. Then life happened. Hard. I lost my sense of gratitude. I was mad & frustrated, & I felt betrayed. Ironically, the betrayer wasn't God; it was me. I had/have forgotten how to enjoy life, enjoy the victories. The way that things appear now are "if this happens, then this can't happen." So, I spend my time worried about what isn't going to happen if xyz happens. Joy stealer. Happiness destroyer. My husband is usually the one to point this character flaw out. He's Mr. Optimistic. In the cup of life, it is always half-full. I'm not. I'm Mrs. Melancholy. Maybe that will change if some things change, OR maybe I could get off my white arse and find ways to enjoy my life in the here & now. My life does not look like I thought it would. In some ways, it has far-exceeded my expectations. In other ways, I feel like I got the short straw. That's my fault. I mean, the things that happened were out of my control, but how I responded wasn't.

After mulling over the wise words from my Old Owl (Josh) for the last week, I decided it was time to turn off Grey's, and try something else. Try having fun. So, maybe this is a reminder for you, but I'm preaching to the choir here. Most of these ideas come from the little girl sitting next to me, watching cartoons with her babies lined up in a perfect row.

1. Get off the computer & go play. Maybe you don't have kids. That doesn't matter. Get up off your rump, and go play. Play outside, throw a ball, play Monopoly with some friends. Go play. Do something that will get your endorfins pumping & get you giggling like a little school girl. Since installing wood floors in our house, Maddie & I love to put socks on, & go flying up & down the hallway. I'm usually the one to slam into the wall & hurt my hip, but we crack up the entire time we are flying across the house.

2. Treat yo'self. Not everyday, but maybe once a week. Treat yo'self with something indulgent. Maybe it's something big, but maybe it's just a $1.60 cake pop from Starbucks. It doesn't matter. Life is too short to be on a diet everyday of your life. Life is too short to be calorie-free, fat free, dairy free, soy free, gluten free, happiness free (unless you are on a special diet because of dietary restrictions). Not the happiness part, but the other stuff. 

3. Do something nice for someone else. For whatever reason, I can remember this when tragedy strikes or at Christmastime. It's easy for me to remember that people don't have enough when we are indulging in Christmas lattes (what is that?!) and buying gobs of presents for our family members. I'm easily reminded. But the people that don't have anything at Christmas, don't have anything on President's Day or Labor Day. Maybe you do something nice for a friend, but wouldn't it be awesome to do something for someone who really needed a little touch from someone who has an abundance? I want my girl to learn this now. That means I have to start NOW.

4. Take long, hot baths. Even my husband has joined this happiness train. The multimedia equipment that is required for his baths is slightly over the top, however, you can keep it simple. Get some bubble bath, a nice candle, a glass of wine juice & enjoy some quiet. Be sure & tell everyone that it's Mommy's quiet time. I'm sure they'll all respect your privacy & not bother you for a second. Pick a time when you are home alone or when everyone is in bed and/or pre-occupied. Soak your tootsies & enjoy the time alone.

5. Spend time with your loved ones. Stop taking breaks from them. We all need our Mommy breaks, but we also need QUALITY time together. Spend time talking after dinner; don't jump up immediately to get back to work or interneting. Do a movie night once a week. Pile into the big bed & snuggle up with a treat & watch a movie. In our house, it usually ends with the todd jumping around on the bed, asking to do something else, but hey! We tried! THEN, when the kiddos are down for the night, spend time with your spouse. Act like you like each other. Ask questions about their day, their job, their interests. A full tank begets a full tank.

Any more tips for being happier? Share them with me & the other readers!

Happy Sunday, peeps!
a.

I Don't Know Much, But I Know I Love You

My husband has an affinity for singing in a falsetto voice. It may be one of the most annoying + hilarious things he does. He does a lot of funny things. Like dancing around the room naked, provocatively to seduce me. He also does a lot of annoying things. Like putting his clothes ON TOP of the hamper. 'The hell is that?! He says it's so that I can make the decision about whether or not to wash it. If it's on top of the hamper, it was questionable to you. If it's questionable to you, I am going to think it needs to be burned.

When I got married married 6+ years ago, I thought marriage would be different. I thought we'd have sex 15 times a week, I thought we'd spend every night snuggled on the couch together watching TV, I thought the house would be clean all the time & I thought our child would never be the child who throws herself down on the floor in a fit of rage when she isn't allowed to get the damn toy at the register that they place at eye level so that your monster child will have a massive Britney Spears breakdown, and so, to save face from other judging mothers, you give in, & buy said toy to keep your child from screaming so loud & hard that they throw up in WalMart. 

Check out my Instagram to follow Maddie's #reasonsmytoddleriscrying series. New material everyday.

I digress.

Picking a spouse is a funny thing. When you fall in love, you have to GETMARRIEDRIGHTNOW. You want to start your life together, buy a house, make babies, buy the minivan to tote around your litter. The first year of marriage is easy. Blissful, even. He worked, I scrap booked. He was happy I had a hobby. We decided to get a credit card to help build our credit. In the spirit of helping us build our credit, I proceeded to spend $350 on scrap booking materials at Hobby Lobby. And he was pissed. Ummm, excuuuuuse me. I was trying to help our credit. #ungrateful

When you get married, you envision the more glamorous moments far more than realizing that, at some point, you will  be on the crapper, and your spouse will walk in. You don't think about watching them pick their nose at all hours of the day (sorry, honey). You don't think about cleaning lettuce out of the bathtub after your husband has stopped at Subway before his bath. You don't think about having a screaming toddler who is yelling, "STOP, MOTHER!" & looking at each other in disbelief that this is the precious little gift from God that you prayed for, waited for, & thought was the most heavenly thing ever created when she was a tiny, quiet, newborn bundle is now cursing you in her own toddler language because you had the audacity to tell her that she needs to go pee.

Time has a way of warping things. You change, you grow, you decide what actually are the important things in life. My house is messy. Yes. I clean, but it's less often now. I love sweat pants. And let's be honest, not wearing a bra is one of life's greatest joys. I think my precious husband thought I would get up each morning, put makeup on & dress cute. Bahahahaha! No, dear. No. Bless your heart, but no. We have been through really great times, and really awful times. You lose people you love, you lose babies, you lose your mind. Marriage is exhausting, but it's one of the coolest things I have ever done. It's way less glamorous & far more smelly I could have ventured to guess, but it's pretty damn cool. Who else is going to know that random things about you that no one else in the world would give a rip about? Like how my favorite word is brunch, or how he likes to eat Subway in the bath. Glamorous? No. Weird? Yes.

For all the weird crap that happens in marriage, the quiet moments far outshine the moments that make you want to smother them with a pillow, call your best friends, & ask them to help you hide a body. It's a weird thing, marriage. It's wonderful to get to have someone to love & laugh with, but it's a whole different ball game when you see how weird they are. But I love my weirdo. And for some random reason, he thinks I'm pretty cool too. He thinks I'm "pretty funny." One day he'll think I'm hilarious. One day.

xoxo,
a.

The Terrible, Awful, No Good Year

It's a cold, fall-like day here in Northern Colorado. This has been one of the most mild summers I've ever seen here, and it's been lovely. I didn't use the nice weather to my advantage so much this summer, but oh well. We can try again next year. With fall peaking around the corner, I cling to the hope that with the changing of the seasons, this proverbial season will change to.

This year has kicked my butt. One year ago tomorrow, my world fell apart as we sat in a cold, sterile emergency room awaiting results of an ultrasound, to which we already knew the outcome. A year ago. And you know what? I'm pretty pissed that I sit here a year later & not too much has changed. You see, I never wanted my kids to be more than 3 years apart MAX. I don't like that they won't be in high school together. I don't like that Maddie will struggle really hard with adjusting to a new sibling because she'll be almost 4. I don't like that my plan was ripped to shreds. I have a color-coordinated planner, dangit. There is not a color for unplanned detours.

The rumpus-kicking continued in April when I found I was pregnant, which should have been a joyous occasion, but I have learned that my uterus isn't as fond of this event as I'd like it to be. A week later, the pregnancy ended. I, then, watched my father-in-law get gravely ill, and battle a terrible pancreatitis attack. He was in the hospital for a couple weeks, and I did my best to get there everyday to see him and my mother-in-law. While he did recover, it was so upsetting and scary to watch. In the midst of that, we had more tests and doctors appointments to figure out what the hell was wrong with my body.

Along comes June. I start to have some weird issues in my legs, so I go see the doctor. To make this very long story short, about 2 months later of seeing neurologists and having MRIs, it's anxiety. Duh. In between MRIs, trips to Indiana to see family, & family members in the hospital, along comes chemical pregnancy #4...the week I am supposed to start fertility treatments. Can you say Xanax?

So, you can imagine how out of whack, hormonal, emotional, on edge, & generally ANXIOUS I've been feeling. And that's just what hit me: anxiety. In a major, ugly way. You see, I struggled with anxiety attacks (thank you genetic family history) from the time I was 17, and took anti-anxiety medication. I had been off of them for 2 years, & was doing fabulously. Hadn't had an anxiety attack in years. And bam! I am having them everyday. When they started to get bad just after the FOURTH chemical pregnancy, I texted my sister-in-law and told her that I was "just fine. It's been 2 days. I need to move on & get over it." Way to give yourself some grace, sister. 

Shortly after this poop storm of emotion, I get a hysterical call from the same sister-in-law, that my brother-in-law had had a gran mal seizure & drove his car into a building. Aaaaand, downward spiral.

Again, to truncate my long-windedness, no one but my husband, my mom, & my mother-in-law had any idea that I was in a sweaty-palmed, anxiety-ridden nightmare every single day for weeks before I threw in the towel & decided to get help. I was petrified to admit it. I felt weak, stupid, worthless, ashamed, embarrassed, vulnerable, etc. Everything you can think of, I felt it & believed it about myself. It took me a month to admit it to my 2 closest girlfriends in the world. I was so ashamed. They have it altogether, you see. And this proved that I wasn't good enough to be their friend because I was a psychopath, hot mess who had anxiety attacks that I couldn't control. I had shut myself off to the world. I didn't go out much unless I was with my husband or my mother-in-law. I was afraid and ashamed.

Seven weeks later, I'm doing better. Not great, but better. A wise person told me a few weeks ago that it is freeing to share this with people because this is part of my testimony that God will use. Right now, I can't see the forest for the trees. I can't see good in this.

BUT, I had another kind of tookus-kicking the other day:

Now, I obviously don't hate my life. This year has been a doozy, but I don't hate it. A lot of good has happened in this year, but it has wiped me out more than any other year. But slap me upside my head if this image didn't put life into perspective for me. Anxiety is the pits. You feel scared, overwhelmed, SWEATY, anxious, weepy & so ashamed almost all day long. Your only relief is when you're sleeping. But there is help for it. And that's where I can be grateful. I still slept in my cushy bed every night, watching tv with my husband. I still had clean, running water. I still had every luxury I needed at any second of the day.  

Maybe there isn't a pretty resolution to this, but that's because the story isn't over yet. Maybe I'll have resolution; maybe I won't. Or maybe the whole point of this was so that I share who I really am, all my flaws out there like a big, red zit on the end of my nose, so that someone else will know they aren't alone & they are just as crazy normal as the rest of us.

xoxo,

a.

Spring Forward

It's May 1st & it's snowing. When I think about the month of May, I remember the anticipation of school coming to a close. Teachers cared less, we cared less, & you could all but taste summer. It meant riding our bikes all day long, eating popsicles from the ice cream truck & being a sweaty, nasty, little kid mess for 3 months solid. So, after cruising the Caribbean for 8 days in 90-degree weather with a killer ocean wind whipping through our hair, I was mad as a hornet when we heard that snow was headed for Colorado on May 1st. Nonetheless, it's snowing & there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Go home, Spring. You're drunk.

I digress.

This post is an interesting one. I debated posting personal details because, as you all know, I am very private & don't like to share. So, it's happy & maybe a little bit of a bummer. No pity parties here - just life as it comes.

Our cruise came at the perfect time. We spent weeks acquiring summer clothes & shoes all while it was still dipping into the 'teens at night. I was literally buying flip flops & dodging snow as I went in & out of The Wal-Mart (Stacey). When a cashier asked what in the hell I was doing buying flip flops during a snowstorm, I told her we were going on a Caribbean cruise. She lit up & emphatically told me that she had done the same, & that the ONE THING I COULD NOT MISS OUT ON was getting my hair corn rowed by some locals. Sorry to tell you, Wal-Mart Wanda, I sadly missed out on that once in a lifetime opportunity.

The weeks ticked by slowly, as we waited for mid-April to approach. It's no secret that we want another baby, so when I was late & the 2 pink lines showed up on a test, I was excited. Cautiously excited. And from day 1, something was off. I didn't even make it to my first appointment the following week to begin a battery of tests & stomach injections. And while I was very upset & frustrated, we may have figured it out. It's my ovulation. It's "crappy" according to my off-beat doctor. So, we start fertility drugs in a couple months. I have heard of secondary infertility. I have friends experiencing this exact thing. I have handfuls of messages in my inbox of women you & I know struggling at this moment with primary & secondary infertility. I had no idea that I would have this issue. And Lord knows it's the exact thing that plays on your mind & emotions in that whole "I'm-not-a-whole-woman-because-I-can't-produce-a-baby-at-the-drop-of-a-hat." 

I wasn't too excited to be having a miscarriage when we were headed out on a cruise, but the cruise wound up being the perfect distraction. I thought about it only a few times while we were cruising, & only when it was brought up. Perfect timing. I'm bummed because I had no idea it would be this damn difficult to have a second baby, but I'm GRATEFUL in a huge way that we have a plan & a reason for all of this. And who has time to have a pity party & be UNGRATEFUL when you're on a giant ship, full of food available to you 24/7, white sand beaches & turquoise water?!

I have told very few people about this most recent miscarriage, but my comment every time is "there are worse things in the world." I'm not starving, sick, disabled, homeless, dirty or any of the other horrible things that are plaguing our world. I have the cutest little, pig-tailed toddler, the coolest husband in the world, whom I absolutely, stupidly adore, & a funny, wonderful extended family who make me grateful that there are therapists in this world. And I have hope because Jesus told a little red-haired 5-year-old that He was going to give me a "yellow-haired, baby girl" someday. I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that He spoke to her little heart that day. One day, I'll have the second yellow-haired girl we dream of. And thanks to Adley, I have HOPE.

a.

The Story of Our Third: Guest Post, Gloria

I am so excited to get to share another story with you that is not my own, but another Mama's story of love & loss. I love that people feel comfortable sharing their stories & want others to know that this is more common than we may have realized.

I met Gloria in high school. We were always friends, but never close. Gloria was our class genius, valedictorian. She was ALWAYS kind, always polite, always patient. Just a really sweet, genuine person. We graduated, I moved, she moved, but Facebook reunited us as friends. As I shared our story of grief & loss, emails & messages flooded my inbox with stories of loss from friends whom I had lost contact with, but who felt a safety in telling someone removed from their personal situation. Again, I'm honored to have been that person. Gloria was one of those who felt compelled to share with me, & then compelled to share with others. She shared her story on her new blog the other day, but I invite you to read her story here.

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2013, almost from the very beginning, has been such a monumental year for our family. So much has happened, yet I lacked the words or confidence to share our story until now. How do I publicly talk about something that is often kept a secret? So I started writing. Writing about my thoughts and struggles has helped me process all that has happened. 

When I had a miscarriage in January of 2013, I realized the story of this baby’s life on earth was over. No more unique pregnancy cravings, no feelings of somersaults or kicks, no gender reveal ultrasound…and the hardest part: no first embrace and kiss in the delivery room. I had only known I was pregnant for ten days, and already I had grown a mama’s sized heart for this little one. 

First, I have to give you the back story. Since being married I have wanted three kids, not right then or all at one time, but in the next ten years- three kids. My husband, Mel, tends not to plan this far ahead, he is way better at enjoying each stage of life as it comes, and not thinking much about the next one. Simply put, we balance each other out and give each other a needed perspective. So, when Micah (my second) was born, I waited to see if the workload and demands of two would change my desire for a third child. It took me a few months, but I became just as assured that I wanted three kids. Not surprisingly, my husband was perfectly content with two kids. We had a problem, and decided that we both would start praying “God change my heart or change his/her heart.”

January 3rd 2013- two pink lines on two different pregnancy tests. For those of you who don’t know what that means…I was pregnant! I won’t go into much detail about this part, but I was actually quite surprised that this was possible. Then feelings of doubt and insecurity set in - this is not when I planned to get pregnant; Micah wasn't even one yet, I’d have three kids 3 ½ and under! I stopped panicking for a second…maybe this was God’s answer to prayer - a baby in His timing, not ours. But then I wondered…what would Mel think? Feelings of doubt and insecurity crept in again, would he blame me for this? Would he think I tricked him? When he got home from work, I showed him the pregnancy tests and braced myself for whatever raw emotion he might show. He said “Wow,” studied my face, and immediately embraced me and said, “How amazing that God answered our prayer in this way.” Ladies, I found a gem. 

Upon finding out this wonderful news, we talked about how we would handle the surprise of it all and when we would share the news. We decided that we were going to choose actions that drew us closer as a couple. We were going share the news with very few close friends/family before sharing the news with the rest of the world right around 13 weeks or so….just like with our two boys. I think we both felt energized that this would be our last pregnancy and we wanted to experience it the best way possible. A few days later, I got my first cravings…sourdough toast with peanut butter and honey with green apple on the side, yum! Oh, and steak! This was my third and I knew better than to evaluate every craving- I just ate what I felt my body NEEDED DESPERATELY.  I have two boys and most of my first trimester cravings were completely different with each of them. Also, I experienced waves of nausea, just as to be expected, this happened at almost five weeks exactly with my other two. 

With my first pregnancy, I struggled with an intense fear of miscarriage. I was sure it was going to happen to me. This was my first lesson that there are so many things beyond my control as parent, and I all I could do was pray. With my second, I handled the feelings of anxiety better, but I amazed at how vulnerable my heart felt all over again. With this pregnancy, I decided that I was going to take every thought captive. Those feelings of how was I going to manage it all with three young children…I would turn those thoughts into prayers for God to sustain me. The thoughts of having a different plan as to when to get pregnant again….I would thank God that His plan is better than mine. The fear that I might lose this baby…I would thank God for this life that I had NO reason to believe I would lose. Sometimes I would have to do this hourly, sometimes every five minutes, but the feeling I was left with - OVERWHELMING excitement!!! I was going to have three kids!!! Naturally, I started looking on Pinterest and Etsy to become inspired as to how I would announce this baby. One week into this pregnancy I had meals in the freezer (for first trimester morning sickness and exhaustion), “Big” and “Biggest” brother tshirt decals ordered (one that would go one a onesie, I couldn't believe that I was going to be that person!), and weekly pregnancy photo stickers ordered. I also bought three pairs of sandals to announce our late summer (September 10th) baby. If you really know me, all of this preparation doesn't surprise you. At five weeks pregnant I scheduled my first doctor’s appointment and for good measure, our gender reveal ultrasound (I called too late to schedule Joel’s, my first, and vowed to never make the same mistake again). I was going to prove that I was not fearful of a loss by acting as though it would not happen.

At five weeks, four days pregnant, something felt different. The nausea that I had felt so strongly just a few days ago seemed to be subsiding. And that first trimester exhaustion that is UNMISTAKABLE? Yeah, hadn't felt it yet. Again, I decided that I was going to take these thoughts captive…every pregnancy is different. 

At five weeks five days, everything changed. I woke up bleeding and I knew. I could barely talk without sobbing that day. The advice the nurse gave me was to calm down, that we didn't know for sure if I had lost the baby already. I hoped she was right, but she wasn't  There is more to this story, but that’s another topic. 

This was the story of the struggles and joys during the life of our third baby. Our miracle, answer to prayer, and precious baby number three. You might think I was foolish to love, plan for, and schedule appointments this early into my pregnancy. You might even ask if those things made the grief worse…quite the opposite, because of those actions and my decision to take every thought captive, with God’s help, I enjoyed EVERY day I knew I was pregnant, and felt NO regret when this little life was over.

                         

 

Davis Benjamin: Guest Post, Aubrey

It has been a joy to to meet & connect with other mamas who share in the joy of mamahood with me. Equally, it has been a joy to connect with mamas who have experienced deep, heart-wrenching sorrow. I feel privileged to be someone they feel they can share with. This story touches me because it's every parents' worst nightmare, but I have the pleasure of knowing that Aubrey's story has a happy ending.

It is in these moments that we can connect & love other people with our own tragedy.The tragedy would be in not allowing these moments to shape us, mold us, & allow our stories to touch someone else's grieving heart, letting them know that, this, too, shall, pass.

Thank you, Aubrey for sharing. You are a treasure.

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Staring at the cursor blinking at me, trying to figure out how to start this story…I guess I’ll start from the very beginning so it makes more sense.


I was 17, and I was a bit of a rebel.  I pretty much did everything I wasn't supposed to do.  It was the summer after I graduated high school (yes, I graduated a year early) and I met a boy and he was in college (I actually had met him before I even graduated).  It was your typical 17-year-old relationship that was in a constant state of on and off - your feelings are much more than they really are.  You generally don’t follow what’s in your head or what you know is right.  Well, like most young relationships, this one ended and didn't     end pleasantly (that’s a whole other story).

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant pretty vividly.  I was at my best friend, Lori’s, apartment, calculating things in my head.  I remember telling her that I hadn't had my period for almost 2 months (yes, state of denial….).  She did what any best friend would do and dragged my butt to the grocery store and buy a pregnancy test.  I took it as soon as we got back.  My stomach was turning as I waited those 5 minutes already knowing what the results would be.  Glancing at the test it showed positive and I swallowed.  17 and pregnant.

Being 17, and obviously in denial, I proceeded to take another test.  Obviously that one was wrong, there’s no way I was this young and pregnant.  It’s not supposed to happen to me.  Second test: positive. Third test: positive. Fourth test: inconclusive.  Yep! That last one is the one I chose to believe.  So, I stayed in my state of denial a few more weeks, truly believing my period was going to show up any day.  When I didn't, I remember taking another test at my friend Cara’s house, and it was positive.  That was the day I knew I couldn't turn back, and at this point, I had to be almost 12 weeks pregnant.

I knew I had to tell the guy, so I called him and told him we needed to talk.  We chose to meet at a 7-Eleven parking lot early one morning.  I remember the look on his face when I told him: fear.  He then told me that he had friends who have had abortions, and I could talk to them if I wanted to.  I just looked at him, astonished.  Abortion was the one thing that never crossed my mind, so I told him there was no way I was doing that.  He said that it was my decision, but if I decided to keep the baby, he wanted nothing to do with me - this was going to be our last conversation.  An abortion was definitely NOT what I was going to do, so that was it. Done.

My second problem was telling my mom.  I waited and waited.  My mom called me one day, and started the conversation, saying she had a dream and my stomach dropped.  She said she had a dream that I was pregnant and asked if I was.  I paused and quietly said yes.  She told me to go to the doctor immediately because I still hadn't gone and I was already in my second trimester.  I made an appointment that day with my doctor whom I had seen since I was 5 years old.  As I walked into the office, I didn't feel well at all, feeling like I was going to disappoint my doctor too.  Thinking I was going to be questioned, “how could I let this happen?  Why would I let this happen?” Of course, my appointment was nothing like that.  My doctor was very understanding, and proceeded to talk to me about options.  That was when I decided on adoption.  I knew I wasn't ready to care for a baby at this point in my life, so adoption was the only choice.

Adoption is hard.  I didn't even know where to begin, so I started with the phone book.  Yeah...this is 1999, so Google hadn't taken over the world as it has now.  I picked the first adoption agency in the phone book,called them, and set up an appointment. I didn't know what to expect as I sat in the waiting room of the agency.  It was a small building, the people were nice to me as soon as I entered.  I was overwhelmed when they gave me a huge binder full of pictures and stories of people looking to adopt.  Every story touched your heart, and it was incredibly hard to choose.  I narrowed it down to 2 families, one who already had 2 adopted children, and one who hadn't adopted yet.  After a couple of weeks of debating, I chose the family who hadn't adopted yet.  They seemed very caring and seemed to enjoy life from the pictures and stories I had.

My pregnancy, for the most part, was very uneventful.  I found out I was having a boy, and the family I chose was very excited.  I had chosen an open adoption, so as soon as I picked the family we started to get to know each other.  They lived in Denver, so I would go and visit them every 2 weeks.  My mom and dad even came with me to have dinner with them.  They were just incredible people!

I was due February 22, 2000.  That day came and went. This baby seemed to want to camp out forever!  I remember swearing to my friends that I didn't I want to have this baby on Leap day (since it was a leap year) because the poor child would have to choose which day to have his birthday on.

February 28th was the beginning of a very scary day.  I woke up that day just crying, not knowing why, just bawling.  I chalked it up to crazy pregnancy hormones and thinking this baby was never going to come.  Late afternoon rolled around, and I realized I hadn't felt the baby move all day. I started to feel nervous, so I called my mom.  My mom was at work, but she told me to stay calm and call my doctor.  The doctor told me to drink some juice, lay on my left side for an hour, and I should feel about 10 movements so I did just that.  After an hour I felt one movement.

Something just didn't feel right. So, as soon as my mom got home from work she took me to urgent care.  As soon as we got there, I was hooked up to machines to do some monitoring.  The doctor was pregnant too.  We found out from the monitors that I was having a few contractions (I had no idea I was), and with each contraction the baby’s heart rate was dropping just a little.  The doctor didn't like that, so she made the call that she would feel a lot more comfortable if I went to the hospital tonight.  I panicked, but she tried to calm my nerves by telling me it was normal for a bit of a heart rate dip with the contractions. She just wanted me to get a little monitoring than what was available.

Off my mom and I went to the hospital.  I was nervous, I feared labor, and I was pretty sure that the baby would be coming that night.  Once we got to the hospital, they hooked me up to more machines.  My mom started making all the necessary phone calls to keep people up to date - my dad, the adoptive parents and my best friend, Lori, who showed up at the hospital within a half hour.  My regular doctor was not on call that night, which would have made me feel much better.  The doctor on call was awesome though (he will be known as Dr. F).  They continued to monitor me for about 2 hours, and the results were the same, but seemed to be getting worse.  Dr. F came in after seeing a drastic dip in the heart rate saying we would have to start inducing me because this baby was ready to come out.  They hooked up the Pitocen and we waited.  They watched the monitor for 10 minutes and as soon as the drug started the baby’s heart rate dropped below 30.

This is where everything got extremely fuzzy for me.  I remember the doctor and nurses start pulling out the cords from the wall and begin to wheel me away.  They said they needed to do an emergency C-section, and had to get me to the operating room immediately.  As soon as I was rolled into the operating room, they completely knocked me out.  Apparently, they had the baby out in under 30 seconds, but I didn't wake up for about an hour.

When I finally started to wake up, my mom was there in the recovery room waiting for me.  She told me that the baby didn't make it, and I just started to cry.  She knew something was wrong because she waited to hear cries as soon as they wheeled me into the operating room and they never came.  Once I calmed down,  the nurse’s asked me if I wanted to see him.  Yes. I knew I wanted to see baby Davis so they brought him to me.  He was perfect and cold.  I held him, staring at his beautiful face that was a little bruised from where they tried to resuscitate him.  I could see my mouth, I could see my eyes.  He looked like he was sleeping peacefully, an angel.

Davis Benjamin became an angel that night, February 29th at 12:39 am. He never took a breath.  We found out later that I had caught a viral infection (probably the flu) that went straight to Davis’s heart.  There would have been nothing that could have saved him.  I felt horrible for the parents who were going to adopt Davis, but what a support system they became.  They were there at the hospital, and then at his funeral a week later.  I felt bad for the doctor on call that day - it was the first baby he had ever lost.  He was incredibly supportive, visited me everyday in the hospital, even called me a couple times once I got home to make sure I was still doing alright physically but mostly emotionally.

That’s the story of Davis Benjamin, who was too beautiful for this earth. I’m blessed to still be a part of the adoptive parents lives, who have now adopted 2 beautiful children. I’m blessed to have my daughter now and have another baby on the way, though I panic through my whole pregnancies. Thank goodness for my husband who keeps me grounded during my panicking. Thanks Andrea for making me ugly cry during the whole time I was writing this!

In Every Season

"Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them." - Leo Tolstoy

In the time I began writing this blog, I have been touched & saddened to know the amount of women I know who have suffered a miscarriage. Our lives don't connect on a daily basis, other than a quick encounter on Facebook, as we watch each other's lives unfold. I have been awed & humbled at the depth that has been shared because I shared my grief & pain. I do not feel worthy of carrying others burdens, but I certainly feel honored to be told such things in confidence. 

I have people ask frequently how long I grieved or what to expect in their time of grieving their loss. The answer is that there is no answer. You can expect to feel deeply. You can expect waves of emotion to hit you like a rogue wave every once in a while. You can be standing on stage at church, watch your friend walk in with her round belly, & suddenly feel like your legs are going to give out. 

Depending on who are you in your daily life, who you are in your thought life & who you are behind closed doors, is who you can expect to be in moments like these. I'm an extrovert. I write when I feel strongly. I externally process. So, when tragedy strikes, I do my best processing in the dark room of our office with a little Sia on in the background (which is what is currently playing) & the blinking cursor flying across the page. 

You can also expect that your spouse will process the opposite of you. For the mamas, you feel connected the second that pink line begins to appear. This isn't the case for men. So, don't push. They won't feel the depth of this. Maybe there are exceptions to this rule, but I can think of only one man I know who took it harder than his wife. 

I also have people tell me that they feel condemned or condescended to by others about the process of grieving. Just typing that sentence made me feel angry. How dare anyone, whether closely connected or some random ass person on the street, make you feel any differently than you do? How dare we put time limits or restraints on other's pain or grief, when we have NEVER been in their position? There is a time to mourn & a time to dance. That time is relative to each person. Some grieve a short time, they process quickly, accept the reality that their baby was not meant for this world. That's their prerogative. Others take longer to process, struggle to understand the greater picture & can't imagine how this ended up being their journey & their story. Both ways are correct. There is no wrong answer when it comes to grief. 

The greatest revelation to me in the last 3 years is in knowing how so not alone we are. Nearly every woman I have talked to privately about miscarriage & loss tells me how terribly alone they feel. I know that aloneness. Laying in that hospital bed, no one can comfort you really. Coming home from the hospital, knowing that you are no longer full of your baby's life is one of the loneliest moments. But how much better would the world be if we took our experiences & comforted, sent flowers, sent cards, offered deep, loving words to those we know who are brokenhearted? 

Could you touch someone with your personal story of loss? Could you in some way show them that they aren't alone? Are you willing to share your story? Are you brave enough to guest blog? Submit your stories & I'll pick 2 stories to share. 

a.

Birth & Loss

**Thank you to those of you who have sent texts & emails telling me you're thinking of me. I can't tell you how completely blown out of the water I was every time I received a little love note with your kind, caring words. You are all unbelievable & I'm blessed to know you.**

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Today should be a very joyous day. It's not that it's not, but today is my due date. I found out in June that I was pregnant & I was so excited to be having another baby, only to find out 2 months later, that our baby was gone.

So, in honor of today's crappy anniversary, I'm writing a birth story. It should be the 2nd (really the 4th if we're counting) birth story, but seeing as how I never really wrote Maddie's birth story, today seems the most apropos.

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August 10th started out the right way: with contractions. I was done, she was cooked, it was time to get this show on the road. My due date was August 19th, but I was ready. I went in to see my midwife, she did her thing, & I contracted like a MOFO for the rest of the day. I was exhausted, so I took a nap, only to wake up around 7pm with absolutely nothing happening. I was PISSED. I'm sure I whined & complained the rest of the evening, which is super attractive, especially when you, then, want your husband to get frisky so you can get this kid out. #romance

In order for said romance to occur, I needed to shave my legs, which was super fun & not at all a pain in the ass when you are 983457934 months pregnant. At 11:15pm, I made my way into the bathroom to soak in a hot tub when suddenly...I peed. At least, I thought I'd peed. I called for Josh but he couldn't hear me. I quickly ran out of the bathroom & laid on the floor to see if my water would pool (so graphic & horrifying - I'm so sorry for the description) & to be sure I hadn't accidentally pissed myself. It pooled, I hollered & we waited.

My contractions started a couple of hours later & they began to get intense & close, so we hopped in the car at 1:30am & got checked into triage at 2am. I was ready for drugs. They get me into a room where the anesthesiologist was waiting for me. I had no idea that this was about to be one of those defining moments in our marriage. The whole process took 30 minutes, which, according to every other freaking woman, is not normal. I started to wretch. They crank those beds up super high so they can insert all the garbage into your back, making your husband's face at about crotch level. Back to the wretching, I wretched so hard, that my poor husband got soaked from shoulder to feet with more water. I was mortified. They never tell you how attractive & sexy you feel in this whole process.

My contractions ebbed & flowed throughout the night, only to be insanely out of control by 6am. The dr came back in & couldn't understand why I was in so much pain. He upped my meds. By 7am, I'm a hot frickin' mess. I can hardly see through the pain. Thankfully, it's time for a shift change. In walks a new anesthesiologist, a woman this time, who proceeds to look at the catheter in my back: it fell out. Great! Thanks to the last guy. Can I get a refund on that super expensive medicine that has been soaking my bed for 4 hours?!

Insert spinal. Insert crazy, drugged up, hugungous pregnant woman who declares: I totally see why people are drug addicts.

We get readjusted & by 10am, I'm ready to go. I start pushing & 3 pushes later, I have my girl. FALSE. Whoever tells you that it's that freaking easy, is a big, fat, annoying liar.

About 1800 pushes, many new variations of how to use the F word, & an hour & a half later, our perfect little cone-headed princess was born.

Madison Brooke

August 11, 2010 @ 11:26am

7lb 5oz, 19.5"

She was perfect. And we stared at her all day.

Family trickled in & out all day, various texts & phone calls ensued. We were blessed & touched by all our loved ones who came by to meet our girl. It was a whirlwind, but the part of this birth story that is my absolute favorite was that first night. "Do you want us to take her to the nursery so you can sleep?" "Would you like me to hit you??" I placed her in her bassinet next to me, but it was too far away. I carefully reached in & tucked her up under my chin & she relaxed onto my chest & slept. All night. It was perfection. I breathed in my tiny baby all night.

I was sore & exhausted & crazy hormonal, but in the dark room, with just a bathroom light on as a nightlight, my long-awaited baby girl snuggled against me.

I long for our next birth story. I don't know when that will be, but I look forward to it. In the midst of my first two losses, I couldn't understand why they didn't work. I can look back easily now, & see that I wouldn't have this amazing, fluffy, blonde-haired, blue/green-eyed, hilarious little girl. I get it. I can look back on this 4th pregnancy & see all the things that happened because it didn't go to term. And I can look back & be thankful. Because God is good. Even though it's hard to see that sometimes, in the midst of a 3rd miscarriage, we see His hand & His goodness.

Our family story isn't over. This is just intermission. Stay tuned for Act 2...& maybe 3...

a.