Just a bad dream

Last night, I had a horrible, wretched, sickening nightmare. I woke up crying, and it has been plaguing me ever since.

I'm not going to go into the details on my blog, but in summary, it involved one of my sons and something bad happened. I did something that I know, deep down, I would never do- physically hurt him. Badly

As I mentioned, it's been bothering me all day. Today has been full of challenges from the moment both boys were awake and SJ found my glasses like he usually does, but for the first time ever he didn't put them on my face like he always does, but rather refuse to give them to me and whine like the dickens when I finally took them away.

It hasn't been constant, but it's been a challenge, off and on, since 7:45am.

And then this dream just won't leave me mind. I feel so ashamed that I dreamt it. I would NEVER have it happen in reality, but the fact that my subconscious mind could concoct a thought that produced the dream sickens me and makes me feel like a truly horrible person. I KNOW I am not, but I still feel guilt that my mind could create an image of me hurting my child.

It's just so hard to swallow. I sit here and watch him as he reads a book nicely beside me, and I cry because I love him so much.

I urge him to stop throwing things on the floor, frustrated as can be with it happening yet again, and I cry because I don't know how to get him to stop and hate making him cry but decide I probably do need to flick him in the forehead anyway because my words aren't hitting home. But I don't want to flick his forehead. It feels incredibly mean,

So, I know it's unreal and it would never happen.

I think it partially stems from my exhaustion and all of the disgusting news articles that keep popping up online where parents or family injure or kill children. I find myself so repulsed by these stories and these people and I think the abundance of them lately is leaving lasting effects on my emotion. I think it's time to remove myself from the news feeds I have for a while as I find peace in my heart again.

If you read this and worry, please don't. Even when I get really angry at something my son may have done, I don't lash out. I generally let out a loud "aaaaaaaaaagh!" Scream into my hands or walk out of the room crying a few minutes before entering and dealing with it.

I would never do something to my children. The thought alone breaks my heart.

I hope if you read this, you won't judge me for my horrible dream.

It was just a bad dream.

Jacob

My husband is my best friend. He has been one of my very best friends since shortly after we met in 2001. I never dreamed, then, that I would marry him. But, God blessed me tremendously by giving us the love, choice, and commitment to enter into a life-long marriage. Yes, it will be life-long.

When we were dating, we began discussing the possibility of being married, as well as that of starting a family together. I was straightforward and honest, telling Jake that I just didn't know if I would be able to bear children. I really didn't know. I knew something was up with my reproductive system, and I thought it'd be nearly impossible. (Two years ago, I was diagnosed with PCOS, you can read about that in the "infertility" category if you'd like.) He stuck by me anyway, knowing that chance existed, and just telling me we'd cross that bridge when we got there.

We've been married for 5.5 years now. We have a 15 month-old son who is one of the lights in our world (I would say God, our marriage, and Spencer (and the coming baby) are the main three). We were married for 3.5 years or so before he was conceived, after we consulted a reproductive endocrinologist. I am pregnant (somewhere between 11-13 weeks (the baby is measuring almost a week ahead, but for now, they're not changing the due date) again, with our third miracle. We lost our second miracle at 8 weeks in September of last year.

Jacob is a fantastic provider. Yes, we go through our struggles financially, not always being on the same page with things and being disorganized occasionally, but he has taken the reigns to sort those things out. He is a hard-working man. He works crazy long days (13-16 hour days 4 days one week, 5 days another) in all weather conditions, even when he's sick sometimes. He is great at his job, and has won us trips across the country for being one of the top in sales. He's amazing. He does it to make our lives possible, really. I am guilty of whining at him that he works too much and doesn't spend enough time with me or with Spencer, in the past. I have tried so very hard to look at it from his perspective, in that he works to give us the means to survive. He works FOR us. And he's right. But, sometimes I'm emotional and somewhat selfish wishing he was home more. I feel like I have been better about that over the last year or so than I had ever in the past. Though, sometimes it's hard.

And he's excellent at keeping me from feeling too bad about it. Yup, we've fought about it, but we really both do understand where the other is coming from and we work hard to make it work in all aspects.

But not only does Jake work his job well, but he's an excellent father.

Seriously.

I always felt he would be a great father, but seeing him growing with Spencer in his father-role is phenomenal. It takes my breath away sometimes. I get goosebumps. I get tears. I just want to watch them from behind a two-way mirror so they can't see me, so that I can just take in the beauty of their relationship.

I'm Spencer's mother. He needs me. We have a close bond. I love him more than I love myself admittedly (whether that's good or bad is up for debate, I guess?). He cries when I leave him, though not for long, and he gets excited when I get back.

But, I feel like daddy is his favorite. And that makes my heart sing.

I love that Jake plays a little concert for Spencer during bath-time, and sometimes during bed-time, and sometimes after waking up in the morning, or after nap, or in the middle of the day randomly. I love that he can throw Spencer up in the air, catch him, and I am not afraid that our child will get hurt. I love that he took Spencer sledding a few weeks ago. I love that he reads to Spencer. I love that they play ball occasionally. Or go on walks. Or swimming.

I love that Spencer just loves to do everything and anything (well, mostly) with his dad.

Jake's father role melds beautifully into his supportive husband role. Really. Ever since Christmastime when I developed intense sciatic pains down both sides that literally kept me bed-ridden for almost a week, he has been "super-husband-dad" at night. Because it was so painful for me to move and I couldn't really get up on my own anyway, he just automatically took over night-time duties with Spencer. If he would cry, Jake would be out of bed to tend to him. And, for the most part, Jake still is. He doesn't complain about it, either. I think that maybe he continued to do it because now that I'm pregnant again, I am completely exhausted and I don't sleep well anyway, nor do I fall asleep again very well if I have to get up out of bed. And, I've been sick for a few weeks, too.

Or maybe, he does it because he just loves to see our son. I know that Spencer sleeps best if Jake is the one who gets up with him when he wakes (it's usually only once, if at all nowadays), and I think it's because then he knows that his daddy is home. I don't know.

I know, I am totally spoiled. And, I will admit, I take it for granted and I do not thank my husband enough for it.

He has ALWAYS helped change diapers. In fact, more often than not, if he is home, I don't have to change more than a few a day. He's never complained about having to change a poopy diaper either. In fact, he has always laughed or given commentary all the way through the process. He makes me smile.

Not only that, but even when I was nursing Spencer (way back when he was tiny), Jake would get up occasionally to help with feedings, so I could steal an extra half an hour of sleep and not have to get up every two hours. And then, when we switched to formula, he willingly worked out a night-time shift schedule with me, so we could take turns getting up with Spencer. I know dads who rarely, if ever, get up with their child in the night. Yes, like I said, I am spoiled. Or blessed, if I want to be positive about it.

Jake also makes sure whenever it's possible, that I get time for me. I give almost all of my time to Spencer, and when I'm not solely focused on Spencer, I'm trying to take care of the house, my work outside the home, the dog, and myself. So, Jake gives me time to relax, at home, or away, depending on my needs and his and Spencer's interests at the time. In fact, he is most often the one to suggest I get that personal time. It's another blessing.

He tells me I am amazing. Frequently. And, recently, he has started giving me detailed explanations and examples of why he thinks that is so. Those mean more than I can measure.

And... finally, the most recent and huge thing that Jake has given to me, to our children... and really, to our marriage, in a way...

is the opportunity that started at 3:30 or so this afternoon.

I am now a stay-at-home-mom. I don't know how long it will last, because, well, you just never know what curveballs life will throw at you. But, I do know that every minute, every hour, every day, every week... that I am able to focus on raising our children alone is an immeasurable blessing. It's largely (almost entirely, I feel) possible because of my husband. The role he's taking in managing our finances and providing income. The role he's taken on as protector and leader of our family, both financially, and spiritually. The fact that he is determined to make our lives the best that it can be.

Truthfully, the issue of being a SAHM was brought up by him first. Up until I was pregnant with Spencer, it was something I never really wished for, or dreamed that I would want (as I mentioned in this blog post a few weeks ago). And even then, I was terrified to wish for it too hard, because my puny little mind just never thought it was possible. But, a month ago, when he suggested it might be possible and perhaps we should try it, I was amazed. I was overwhelmed with the realization that it might actually happen.

And, it has.

Because my husband, Spencer's father, is who he is.

Thank you, Jacob, for all that you've done- for all of us.

All the single Golden Girls...

My dreams aren't always exciting. Sometimes, they're terrifying. Sometimes, they're confusing. Sometimes, I wake up thinking they happened in real life.

And... sometimes, they're just comical.

For instance.

I had a dream...

I see an iPhone text-message conversation going:

Bea Arthur: Now put your hands up, up in the club!
Betty White: Just broke up. Doing my own little thing.
Bea Arthur: You decided to dip? And now you want to trip?!
Betty White: 'Cause another brother noticed me.

And then.........

Bea, Betty, Rue, and Estelle hop into my field of vision. They're in the middle of the local Goodwill, apparently shopping for an ugly sweater party. They're holding a TON of hideous sweaters, kicking their legs, humming, and singing "uh oh-oh, uh oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, uh oh-oh."

That's right, these feisty ladies are getting their dance on!

Then then, they throw their sweaters at me, and one hits me in the cheek with the clothes hanger on it, and it hurts, and I yell "NOT NICE!"

And... they start singing, "If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it. If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it. Don't be mad when you see that he want it! If you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it."

Oh crikey.

And then Betty gets all up in my face, singing verse two, while the others are doing some sort of geriatric version of Beyonce's famous dance.

Yup. I woke up with "Single Ladies" stuck in my head, and I cannot get it to go away.

Bollocks!

Oh, and for those of you who may have imagined those fine females in the really skin-tight black unitard thing that Beyonce sports....

fear not.

They were wearing kelly green stirrup legging pants, and their typical matronly blouse type shirts. It was much less risque.

See You Later.

This morning was hard on me.

This morning, Spencer and I said goodbye to Jesse and Samantha at the airport, as they ventured off to a new life in Alaska.

The past few days, actually, have been hard. On Wednesday night, I watched Jake hug them both goodbye, knowing that we'd see them again in November, and not knowing when we would after that, if it'd be months, a year, or more. That was hard. I cried quite a bit, knowing that it was the last time my husband would see his twin for quite some time.

This morning was our turn. They both crawled into the backseat for a few moments and said goodbye to my baby boy. Then, after numerous hugs and kisses on the cheek, I got into the driver's seat, and pulled away.

Luckily, November is barely over 2 months away, so it wont' be "too long" until we see them again. And, we purchased a webcam, so the three of us can Skype with the two of them. And of course, we have text messages, Facebook, and hand-written letters to look forward to. But, we won't be in the same car, park, room, what have you, for quite some time, and that's hard.

I try to figure out why I am so emotional over the entire situation, and I think I have it figured out.

Samantha and I met this year, she met me in March (after my surgery), which I don't remember, and we met for real in April. We quickly became close, talking, laughing, and spending tons of time together. We realized how similar we are, almost like sisters, and definitely new best friends. It's amazing! Then, she was blessed with the opportunity of a lifetime and was offered a job in Alaska, doing what she dreams of doing. Obviously, I am ecstatic for her, but it's hard to see her go. It's hard to let someone so close to you go, especially after only having her around for a short period of time.

And then, there's Jesse. We've known each other for almost 10 years, but unfortunately, I would say that we weren't really friends, or close, until around the time that Spencer was born. Now, I love him (not just like a brother-in-law, but as a brother, and a dear friend), and we have been able to really get to know each other, and finally spend quality time together. And now, too, he is on his adventure, and it seems all too soon for me. That, and he's my husband's twin brother, and the only uncle Spencer has within two hours time (roughly). So, I'm sad for all of us that they're gone.

But, as I said, I am very happy for them. I LOVE seeing them together and I know that they're deeply in love. I support their move and their lives in Alaska, wholeheartedly, and I want them to have the most amazing time away from us. I hope that we can visit them soon. I can't wait for Spencer to be able to spend his first vacation with them there. We've been talking about it for weeks! Only a few more years...

But, obviously, the conflicting joy for them and sadness for us doesn't make it easy to know they're gone.

Sam, Jesse, if you're reading this... I... WE LOVE YOU!

Another Unsent Birthday Card

Today is a day filled with bittersweet joy.

Today is my husband's first Father's Day! It fills me with excitement to be able to proclaim that. I love watching Spencer and Jake interact. For example, although Spencer was up late last night, it was adorable (beyond words) to see him fill with such happiness as Jake walked through the door. He sat on Jake's lap, all up in his face, basically, smiling and talking and reaching out to him for quite some time. He was purely elated that his daddy was home. I wouldn't trade that for anything!

Though, as often has happened in my lifetime, Father's Day Weekend falls in accordance to my Gma's birthday. And, as is the case now, she is no longer with us on this earth. Today, in fact, is her birth date.

Most years I am internally burdened by sadness and continued mourning at this loss of one of my best friends. Last year, I threw a family reunion on her birthday, and it helped replace some of the sorrow with joy.

This year, as I dwell on the new life and fatherhood in our household, I am going to make a conscious effort to dwell on the joy of the "old" life that once walked the earth beside me and focus not as much on my loss (though it is inevitable at this point that I still will from time to time), but on the fact that my Gma was the best of friends, and that she would be exuberant to celebrate her birthday alongside Jake's first Father's Day.


When I woke up this morning, thinking of my Grandma, Brad Paisley's "When I Get Where I'm Going" popped into my head. That song, most definitely, reminds me of her.


Yeah when I get where I'm going,
there'll be only happy tears.
I will shed the sins and struggles,
I have carried all these years.
And I'll leave my heart wide open,
I will love and have no fear.
Yeah when I get where I'm going,
Don't cry for me down here.

She used to write poetry... and take fine art photographs...

Last night, I wrote a post about how I used to play guitar and vowed that I would bring that back into my life.

Tonight, I was sitting on the computer, browsing a friend's etsy shop (which I happen to adore and hope to own an item from someday) when I also happened upon a list of that friends' etsy favorites, which included photographs of coffee. (I think that was a complete sentence...)

That made me realize that it's been quite a long time since I've picked up my camera to take a "fine art photograph," or photograph of anything that wasn't my son or other family member.

I used to do that frequently (read: I had a project 365 for over a year straight, until I found out I was pregnant, actually, and I stopped that day), and I would sell them online in my own etsy shop.

Once, I had someone from a college in Tennessee (I forget which one, which is kind of embarassing, because the entire event was a big deal to me) tell me that she wanted one of my images in her curated show in a local art gallery! One of my biggest dreams had been to be featured in an art gallery somewhere!

Anyway.... Photographing "fine art..." I did it mostly for fun, however, and with the "crazy" idea that someday I would have my own art gallery in my home. Not to sell or anything of that nature, just to display some of my favorite photographs.

I loved taking photos. Heck, I still do, my focus just has, undoubtedly, changed from "art" to photos of my adorable (yes, I'm biased) son.

But that doesn't mean that desire isn't still there. I still have some photos for sale on an etsy shop, but I haven't really done any marketing to find an audience. Part of me doesn't have any interest in selling it, but then again, the other part of me does.

Tonight, on facebook, I commented how I miss taking fine art photographs. A few friends told me that they'd buy my art, or display it, which was great to hear, I won't lie. This then lead to someone commenting on how I should publish a photography book.

That had been one of my dreams as well. I guess it still is, I just haven't focused on it at all since Spencer's arrival. I have always wanted a book of my work published.

Then, I remembered I used to write poetry. I had over 200, maybe three hundred, poems written and published on a long-deceased geocities website. Fortunately, I had a crazy whim once to make sure to save them all and made two copies of the entire "works," one for my high school German teacher, mentor, and friend, Frau. The other, I gave to my boyfriend at the time (who is now my husband). When geocities had their demise, the website was surely lost, but luckily, these works are around somewhere. Jake says he still has it, and I know Frau does, because she let my little sister read them at school, or something to that effect.

I miss writing poetry. I haven't done that in YEARS. I don't know why. It's not like my love of language has faded, nor have I really lost my words. I guess I should probably find a spark inside of me and get that going, too.

What does poetry have to do with anything, you might be wondering? Well, I had the idea that maybe I'd put poetry with my photography, and have the two mesh, somehow.

Maybe. I guess we'll see.

The photos in this post are a few of my personal collection. Be a pal, and don't steal them.

Pinch me. Am I dreaming?

For so long, I dreamt that one day I would be a mother. I always guarded my heart, though, afraid my body wouldn't cooperate and that dream would never come true.

I know this is a topic I've visited over and over again. It's like my blog becomes a revolving door of thought, at times, and I'm sure that it annoys some people.

But it's my blog.

I'm sharing this photo because I recently fell in love with it... again. I took it on March 7th (I believe) and thought it adorable, but up until last night, hadn't really sat and looked at it, letting his expression and the whimsical emotion melt my heart like it has. It is one of my favorite photos of him, to date.

Anyway... today, I was discussing with Jillian the possibility of more children in my future. While discussing that, we ventured into a discussion about insurance and fertility treatments. After SJ was born and I switched jobs, we also switched insurance, and up until today, there was some confusion as to what would be covered and when.

After a few phone calls, we established a couple of things. One- that any treatments at any point from here on should be covered by our insurance because, despite a letter we received in the mail, we have no pre-existing condition clause, and two- that I was "officially" diagnosed with PCOS (poly-cystic ovarian sydrome) back in October of 2009. While I had always assumed this to be the case, post-treatments, I did not know for sure, because no one came straight out and told me it was charted or diagnosed.

With this knowledge, I know that if and when Jake and I decide to actively pursue another addition to our family, medical interventions would be covered.

Not that I'm saying we're going to start trying to conceive again any time soon. It's just pure knowledge.

I digress.

After these discussions, I found myself holding Spencer on the couch as he slept, just staring at his perfect little features. Daily, I find myself pinpointing things that are "Jake" and those that are "Nicole," both in his features but also his personality. It's an on-going game I play. Truthfully, I hope one day it stops and I just realize that it's not his father nor I that I see, but rather, Spencer as a whole person. But for now, it's kind of fun.

As I sit and stare, playing my game, I find myself wanting a "reality check," because there's still a part of me that feels that I'm living in a dream. Realistically, I am, but it's one I'm sometimes finding myself afraid to "wake up from" and that it's not real. I let my sinner's heart get the best of me, thinking occasionally that there's no real way that God would have given me this miracle that I wanted, hoped for, and prayed about, for so long.

It's crazy to think that a little over a year ago, Spencer was nothing more than a longing. A year ago, he was inside of me. And today, he's beside me, babbling and smiling and loving on me like I'm the best thing in his world. It's just too good to be true! Yet, it is true.

I also find it mind-boggling to sit and think about his name. Spencer. We picked it. That's who he is. That's what he'll be called, forever (assuming he doesn't get all uppity and change it someday). We decided that. It's a powerful thing, a name.

I apologize if this is all haphazardly strewn together. Tonight, my thoughts (as usual) fly faster than my fingers can share them.

A Miraculous Anniversary.

Exactly one year go this evening, Jake and I discovered that God had blessed us with a miracle. This was a miracle we prayed about for years, one we struggled with infertility in order to be rewarded with, for years.

This miracle, was a pregnancy.

This photo was taken on February 22, 2010, at 8:25pm central time, with my old cell phone. I was, unknown until that evening, 3 weeks and 5 days pregnant.

That day, I went to work early to do breaks for our wing, feeling bloated and very crampy. Truthfully, I "knew" my period was coming, so I was kind of grumpy. As the day went on and the cramps progressed, I just wished for it to actually come and get on with the show, so we could start the next cycle and try for a baby. I swear, I went to the bathroom three times as often as I normally would, in anticipation.

I went shopping after work, still convinced it was coming, and bought myself a few boxes of "womanly supplies" that I knew I'd need, and some pregnancy tests, just because the 5 pack was on sale.

I came home and had supper and drank a ton of water, and was tired. I decided to take a pregnancy test just so I could know to put in a tampon and go to bed. (Sorry if that information bothered you.) I really was convinced that it would be negative, but I sat in the bathroom anyway, taking off my nailpolish as I waited.

When it came up reading "PREGNANT," I knew it was wrong, so I left the room and sat on the couch to watch TV a little bit. This was approximately 7:30pm, and HOUSE M.D. was on! Yeah! Haha.

Anyway, I went back, expecting that the "NOT" would have appeared by now. I really was expecting it to appear later. It didn't. I was in disbelief and left the room and sat on the bed.

And came back, and looked at it again. "PREGNANT."

I left. Went to the kitchen and looked at the calendar to do some math. I had an hCG trigger shot (after a round of Letrizol to induce ovulation) on Wednesday the 10th, and they said to wait two weeks to test because there could be trace amounts left if you tested early.

"PREGNANT," still.

So I looked up online to see how long the hCG trigger would stay in my system. I looked up the exact amount I was given. All the results said that it should have been gone from my system in 8-10 days.

Back to the calendar. It was the 22nd. That was 12 days.

Back to the bathroom.

"PREGNANT."

I snapped the photo, shaking heavily, totally in disbelief and shock still. I figured the photo would prove to me that I was just seeing things and the "NOT" was actually there.

But it wasn't.

I sent a text to Jake to have him double check my math. Something about "What's 14 days after the 10th?" He told me that it was the 24th, so I asked about ten days, and he said the 20th, which I obviously knew, I'm not stupid, right?

So, I sent the photo to him.

And to my friend Desi.

Desi responded first, with absolute joy and elatedness (she also strugged for years with infertility, and was pregnant with her son at the time, we're like sisters). "You're PREGNANT MAMA!" Was the response, I believe.

So I told her how I was unconvinced and my math, and she assured me that the math was right, the shot was most likely gone, and really, false positives were nearly unheard of nowadays. She congratualted me with pure and utmost excitedness over and over and over.

And then, Jake called. "REALLY?!" he asked.

"Really what?" I asked back.

And he giggled and laughed in exuberant happiness for a few minutes, before I hung up on him. Haha.

He called back a bit later, overwhelmed with joy.

We were going to be parents!

Yeah, I was still trying to convince myself otherwise, really. It was too good to be true. Especially since I hadn't any expectation or anticipation for that cycle, really. I figured it wasn't the time. He said to take another test in the morning and call the doctor, but we were "HAVING A BABY, NICOLE!"

Yup, he was right. She was right. The test was right.

February 22, 2010 will be a date that I believe I will remember until I no breathe on this earth. This little plastic stick, this test, that miracle... was the best thing I'd ever peed on. Haha. Truthfully though, it changed our lives forever, and forever, we'll be thankful.

November 1, 2010, around 8:00pm this photo was taken on that same cell phone. Spencer arrived at 7:34pm after approximately an hour of hard pushing. We met our miracle.

Guess that shows how much I really know about God's plan.

When did I stop?

When I was in high school, my main goal in life was, "to make a difference." That's what I'd tell people. That idea carried on through high school, to college, and after college... for a while.

Recently, I feel like I've lost that. Not that I don't want to make a difference, because I do, definitely. But, I've stopped vocalizing it. I've stopped using it as a driving force.

I'm conflicted about that.

I didn't necessarily think I was doing big things when I was working on this goal. In high school, it was writing poetry, mainly, and sharing it with the world. I know it sounds totally strange, but man, I was popular when it came to the online poetry community. I was on boards and people were reading my work left and right, praising me, and telling me how much they could relate. I received so many thanks and comments on my webpage (now deceased, due to the collapse or whatever of geocities) that I was completely astonished with myself. I didn't think I was really good at writing, I just wrote because it's what I could do. It was an outlet. It was a release and hey, an avenue for my ever burning creative fire. I made friendships with my poetry, online, and offline too. Even after my mother read my poetry about my inner pain and got mad at me for writing it, I continued, because it seemed to mean something, not only to me, but to the world. I felt powerful.

After high school, I joined outreach groups and other activities in college. At Augustana, I did youth overnight lock-ins with the IXOYE outreach ministry. It was wonderful! We were sharing the love of the Lord with so many children. It inspired me to work at Shetek Lutheran Ministries the summer of 2003 as a camp counselor. I loved the work we were doing. I returned the next summer as a daycamp director, and took other staff along with me as we shared the Lord with children all across southwestern Minnesota and southeastern South Dakota. I remember one camp where we re-wrote the Lord's prayer with the children, in their words. I still have my camp binders. I sang the love of the Lord with my guitar, for me, for staff, for children, for families. I felt I was really making a difference there, too.

I was an RA in college at Southwest MN State University two years later, and I was able to counsel and support freshmen students in our house as we went through some crazy situations. I allowed a random guy, who was drunk and drugged up, to grope and harass me for the protection of the students, and then work through it with them. I did everything I could for that house of students, everything they would let me. We formed some really great relationships, and it was really hard to say goodbye and get married that summer knowing I could never be an RA again.

During my junior and senior year, I worked at a Crisis Center in Marshall, doing supervised visitations. It was a relatively simple job most times, though it was always hard to pry children from their parents. But, I felt like I was making a difference, I was allowing these families to have time together that they wouldn't have otherwise.

My senior year of college, I took an internship at Western Community Action, and made it my mission to help combat the terror of poverty in our area. I loved it. I worked at the food shelf, basically running it, helping people have food. I helped run a free tax clinic where those who couldn't afford others to do their taxes could come and we would help. It was wonderful. I fell so in love with it that I applied to work there after graduation, and was hired. I then took on the food shelf, and started a group for girls, where they empowered themselves and learned leadership skills and other useful things. I ran a Big Buddies program in Redwood county (mentoring), and then my final project was to help form the Circles of Support program, where the community would come together on a regular basis, to relate, learn, lead by example, fight poverty, and form relationships, across all lines that are considered barriers (class, race, age, gender, etc.) I really felt I was doing something big.

During this time, I also volunteered at my other employment, the crisis center, as a Crisis Line advocate. The crisis line was a wonderful way to make a difference, with late night calls reporting rape, and I'd drive to hospitals to be an advocate for women who were going through perhaps the worst situation in their lives. I was there for suicidal callers. I was there for so much. They didn't always know me, but I was there. I was making a difference.

When I resigned from my WCA job and started as a preschool teacher, I felt important then too, not as important, but important. I mean really, I was educating young minds. Same goes for when I moved to Sioux Falls and started working in an infant room. But the impact didn't feel the same. I'm sure it's meaningful, but it just wasn't the same.

I sit here, raising my son, and am very, very proud of it. But at the same time, I don't feel like I'm making a difference like I hoped for, dreamed of, and wanted. I don't know why I feel that way. What did I actually mean when I told myself that? Was it to make a difference for countless people, or could it mean to make a difference in the life of one little boy sleeping on my bed? I don't know. I don't think there are clearly defined boundaries for my dream.

I think I just need to work on seeing the way things really are, and that I am still making a difference, just in a different way than I expected.

And who's to say I can't do something big, yet?

One Month Left.

One month from today is the "official" due date that we were given back in February. Now, granted, that doesn't mean a whole lot, as the baby could be born any time between next Tuesday and six weeks from now.

But, it's a pretty momentous day for our little family. I know that I was always doubting that I'd EVER see a due date, let alone be this close to reaching it. Yes, I was pretty pessimistic about the possibility of being a mother. I just figured that since my body was working against me all those years, and it wasn't very likely to change.

Luckily, I had my wonderful husband, an amazing family, and exceptional friends who helped me to find the positive, stay focused on the goal, and support us as we attempted to conceive a child.

And it happened.

We did it. We conceived.

We made it past the first trimester, where the threat of a miscarriage was highest.

We made it the 27 weeks or so that is considered the "point of viability" in which the baby could survive if born early.

We made it within a month of the due date.

On Tuesday of this upcoming week, I'll be considered "full-term" in this pregnancy.

Then, it's just a matter of waiting for that day to arrive in which our little miracle decides he's ready to come on out and face the world. I'm nervous, a little scared, but excited beyond belief.

It's truly a miracle!

I'm having Michael Jackson's baby... and other things.

Last night, I had a bizarre dream. I was in a hotel room, with my brother, and we were just spending the night for fun, because Jake was on an overnight route and couldn't be home with me.

While I was sleeping, I had my baby. And my baby was a very dark, chocolate brown color. My brother and I were a little confused, but didn't think much of it, as we packed up and walked to the hospital to check in and make sure the baby was okay.

We called Jake from the hospital and told him he needed to be there right away, so he came as fast as he could. And, while we sat there in the waiting room, Jake met his son. He said, "That's not mine."

"Yes it is, you're the only guy I've ever slept with." (This is a true fact, I am very proud to say.)

So, Jake demanded a DNA test. The test proved the child was in fact his.

We asked the doctors how that could possibly be correct, and their explanation was either
A: the fertility treatments we went through altered the baby's genetic make-up so that he was born resembling an African-American baby,

B: my husband was born African-American, but his parents didn't want him to know that, so they bleached him white.

I woke up laughing, thinking to myself, "I married Michael Jackson."

Obviously, that's NOT what happened to Michael Jackson, but I mean, come on. Haha.

In other news, I decided tonight that I wanted to catch up on my hand-written journals, despite the fact that I had been typing them up on my laptop months ago, and the laptop screen is broken, so I couldn't see them. I was going to find the journal I had been writing my typed entries in so I could see where I left off with that at least, and then do a "briefing" of the last four months or so (I figure, it's hard to say exactly where I stopped typing them up thinking I'd get my screen fixed), and then continue with my thoughts.

Well, I can't find the journal I was using. I have dug through quite a few boxes and places and can't find it anywhere. I'm feeling a little defeated and it's actually prohibiting me from just starting in the new journal like I had decided I would for part two of my plan. That's just lame. I should not make excuses.

Tomorrow, my step-mother-in-law is coming to town, and she's bringing us a crib she found at a thrift store! It's pretty cute. I thought at first I might feel strange having a used crib, but it feels... perfectly fine. It makes more sense financially, and since it's in tip-top shape, why not? And it's not like the baby is going to care.

I'm pretty excited that the soon-to-be grandmother is so excited for the arrival of our son.

The other night, I was sitting writing a thank-you (okay, last night) and got completely overwhelmed knowing there are SO MANY people out there who prayed for us to finally conceive a child, and have been praying for us and for his health ever since we found out we were having a child. I don't even know HALF of the people. I've never met them.

We're truly blessed.

Alright, time for some supper, and then attempting to start this new journal. At least begin it...

I have mental issues.

This morning, I had a dream in which my husband said I was being "im-appropriate."

I corrected him, and said it's "in-appropriate" or "improper."

I immediately woke up with this overwhelming urge to make a mental list of all the words I could think of that begin with the word/letters "imp."

I say overwhelming, because, try as I might to go back to sleep, or even think of anything else (like, perhaps a random song, I almost always wake up with one of those in my head), I couldn't, and the mental list basically started itself.

Of course, "imp" itself is a word, and the second word I came up with happened to be "imply," because it's an easy follower.

I kept going, and going, until I was came up with "impressionistically" and "imperialistically," when I decided, Hey, lady, you need to limit yourself to "base" words and stop adding suffixes because that could be considered cheating, and it's not fair to do that to yourself.

I decided also, at that point, the madness needed to stop. I'd be going for at least ten minutes.

So, I rolled over and woke up my husband. I told him about my game, and we laughed about it a good while, and about how I'm kind of a nerd, but he really loves me all the more because of it... and then he started playing this game as well.

I got distracted for a few moments by Spencer kicking and my urge to go to the bathroom... and shower. And in the shower, it continued. Until I decided that "percolate" is a fun word, even if it doesn't start with "imp."

So... there you have it. I have issues... and a fun list of words.

(These are the ones I could remember to type up and share)

Imp-List:

imply

implant

impress

impart

impel

impair

improve

impotent

improvise

impulse

impatient

impoverish

impose

imp

impartial

imperial

impervious

imperfect

imperil

impetigo

impervious

import

important

implicit

impervious

impassable

imperishable

impolite

impact

impetus

implore

implode

impeccable

impossible

impersonate

impressionist

imprecise

impark

implicit

impale

impure

(And a few from Jake):

impalpable

implecate

imprint

improve

impunity

Late Night Panic Attack.

After watching a disc of House M.D. episodes with my sister, who is back at my house for the remainder of the summer (more or less), I went to bed pretty late last night.

I had a couple of really wretched dreams.

Both involved Jake, my husband.

In the first, I was with my cousin, her wife, my sister, and Jake for a bit, at a big... frat house type party. I was pregnant, so I wasn't drinking, and Samantha and I were just having a good ol' time laughing it up with Jake, when Jake said he wanted to go get something out of our place. So he did. And then he never came back. A few hours later, I called and called and called and he didn't answer. So I had my cousin call him, and she disappeared into a bar next door to talk to him. I couldn't find her either, for a while. I eventually did, but then she told me he was on his way to Utah. He just needed to go. He didn't say if he was coming back, or how long it would be, or whatever, and I was stuck there, without him, having a baby. Yikes!

Granted, I know he won't leave me, so I'm not really worried about it, but it was a horrible dream to have anyway.

The second, I dreamt I was at home reading a book, and got the worst visit ever, from the Sheriff, telling me that Jake had gotten into an accident on the way home and had died.

I HATE these kind of dreams. When he's driving home late (like he was last night after I fell asleep), I always fear that he won't make it home. Always.

So I woke up at 3:15 (or so, I didn't have a clock near me) and realized he wasn't in bed. Hmm.

I looked in the living room, and I found his phone, but I didn't see shoes or anything. The truck that he had drove last night was not out front either, so I didn't know where he was.

By this point, I'm surged with adrenaline and thinking the worst, partially because I worry, and partially because I'm pregnant, hormonal, and exhausted at this point.

I try to wake my sister to see if she's heard from him, but she didn't wake, and I couldn't find my phone to see if he had contacted me, but there was no record in his phone. I eventually find my phone, but no calls or anything of course, and I take both with me in my bathrobe. I notice the back room light is on, which is odd, so I go outside. I then see the truck blocking the garage, which is strange to me also because it's noisy and parked right outside our bedroom, and I don't recall it getting there. And the light is on in the garage...

That freaked me out. I get both phones in my hand and I open the door... and don't see him (or anyone) anywhere in the garage. The only noise is the radio. I start shaking pretty badly but walk into it a little further...

And I see his legs under my cousin's truck and I start crying silently because he is NOT moving nor making noise.

And then he hears me, and asks if I'm okay. I start sobbing more loudly and tell him how I was scared and couldn't find him and dreamt he died and blah blah... hysteric rant. He has me sit down on the dolly thing next to him until I calm down and am no longer dizzy and nauseous, before he gives me a hug and a kiss, lets me cry, tells me he's okay, it's okay, he loves me, wouldn't leave me, and he'll be in to bed shortly.

Apparently, since he's such a nice guy (and somewhat of an insomniac on any given night), he was changing the oil in my cousin's vehicle.

I came back to bed and cried myself to sleep, tears of relief, of course.

Celebratory Episode of Epic Fail.

Last week Wednesday (June 23), I found out the sex of our baby! Jake didn't want to know, so I promised I wouldn't tell him, or at least try as hard as I could to keep him from knowing.

Earlier this week, I was the wonderful instigator of an early-morning episode of "Epic Fail."

Jake (my husband), and I were lying in bed on Wednesday morning, cuddling, taking in some early morning light, and mostly, on my part, avoiding being fully awake and trying my best to squeeze a few extra moments of sleep out of my morning. I've never really been a morning person, and much less of one lately, it seems.

For a few weeks now, Jake has been fortunate enough to be able to feel the baby lightly kicking from inside if he rests his hands on my stomach. Many places or people would say it's too early (22 weeks this week), but I know that it's true, because I have placed my hand there and felt it as well. So, he's not crazy for wanting to try to feel any chance he can get, in my opinion. (Sidenote: we noticed tonight you can see movement in there too sometimes, which is really awkward and totally awesome.)

Back to Wednesday morning, I was lying on my side, as I usually do nowadays, and his hand was draped over me and resting on my mid-section.

He said, after a short while, "I can't feel it kicking."

I responded, slowly, groggily, not paying a lot of attention to my words, "That's because [gender specific pronoun] isn't kicking right now." (Bet you thought I was going to tell here too, huh? Sorry, no such luck, still a secret!)

Immediately, or almost so, I started sobbing uncontrollably and buried my head into my pillow so he couldn't see my face. I cried and cried and apologized, and Jake just smiled and laughed a little.

I felt HORRID. Like a failure. Like I let him down and ruined the best surprise ever. He kept asking, "is it true? is it?" I finally mustered "would I be this upset if it wasn't?!" (Meaning, of course what I said was right and I'm ridiculously sorry for saying it...)

He said, "I think you're more upset about telling me than I am knowing!"

I eventually calmed down and apologized without sobbing, and he forgave me. Sure, he was bummed that I let it slip of course, but he said he wasn't mad at me for it. I'm pretty lucky to have him as my husband, I must admit.

So, the surprise, for him, was off, and now he too knows the sex of our baby.

While I'm still really disappointed in myself for letting it slip, knowing how badly he wanted to be surprised on the day of the birth, I am kind of happy about it now, too.

I was having a really hard time keeping myself from using the proper pronoun around him, for one. It was really hard to think of our baby as an "it" once I knew if it was a boy or a girl.

But more than anything, I'm really excited that I can now let Jake know the details of my dreams and visions. From the moment I found out, I could see our child as a toddler, chasing our dear beagle, Wendell, around the house. I could see our child playing with us at a park, going to family gatherings, cuddling with us on the couch. I was having SO much fun thinking and envisioning and dreaming about the future with our child, but I was really sad that I couldn't share these details with my husband, the one I wanted to most of all.

And now I can. For that, I'm grateful, though still sorry. It's quite the paradox.

Truthfully, I think now, Jake is kind of excited too. He can start piecing together his own visions and dreams of our future.

I can't wait to see what really comes true.


And Jake, if you're reading this, I'm still sorry. But thank you for being so understanding, compassionate, and wonderful to me. You're my hero.

Reached the Mid-Point.

I woke up this morning (feeling sick as heck with a horrid chest cold) excited beyond my wits.

Today, I am 20 weeks pregnant.

I can hardly believe it!

I was beginning to doubt I'd ever be a mom. I've spent 20+ years dreaming of being a mommy, but at least 5 terrified I would never get that chance.

And here I am, halfway through a pregnancy, feeling nothing but optimism at the outcome.

I do believe in miracles. And right now, I'm growing one inside of me!

I will have to take a "belly photo" after work to commemorate this day!

(Update)
Here's the photo! I didn't brush my hair after work, sorry. And yes, my shirt is a size too big. It was $2.02 on clearance, so I won't really complain!