The first week

Last week, quite randomly, it seems, Jake was hired somewhere.  I'm a cruddy wife, honestly, as I have NO idea what the place is called that hired him.  Or his boss's name. Or entirely what he does.

But, he was hired.  I hope it's a permanent thing.  He's been working for a week now.  It's quite a relief.  Mostly.

It's tough, though. I went from having him home and helping with the boys the majority of the time to having him gone the majority of the time overnight.  Really.  He found out about the job and that they would hire him and started the next day.

The job is long hours.  He leaves before the boys get up and generally isn't home until way past supper.  Six days a week. The first few days were quite an adjustment.  The boys both started to get pretty sensitive and cranky around supper time, I assume missing daddy.   We plowed through, and by the end of this week, we have mostly adjusted, I think.

He came home early tonight, and I got to get out of the house.  I'm on "vacation!"  The past few days have been rough.  Spencer has been a bit whiny, and Collin hasn't really wanted to nap.  I feel like I haven't gotten a dang thing done at home, even though I know that's not true.

I've done 8 loads of laundry.  Countless loads of dishes.  I roasted a turkey. I made homemade soup.

And, I've cleaned the house multiple times.  Though, heaven knows you couldn't tell. Spencer is quite a tornado.  I feel defeated at the end of the day if the house looks like a toy-closet explosion, but, generally, it does, and I'm trying to not be too hard on myself.  

Somehow, today, both boys and I were playing in the basement, which is currently a toy den, and I got it mostly cleaned WHILE he was playing in it.  I call that a triumph!  I'm super-mom!  Of course, I'm sure by the time I get home again, it'll look like it did pre-cleaning, but that'll be how it is, I guess.

I don't have much more to say about this all, but I wanted to provide an update, because the past few blog entries have been a bit heavier and written with a less hopeful heart.  While we're still struggling, I think we're finally struggling upward instead of downward.   I'll take it as it is and pray that it continues to improve.

We get along... better.

Last night... I think it was last night, it might have been this afternoon, but I'm pretty certain it was last night... It was!  It was after Jake was gone a few hours using wi-fi to job hunt...

Wow.  Talk about a lack of real introduction.  Hi. I'm blogging.   I decided to just jump right into babbling without a "typical" Nik-esque introduction.

Okay.  Last night, after Jake was job hunting, he came home, and said something to the effect of, "You know, one good thing about this unemployment problem is that we get along a lot better now."

I looked at him quizzically.  He said, "Don't you agree?"

I continued to look at him in a questioning manner. I really had no idea what he was talking about!  I mean, yeah, we have had our share of disagreements and not getting along in the past, but it's not like we've been at each other's throats, on the verge of divorce, or anything that I considered to be a big deal. I definitely didn't feel like we haven't been getting along.

So, I asked him to clarify.  I forget his exact words, but basically, he didn't quite mean getting along as in not fighting.  He meant, in a roundabout way, that he thinks we enjoy our time together as a family more now.

To that, I must say, I did agree.

When he began his unemployment right after Collin was born, it was rough.  I admit I have been stressed and worried about rent and bills every single day since then, but I do try not to let it eat me alive.  I try to focus more on the good things that are going on around us.  Yeah, I still cry and worry, but I am not letting it make me bitter.  And, he isn't either.  Somehow, we're still hopeful.  We're praying and holding on and getting through.

But, with all the focus I've been putting on freaking out (silently or not so silently at times), I haven't focused on the wonderful as much as I could and should have.  

Did I say that already? Probably?  I am not scrolling up to read.

We had to cancel our cell phone service a while back when they started to overcharge us due to a plan upgrade on Jake's that they were carrying and insanely trying to charge me for, which was unfounded and we couldn't argue out of it with them... so we switched to pay-per-month type phones (with the help of friends the first month).   Mine's off for now until we have funds to spare, but we're keeping his up and running for job purposes.  With that, we lost internet (because our phones were our internet), and without internet on our phones, games weren't as fun, we weren't surfing the net, YouTube-ing, what have you, nearly as much.    We were more involved in the world outside our phones.  Not that we were neglecting our children when we had our smartphones or anything like that, but they of course took more focus away from the kids.

Now, we don't have those distractions.  We have some still, a nook, limited internet, movies, books... but they're not as "easy" to access or get sucked into.  So, we spend more time playing with the boys, talking to each other, etc.   We're more present in our little family unit.

We listen better, I think, now too.  For example, for years I have HATED when there would be random bits of clothes left around.  We had this problem for nearly seven years.  And now, after we really talked about it and why it bugs me so much, it's very rare I find socks or shoes or whatever it may be lying around on the floor.

I won't bore you with many more examples.

Summary: Jake is right.  We do "get along better" now.   Granted, he will (hopefully REALLY soon) have a job again and be gone more, and we won't be together nearly as much, but I think this stretch of spending SO much time together has really done us good, and I think things will carry on in a positive manner.  I think this financial brokenness has built us up in our relationships.  A blessing in "disguise."

Nerves.

I remember, shortly before Spencer was born, getting a little anxious and nervous. As a first time mom, I didn't know what to expect.  I tried not to worry and dwell on it too much, seeing as how it wouldn't make a difference, and I think, overall, I kept myself pretty calm about the upcoming labor and delivery of our first born child.

On Sunday, I will be 37 weeks pregnant.  Spencer was born the day before his due date (as a result of induction).  If Bo follows suit, I have about three weeks left.  Of course, there's no real way to count on that, so I am trying to keep myself mentally prepared to become a mother again at any time now.

It's nerve-wracking.  Again.  Still.  It's the same, but it's different.  I think I might be more nervous this time, actually.  It doesn't make a ton of sense to me, but at the same time, here I am, day in and day out, thinking about what's coming up really soon.


Why am I nervous?  Well, I know that each and every birth is different, just like every pregnancy.  While I was induced with Spencer because he was assumed to be "large" at full term, he was 8 pounds 2 ounces at birth.  That's not... that large.  I haven't been great about taking photos this pregnancy, because Spencer keeps me pretty occupied, more than anything, but I managed to take a snap a photo last week at the mall.  Below, we have Spencer v. Bo.  It looks as if Bo is even bigger than Spencer.    I haven't gained much as far as poundage goes (I really didn't with Spencer either, both times, I lost, then started to gain it back, and was only a few pounds over pre-pregnancy weight with Spencer, right where I am now with Bo).  


Seeing that I appear larger this time makes me nervous.  Will it be harder this time?  Will Bo be bigger, really?  Or is it all just an illusion.  I don't want a cesarean if I can help it, which is why they induced last time.  Will I end up with one this time?


I know I shouldn't worry about it, because worrying really makes no difference, but I wonder anyway.


I had an epidural last time.  I am hoping to avoid one this time, for no reason other than the thought of injection in the spinal column is creepy.  I dealt with it last time, because once I was about 5cm dialated or so, I was having intense back labor.  Well, my placenta this time is right near my spine.  Does that mean I'll have intense back labor again?  If so, I'll probably give in and get an epidural. I know it's nothing to be ashamed of, but they still make me nervous, even if I had one last time.

And then there's the worry I had last time: Will Jake make it in time?  He works on the road again with this job.  Last time, we were lucky in that we scheduled to induce so he was there.  But, had I gone early, would he have been last time?  Will he be this time?  I am terrified to think that second labors often go more quickly, and if I didn't realize I was in labor right away, would it give him enough time to get to the hospital?  I can't imagine him missing the birth of our child.

Then, of course, there's post birth nerves: Will Spencer adjust?  Will he love or hate the new addition?  Will I be a good mom to two?  Sometimes I feel like a cruddy mom to just one!

I know in the end, it will all work out according to God's plan and I shouldn't worry as much as I do.  But, it sure does come naturally.

Transitioning

The past few nights, Spencer has been fighting sleep pretty badly.  Even for Jake the other night, he cried and screamed a few times before finally giving in to sleep.  My sister, Samantha, and I discussed it briefly tonight, as I was mentioning how it stresses me out, though I try not to let it.

After talking for a few minutes, we both concluded that it's probably a reaction to all of the transitions that have been going on the past few months, as well as those that he may be able to "sense" that are coming up over the next few months.

Now, I know I've mentioned some of these transitions and changes in blogs prior (though I truthfully haven't been keeping up with blogging as much as I would normally do, partially because Spencer's taking more and more of my attention and focus, and also I've been spending time with people when they're around and available), but tonight, I was thinking about them all over again.

I realized I'm more stressed out about things than I let myself show.  I guess that's okay, because I'm probably more pleasant to be around that way, but internally, it might be wearing me down a bit.  So, here I am, blogging again, finally.

As I've said, Jake has started a new job with Washington National. He loves it, and he's doing well, which is a huge blessing, because it's meaning I'm still able to stay home with Spencer and grow baby Bo.  But, of course, the three nights away/four days away in a row (most weeks) takes a toll on all of us.  We're still adjusting, I think.  It's hard sometimes to be the soul parent in the house for that many days, only to have everything thrown for a loop when Jake finally comes home.  Schedules differ, though I try to keep things consistent, and Spencer doesn't understand really, though he seems to be doing pretty well being flexible.

Jake and I have been trying to adjust, still, too, the two of us, and our marriage, to the new stresses and changes of his job.  Sometimes, it seems a lot harder and more stressful than I imagined, but other times, it seems like nothing's changed really.  But, it's hard, and I've been really emotional about it.  And he's been really busy, so it's not always worked out the easiest to sit down and talk things through or have one-on-one time.

Then, we've been a one-vehicle family for about two months now while our other vehicle has issues.  We haven't put the money into fixing it yet, because we've been saving up to move.

Yup, we're moving.  More on that shortly.

Two weeks ago, or so, my sisters both came to stay.  Allison, who is 13 now, stayed for two full weeks, and then on Sunday, left with my dad and brothers who came to visit.  Spencer loved having her here, and was really actually distraught when they all left us on Sunday.  He threw quite a little tantrum as soon as they walked out the door, actually.  Fortunately for him (and for me) Samantha, who is 17, is still here and is staying the duration of the summer (give or take a few days or weeks).  She's been an amazing help, I must say, in not only caring for Spencer (especially during these 100°F or hotter days when I still try to get him outside for at least a short period here and there), but also keeping me, miss hormonal-eight-month-pregnant-stressed-out-mommy in a somewhat stable emotional state.  Gosh, I'm so lucky to have her.  Seriously.

Allison is coming back in a few weeks, with my dad, who is going to help us move.  Yes, back to moving.  When Spencer and I went to visit my family in my hometown in June, we all came home to new neighbors.  Now, friends of mine on Facebook especially can vouch that I complain about our neighbors pretty consistently, and have since we moved in, basically.  I think we've gone through five different neighbors or sets of neighbors since we moved in, and only one of them (borderline two) were what I call "good" neighbors, who didn't party, stomp, slam doors, yell, etc. at various hours of the day and night.  The new neighbors are just as loud, if not louder, than ones in the past, and when we got home and found them (heard them) living above us in the middle of the night, Jake declared we were going to move.

So, I spent the better part of two or three weeks trying to track down a rental place (because we're still not in a position to really buy a home) that would have enough space, in our current budget (with Jake still acclimating to his job), and allow our dog.

Sadly, as we drew closer to our "deadline" for securing a place so we could move within our time-frame, we realized we weren't going to be able to keep Wendell with us this time.

We're blessed again, in that my dad (and siblings who live with him) offered to keep Wendell for the duration of our lease, until we can/will move again and can have him back.  Now, I will admit, our dog has the knack for driving me completely up a wall, but I love him very much.   We've had him since we were first married (minus a month and a half), and as I joked with Jake "I've spend more time with him than my actual husband" (because Wendell is always home with me, or at least 99% of the time).   Not only do I love him, but Spencer does.  Wendell is his puppy, his dog, his pal.  He talks about him and gets excited and calls all dogs "Wen-doh!" now, even though he knows that they're dogs/puppies and can say and identify them as such.

To picture the next six to twelve months without Wendell by Spencer's side makes me cry.  I'm not even kidding.  I've cried many times since realizing we couldn't have him this next move.  But, knowing that my dad will have him, and we can still see Wendell, and can and will have him back again helps.  Thank goodness!

We finally did sign a lease for a 3 bedroom, single family home.  It's a pretty nice, older place. It's got its perks and it's downfalls, but it will work for us.  We were really feeling stressed and rushed to find a place and move before our next child is born... sometime in the next 5-9 weeks, most likely.  It's less than 7 weeks until my official due date!  We knew it'd be easier on us all to move and get settled into the "new" place before we brought home a new baby, so finding one, signing the lease, and getting over there has become a main focus of our days.

Well, now it's to the packing part.  We signed to move in on July 14.  We did this last Friday, giving us approximately two weeks to go through and pack all of our stuff again. Fortunately, we're moving about a mile (maybe two?) from where we live now, so it's not a huge move, but it's still stressful.  I find it especially stressful, because, much like last time we moved, I'm nearly full-term in a pregnancy, and I'm not allowed to do what I would normally do while moving, lifting and hauling stuff.  Yes, I can fill a box, but after that, chances are I'm not supposed to be carrying it around.  And this time, we have a "helpful" toddler around who is making it pretty challenging to get much of anything done on a daily basis.

Then, we'll be moved... and transitioning to a new home.  Do we transition Spencer to his toddler bed before we move?  Right when we move?  A while after?  Originally, my reasoning for wanting him in the toddler bed was that it was physically straining me to lean over his crib railing to pat him to sleep over and over every night.  But then, we did the sleep training thing and for the most part, he is fine on his own (except the past few aforementioned nights).  So, is the necessity still there? I don't know. I don't know what would be easier on him and easier on us.  I know when we stayed at my mom's for four nights, he was trying to sleep in a new room, in a different bed (his pack and play) and he did NOT do well.  So, part of me is afraid to switch him to a toddler bed at the same time that we move, and wait it out, or do it now.  I just don't know.

And then... we'll have our second child.   We won't have our dog.  My sister may or may not be here for a bit after the new baby is born, I don't know, she hasn't really decided (either way is fine, I don't want to pressure her).  Jake will be home for two weeks or so to help me and Spencer (and himself) adjust, but then he'll be gone.. and it will be me, and Spencer, and baby Bo.  Will Spencer like having Bo around?  Will he hate it?  Will he act out?  Will I be able to handle it?  Will I be able to find help if I can't?  Will I ever sleep again?  Will we... will I... be okay?!

There's just SO MUCH going on!

Gah!

Okay, that was long.  I commend you, and thank you graciously, if you managed to read the entire thing, and have any input, advice, commiseration, or... anything... to say afterward.

Bless you.

Some Worries

I am currently almost 29 weeks pregnant.  While I'm getting really excited (last night, I was sitting on the couch, late, all alone, giddy out of my mind almost thinking about how I can't wait to find out if Bo is a boy or a girl and what his/her name really is) about it all, suddenly, I'm also filled with worries again.

Now, I've been worried slightly about random little things the entire time.  Where, in this two bedroom place, will we keep Bo's clothing?  I decided in a small dresser in Jake's closet (Spencer and I already share his).

We'll let Bo sleep in a bassinette in our room until we find a new place.  So, I'm not worried about that as much.

You get the hint. Just little things, mostly dealing with space issues.  But, I've resigned to knowing we'll figure it out and we won't be here forever anyway.

But, last night, as I was getting really excited about the arrival, who will tell me "It's a boy/girl!" when Bo arrives (I hope Jake, actually gets to announce it), and what we will then call the baby (we do have names chosen already, and if you'd like to know them, feel free to ask), I was thinking about how we have been trying to get Spencer to say either of the names.

He almost always replies "no way."  I laugh, of course, because I think it's pretty funny.  I thought maybe that'd be a nice interesting nickname for his little brother/sister.

But then, I began thinking about Spencer, and how he will handle it all.

Tomorrow, he turns nineteen months old.

We haven't really done anything to prepare him for the arrival of the new baby.  I haven't really known how or what to do, so I have just done... nothing.  Other than try to get him to say the names we've chosen, I guess.  And occasionally tell him it hurts when he jumps, bounces off, leans into, sits on, etc... my belly.

I've never said why.  Never "that will hurt the baby."  I figured that wouldn't make any sense to him at all.  I figured telling him that I had a baby in my tummy wouldn't make any sense at all, let alone that when he hurts me it would (probably not, but you never know) hurt the baby.  He doesn't understand that it's uncomfortable or painful to me anyway (even if I pretend to cry, or groan, grunt, or actually cry), and it hasn't changed a thing, other than to keep me from sitting in the living room when he's really rambunctious.

He will be about 21.5 months old when his brother or sister arrives.  While I think he's a pretty smart little guy, I just... figured he wouldn't understand me trying to prepare him or explain to him anyway, so I haven't.

Now, clearly, I'm worried about it.

I'm worried about how he will react.  Not necessarily that he'll jump on the baby or hurt the baby in any way, but that he just won't know what to do anymore.  He's been home alone with me (the majority of the time) since February, after being in daycare the majority of his short life.  He plays at parks and at friend's houses, and he's definitely been around other babies at those places, as well as the church nursery, but I know that's not the same as having a new baby in his house ALL THE TIME.

That's very, very different.

I worry about whether he will feel neglected.  I don't believe I will neglect him.  I honestly, still, can't imagine loving the next child as much as I love him.

Yes, that sounds bad.  Hopefully you can understand what I mean, though, and not think that I won't love my next child as much, because I have been assured that I will, despite the fact that I can't imagine it.

Heck, I didn't imagine I would love Spencer as much as I do. I mean, I knew I would love him more than I could imagine, but to keep falling more deeply in love with him, after some really random things sometimes (like watching him stand completely still for 15 minutes or so as he watches hot air balloons launch), it overwhelms me.

I worry that he will feel like he's been replaced.  Or not good enough.  Will he question that later in life?

Neither Jake nor I feel that we are.  We never want him to think that.  In fact, we love him so much that is why we wanted another child.  For us AND for him.  To have a friend.  A companion, a live in playmate, a brother or sister to love, protect, and enjoy with us.

It makes sense to me.

But, I don't know how a toddler mind works.

I feel like I've digressed.

Basically, all I mean to say is that I'm a little worried about how Spencer will react to the big change coming up, and how, if there is any way, to really prepare him for that.

Baby Bojangles, Heart Rate: 185bpm

On Monday, December 12, 2011, I aced my third one of these tests.

For two days, I had been having cramps and "pms symptoms" and though I figure it was too early to take a test, I also knew my cycle wasn't supposed to arrive until at least Friday. So, after texting my husband and a few friends about whether or not I should test, and realizing that when I found out I was pregnant with Spencer, it was following a very similar timeline (an hcg trigger shot on a Wednesday, and a test less than two weeks later, on a Monday), I bought a package of tests and went home. I wasn't going to take one, actually. But then, I had to go to the bathroom really badly. And I decided if it was negative, I'd not get my hopes crushed, because it was still only 12 days post trigger shot.

Well, I dipped the stick and capped it, and then I brought it to the kitchen and propped it vertically (like the directions said) and let it beep the digital timer picture as I started doing dishes. I was going about my business and trying to ignore the fact that it was there, until I rinsed a dish and caught that the blinking had already stopped, a bit earlier than expected. Needless to say, I figured it was negative.

Nope. It said "pregnant."

I tried to call Jake. I was trembling with disbelief. I mean, I had lost Sprout in September, and then had to wait two months while using birth control to heal from the D&C, and this was our first cycle trying again. It couldn't be right, could it?

Well, he didn't answer. So, I panicked, because heck, I needed to talk to someone who could not only keep a secret, but also share in my disbelief-stricken joy. I dialed Desi, my dear sister-friend. She was super excited for me and assured me it was more than likely a positive positive. Gosh, I love her. And then, after a few minutes of exuberant conversation, I tried to call Jake again.. and again... and again.

And he finally answered! And he didn't sound super excited. I think he said he was eating. Haha. But he really was. He assured me. And I KNOW he was.

I was 3 weeks, 1 day pregnant. Wow.

And then, we had to wait nearly a month to get an "official" ultrasound. However, I was having intense pain, so I went in early. At almost six weeks I was having excruciating pain in my back and hips. They diagnosed me with a UTI and kidney infection. They did an ultrasound to make sure it wasn't an ectopic pregnancy, and saw the amniotic sac forming in the proper place, so that was reassuring. Though, after taking the meds for the infection, the pain persisted and got worse, and it was determined I have sciatica on both sides of my body (from my back down to my heels I get sharp pains, it's not awesome), and it may or may not get worse as the pregnancy progresses. Yikes.

If you're a friend of mine on Facebook, two weeks ago today, there's a pretty good chance you would have seen the following picture on your newsfeed (unless you blocked me or something, of course).

The caption I gave the photo read:

Jake and I discussed when to share this news with everyone, as we've known for a little over three weeks. While it's still very early (6w3d) into the journey, we truly appreciated the support we received when we lost Sprout. We thank God for all of you who sent prayers last time, and hope that you could possibly spare a few moments here and there to pray that we are able to hold Baby Bojangles in our arms in August 2012 (estimated arrival: August 26).

We decided to announce early, again. Yes.

Over the following two weeks, I tried to not be nervous about how when I was pregnant with Sprout, the first ultrasound went well, and then by the 9 week mark, we found out we had lost our baby at 7w6d.

I was doing well until I was 7w5d pregnant with Baby Bo and realized it was the last day that Sprout's heart was beating. I've been a mostly silent (about it) ball of nerves since.

Thankfully, prayers work and the ultrasound this morning showed Bo's heart beating rapidly. We heard the heartbeat this week (only saw it two weeks ago) and it was 185bpm. The baby was already moving like crazy (much like Spencer. I think we'll have another boy) and she had to try to get the measurement twice because Bo moved during the first listen/measurement. That was perfect to me!

The crown-rump-length measurement shows Baby Bo is at 8w6d instead of 8w3d, but for now, they're not going to change my due date. We were given a few photos and taken to a consult room where we waited the last part of our appointment.

When the PA came in, she explained to us that I have a small (on the ultrasound screen, it was about the size of Bo's amniotic sac) placental/uterine hemorrhage, which is technically called a subchorionic hematoma. She said it should heal on it's own by 20 weeks, but if I have lots of bleeding to call and come in. If I have spotting, it should be okay, as long as there's not a lot of cramps.

In this day and age, of course, I went to Google, which scared the heck out of me as it told me that it can increase chances of miscarriage, or not heal, and can actually tear away completely and cause harm to the fetus, so I should take it easy and avoid heavy lifting and strenuous exercise and things of that nature. Which makes sense.

I decided I will try not to worry about it. If she says she thinks it should heal, I should just trust her medical expertise, but of course, Jake and I discussed that we will definitely proceed with caution and I should "behave" so as to not increase chances that it does not heal. Other than that, we're just going to pray and hope that in two weeks, and again in four weeks, it has decreased in size or healed completely. Your prayers are appreciated too, if you are so generous as to spare some on us!

Anyway, so... we're pregnant again! Spencer will hopefully be a big brother in the end of August, and we're delighted!

Happy Birthday! (And also, bedtime wars part 23.3423)

Today is my beloved husband's birthday! I have been making fun of him a little bit for a few weeks, about how he's getting old. Granted, he isnot old. He's one year older than I am, and I'm not old, so... yeah. But, I like to poke fun, all in a good nature, anyway. He takes it like a pro. It's also his twin brother, Jesse's birthday (which I know, sounds obvious, but sometimes...)! Happy birthday, dearests!

Sad story. Jake had to work all day today. In fact, tonight is his overnight route, so he doesn't even come home! Okay, that's only sad for me, because he'll get a peaceful night's sleep tonight, while

there's a 50/50 chance of that at home. More on that soon.

My husband is awesome. This is evident by all these wonderful pictures (courtesy my friend Rena after a wonderful Skype session a month or two ago).

Oh wait, that seems like an odd way to prove his awesomeness. Well, let's see. He works SUPER hard, and long hours, in the crappy weather, and all that, to provide for Spencer and

I. While I complain about him being gone, I know he is doing it to support us. He makes me laugh. He makes Spencer laugh. He gets up with

Spencer at night! He is a fantastic musician. He's a wonderful friend.

And stuff.

Seeing as how I knew I'd only see him for about 23 minutes on his actual birthday, I decided we would celebrate it yesterday instead.

I started off by leaving the house with the baby in the morning. Okay, that wasn't for his sake, but

rather, Spencer and I went to visit the Hedgehogs (that's the name of the room I used to work in before I had Spencer). When we came back, I

brought Jake his favorite Starbucks beverage. That'd be a venti Cinnamon Dolce Latte with extra caramel drizzle on top. It smells, and tastes, like a gooey cinnamon roll, if you're wondering.

Then I made an awesome batch of soup, an original creation (recipe found here, because now I have a food blog), that he downright loved.

Tarah came and took Spencer for six hours, and

Jake and I went to the movies. We saw Breaking Dawn. Yup, we did. And we were the only ones in the theater, so I got to play "Mystery Science

Theater" and Jake let me make any snarky comments I want. And he laughed REALLY loud, because he could. Woot.

Then, I took him for a fancy-pants surprise supper. Well, he knew we were going to eat, but he didn't know where. I'm a really bad liar, so he didn't even guess, because he didn't want to ruin my surprise (for once, haha). I took him to Carnaval Brazillian Grill, which was AMAZING. Robert and Jillian joined us. We spent a good two hours there, enjoying the feast, laughing our buttoxes a size smaller, and having good conversation. Yes, it was fantastic.

After, we went and got our little man, and Jake read him a story or four, before giving him a bath and putting him to bed. Then, we watched a little tv (or TV on DVD) and went to bed.

Oh, and for the record. I wore MAKE-UP yesterday. Full out make-up, even. With foundation and everything. That's special, I tell you. I generally skip all make-up, except maybe mascara (which I accidentally told Jake I would be wearing "Marsala" instead of "mascara" thanks to my phone's auto-correct), because I feel like if I wear full-out make-up, I look almost like a drag queen. Okay, maybe not, but I feel like it looks odd on me. Though, yesterday, I think I actually looked kind of nice.

I asked Jake today, and he said he enjoyed his birthday celebration very much.

Success!

But... NOT succesfully... do I... put our son to sleep. Ever. Anymore. It seems.

For the past few weeks, I have been trying anything I can think of (that's sane and reasonable, anyway) to get Spencer to go to sleep with minimal fighting. It's just not working. I don't know what the issue is. Well, sometimes I have a good night and he goes to sleep easily.

The most frustrating part to me is that it seems like what works one night is NEVER the same as what will work another. For example, one night, rocking him to sleep worked. The next, pretending to cry on the floor of his room. Another night, pretending to sleep while he screamed in his crib, eventually falling asleep, too. Jake puts him to sleep by playing guitar and suggested that to me, and I tried, but that just made him even more mad. Some nights, rocking him to sleep torques him off pretty badly. Sometimes, singing "You Are my Sunshine" is the key to getting him to sleep, but other nights, it just fuels his anger.

I'm at such a loss.

Confession: it makes me feel like a bad mom! And, it's making me hate (maybe not quite that strong.. despise) bedtime.

*sigh*

Tonight, it took almost two hours of getting him to wind down and fight him to sleep. What worked? Letting him scream for twenty minutes before laying him face down in his crib and patting his back somewhat hard. Go figure.

And lately, again, he's waking up multiple times a night. And if I go into the room to put him to sleep, he just gets more mad than if Jake does, which is utterly confusing and frustrating to me.

Anyway, so, at night, I find myself feeling like a bad mom, because I can't figure this out. At all. Jake says he thinks I'm a fantastic mom, but he hasn't told me why. Clearly, my "get our son to sleep" skills do not rank that highly, so... there must be something good.

I guess I will go lay in bed now and try to fall asleep. Have I ever confessed that on Jake's overnight routes I have a very difficult time sleeping, because I worry that I will die in my sleep and no one will check up on me and Spencer will go an entire day stuck in his crib, painfully hungry, thirsty, soiled, sad, mad, and lonely. Guh. EVERY WEEK that keeps me up.

Okay, adios for the evening.

Scared-y-Pants can hit a ball!

Two months, or so, ago, my reproductive endocrinologist told me that I was going to be put on birth control and Metformin for two months, to let my uterus heal, post D&C surgery, before he would feel that we could "safely" start trying for another baby.

Well, two months is almost up.

When he first told me that, it felt like a giant stab in the hope sector of my heart. I felt like birth control was the complete opposite solution to my problem (though, medically, I understood why he was suggesting it, and of course, agreed to take that route), prohibiting us from having another child (temporarily, of course). The past two months, I have struggled with that over and over, each night as I took the tiny pill. I swallowed it hard (literally and figuratively, haha), and what do you know, I made it through it without excessive amounts of emotional baggage. Woohoo.

Now that we're getting closer to "starting over" on our journey to bring a brother or sister for Spencer into this world, I am nervous. More nervous that I was before we conceived Spencer or Sprout, I think. Maybe not more nervous. Maybe different nervous. And somewhat scared. With the potential to be terrified.

I am not necessarily scared that we won't get pregnant. I believe that we will. I hope it is sooner than later, even.

But, I am afraid of being pregnant again. I know that sounds strange, but hear me out.

When I was pregnant with SJ, I was super excited. I was nervous because we found out before I was four weeks pregnant, and cautious about it at first, until we heard the heartbeat. Then, we shared the joy with the world, and a few months later, Spencer was born.

With Sprout, it was the same. I was nervous (more so than with Spencer, looking at the event retrospectively, but we found out just one day earlier than we did with Spencer, too), and when we saw the heartbeat for the first time, we shared our joy publicly again.

Only, of course, we lost Sprout.

So, when we find out we're pregnant again, I'm nervous of how I will feel about it, and how I will react. Will I be invested in it, filled with joy? Or will I be totally detached and terrified to lose another child? I can't know, of course, and I hope it's the first option, but knowing myself, I could see the second coming to fruition just as easily (hey, I'm being honest).

Will I be too nervous to be "normal" feeling about it? Will I be overly-cautious? Will I over analyze every little thing and foresee another miscarriage? I sure hope not. I will try not to. I will pray that I don't become "that kind of woman," but, the possibility is seriously there, and it makes me nervous.

When we see a heartbeat again, will we feel comfortable sharing? I feel like we would, because, following the same path of thought as the first two pregnancies, if we share the news, we enlist countless friends and family as a prayer and support system. So, probably.

But, will I ever feel "at ease" being pregnant again? Or will I just be terrified?

I try not to think about it, but I can't help it.

I know they say that a miscarriage doesn't usually mean and increased risk for another miscarriage. But, you just never know.

So, there you have it. I'm a big scared-y-pants who wants to be pregnant so intensely, but isn't quite sure how to handle herself when that time comes again.

New subject.

Racquetball! Yeah! I never really saw myself being a racquetball player. I won't lie. The most I'd had interest in racquetball courts was in college when Jake and I would sneak our guitars into the racquetball courts at SMSU, turn off the lights, and play guitar and sing in the dark. (If you've never done that, do it, it's a phenomenal experience acoustically.)

But, a few weeks ago, I decided I would like to join Jake at the wellness center, and by golly, he invited me to learn how to play racquetball. Feeling a bit spunky and daring that day, I agreed to do just that.

Now, I won't brag, but I am a great racquetball player.

Haha, no I'm not. I am a great loser though. Meaning I haven't scored more than 6 points total (if I recall correctly) in my entire career (which is about three weeks long now), but I tell you what, I have FUN. Yes, I will admit, I enjoy playing racquetball!

Jake is a really good sport about it. He doesn't play "full force" against me, and he intentionally avoids beaming with the ball, especially in the head (I actually haven't been hit once by Jake, and I have accidentally hit him at least 3 times (which I apologize for repeatedly as he tells me it's his own fault)). He doesn't hit the ball insanely fast either, so I actually have a chance of lugging my slow self toward it and may actually hit it!

I have scored points though (not sure if they were "pity points" or not, but I'll pretend they are legit), and I have caused quite a few (at least 9) side-outs, AND I HIT THE BALL many, many times. I can even serve fairly reliably! Yeah. That's right. I'm a player. (Haha.)

Some day, maybe I'll even start scoring enough points to warrant having my own racquet, and not have to touch the creepy over-used-super-germy-from-tons-of-sweaty-hands racquets at the wellness center. That's my goal. To be good enough I can buy a $30 Wilson Hope Racquet (because it's a girly one that donates to breast cancer research).

And, to note, while I am "not good" at racquetball, I think I might be even worse at Squash, which Jake taught me to play on Sunday. But, again, it was a fun game!

Of course, the extra perk to my new found interest in racquetball is that it is making me go to the wellness center more and utilizing the membership I've been paying for, while also benefiting my health. ;-)

And now, to check on Wendell, who has been whining in the bathroom for about 45 minutes after I gave him a bath because he got sick all over himself in the kennel earlier, and I wouldn't let him tear around the house soaking wet, but didn't feel like wrestling him dry.

A Perfect Heart.

Last night was a bit of a scary night for me.

I went to bed around 11, after getting Spencer back to sleep.

Then, I woke up around 12:20 to the strangest, most intense pressure in my chest. It felt like my ribcage might actually shatter if I moved. It wasn't a stabbing pain or shooting pain or anything like that. It hurt, but it was mostly pressure. I tried best I could to wiggle around and change positions, but nothing was helping.

So, I text my husband a handful of times and tried calling, but assuming he was asleep, I got up and started to "research" it online.

Never a good idea, really.

Most things I found were pointing toward a possible heart-attack. I didn't feel like (not that I'd really know, I guess) I was having a heart-attack, but I was definitely concerned because the pressure was relentless. I toyed with the idea of calling the 24 hour nurse hotline for Sanford... and after telling myself it'd be best to have an idea whether or not it was life threatening, especially since I was home alone with my baby, I gave the number a call.

I spoke with the nurse, who was very kind and helpful, for about 20 minutes. Based on my description of the symptoms, and my lack of erratic heart rate, sweats, breathing difficulty, she told me it didn't sound like a heart attack. I was very relieved to hear that from a medical professional. She gave me a few options of what it could have been: heart-burn (weird, right?), a delayed reaction to my D&C, a reaction to the birth control + Metformin regimen I am on currently, or some underlying heart condition that could point toward an oncoming heart attack. She strongly urged I see a doctor within the next 72 hours, the sooner the better, just in case.

I tried to sleep after that, but it was very difficult. I kept thinking, even though I didn't feel like I was at risk of dying last night, that if something did happen, Spencer would be alone, hungry, soiled, upset, and cold. Or if I did need to call 911 due to increased severity, who would take care of him? If I had to drive to work the next morning, what if something happened to me and we got in an accident and he died?

The pressure lasted over an hour and a half.

Yeah. Late nights, as I've mentioned, aren't always my thing.

Jake ended up calling, and I cried my fears to him and talked to him a while, and eventually, around 3, fell asleep until SJ woke me at about 3:45. Then, I had a hard time sleeping again. I am not sure I got more than 3 hours "quality" sleep last night.

This morning, I made an appointment, and this afternoon, visited my doctor. After a review of my night's symptoms, blood draw (which took 3 stabs, because the technician forgot he had to fill two vials, so he switched arms, and couldn't get any blood from that arm, despite probing and moving the needle, so he went back to the first arm), an EKG, and 2 X-rays, it was decided that my heart was in perfect (or near perfect, as close as it can be, I guess, so she explained) condition. My doctor was very impressed, and I was quite relieved.

So, we discussed possibilities. I suggested my thoughts on an anxiety issue, but she said she wasn't certain that was the case, because of my lack of breathing, heart-rate, sweating, and anxious feeling while it was happening. She decided that it would be treated as stress-induced silent (acid) reflux for now. I am told I should take Zantac before bed for the week, but if it bothers me, or gets worse, to come in again next week to revisit other possibilities.

I explained to her the various stressors in my life lately. The miscarriage and emotions dealing with that. The lack of sleep I feel I'm getting. My husband's ever-grueling work schedule and his absence at home. My uncle's passing. Spencer's teething and mommy-neediness. My feelings of lack of safety in Sioux Falls at night lately. Etc. She asked if I felt depressed. I answered "no." I don't feel like I am depressed, clinically, as one would say. I have been emotional lately, but she agreed that is necessary with all that's going on. My sleeping habits haven't really changed much (I haven't been getting much sleep for a year now... haha), my enjoyment in hobbies hasn't. My appetite hasn't. My sense of faith hasn't. Stuff like that.

But, I do agree that I'm stressed out. Probably unhealthily so, lately. I feel like it's hard not to be when I feel like there's so much on my plate.

Either way, reflux or anxiety, I'm stressed.

I understand her concern about putting me on anti-anxiety medication without ruling out other possibilities, especially since in two months or so I hope to be trying for another baby. It makes sense to me. And I don't want to be on them if I don't have to be. So, I appreciate her concern and desire to rule out other options.

But, I will admit, I am not completely sold on the silent reflux diagnosis.

I guess we'll see.

My mind is a jumbled mess.

I have so many thoughts running through my mind right now that it literally almost makes me dizzy. Of course, I've been kind of lightheaded and dizzy with a slight lack of balance since the procedure on Thursday (which I called about, and they said was okay, so long as I didn't spike a fever or lose a lot of blood...), but I feel like when my mind starts going, I get thrown a little more off-kilter.

Today started out with me waking, but not anticipating the day in a very good way. Today, I had to get up and get showered, and get Spencer ready for church. Now, I feel like I shouldn't have been thinking negatively about it, really, but I was very apprehensive and feeling quite overwhelmed. I guess that's what you get when you're public about your grief, right?

I knew that there was a 98% (roughly) chance that as soon as I entered the doors, I would come face to face with someone who knew of our loss.

Well, I was right.

First, John greeted me, and with a hand on my shoulder, asked me how I was.

"I'm okay, right now, I guess." I believe were my exact words. He inquired about how Jake was doing, and my answer was "he's kind of angry. But, I think he's doing okay this moment, too." Of course, that was just a general assumption, because I hadn't really seen Jake yet, but he seems to usually be doing okay in the midst of the church. So, I thought it a safe guess.

I made it through that encounter without crying. Then, I saw Robert and Jillian standing with Jake by the nursery. Jillian opened her arms as I walked quickly to them, a "safe spot," as you might say, and I dove into her arms crying immediately. In fact, I was so encompassed by her embrace, I ceased to notice Spencer was in my arms, a bit squished. Whoops.

Then, another friend, Wendy, came by to offer her condolences. Her exact words, I will not post, though I remember them clearly. And, Wendy, if you read this, the words you shared were perfect, even if you thought you didn't know exactly what to say. Coupled with your gesture of love, they were perfect. I held strong and didn't cry for a few minutes.

And then, I took Spencer's bag into the nursery, and was embraced by Jenn, to which, I sought shelter in her embrace and began crying again. I confessed to her "I just want to be home." But, I admitted it was good that I was at church. I honestly hid inside the room for a bit to try to compose myself before Jake took my hand and lead me to the sanctuary.

The service... I wish I could say I remembered clearly, but I really did. I tried so hard to focus on the pastor's words, but I found it very difficult. I sat there, "talking" to God in my mind, and trying to focus on my praises to him. It was hard, I will admit. I have no problems praising Him and rejoicing of Him. I am not mad at Him by any means. But, of course, it's always a struggle to be exuberant when you are in pain and sorrow.

Following the service, another dear friend, Carmen, sought me. As soon as she hugged me, I began sobbing again. And she held me so tight, and prayed for me and with me, and Jake, as I cried. And, in a whirlwind, it seemed, moments later, Lance (the pastor) and Joan (his wife) were by our sides, praying for me, for us, as well. I cried all the way through the "Amen," and then, momentarily, the tears ceased. I held strong through a short talk with Hal, and then again with Jenn, before finally meeting up with Kyla. I didn't cry that time either, as she offered words of wisdom, comfort, and hope before I left the building.

Lunch was good, though I don't know that I was "all there," either, as we met with Jake's co-worker/friend, and her fiance.

The rest of the day.. buzzed by. We went grocery shopping, and I text my brother. My mother called and offered words of comfort and her own experiences, and expressed her love for me, until she had to go. It was so wonderful to hear her voice. I turned off my emotions as best as I could as I watched a documentary.

Then, I realized it was almost 8:00pm and Spencer hadn't had supper yet, and Jake was asking me about what I wanted. Instead of being able to answer and make a decision, I broke down sobbing and exited the room.

For some resaon, those two simple instances got me thinking, "I am not okay."

I sat on the bed, in the dark, my entire body sobbing, curled over in a ball nearly, as I gasped for what air I could take in as the tears rained down to my lap.

When Jake asked what I was thinking, I could barely proclaim, "It's NOT OKAY!" He asked what, and I said, I believe, "the whole situation."

I tried to explain my thoughts... on how I feel like I don't know how to take care and cope with myself, when I don't realize how late it is and our baby hadn't eaten. What if I can't take care of him? What if I'm not a good mom? What if my sorrow makes me a failure for him?

Realistically, I know it won't, because I know I will move on, but right now, I'm stuck, and I realized it.

I don't know how I am supposed to function tomorrow when I have to get up for work, and go to work, to take care of other people's children. These people who we all just recently told of my exciting pregnancy. Yes, the children can sometimes be a distraction, but it seems like in the random moments, the miscarriage overwhelms me for no particular reason, and I am stopped in my tracks. What if I spend the day there, just me and the children, sobbing uncontrollably. What if I cannot pull it together?

And then, when I come home, and Jake is not here to comfort me, how will I cope? I feel like right now, I need him available to me to run to at any given moment. And tomorrow, that will not be the case.

The selfish part of me wishes the world could just stop turning for a while. Activities could pause.

I honestly do not know how I am supposed to fall back into my old, typical, daily routine, and have to operate like things are okay. I feel like people will expect me to act like things are okay. And clearly, to me anyway, they are not. Not yet. They can't be, when in a split second I can go from happy to hyperventilating and overcome with grief or anger. Things just are not okay.

I am scared. The world is moving on, or not taking notice (not that I want everyone to take notice, that too, would be overwhelming), but I am not. I am still here, where I was on Wednesday morning, trying to overcome the loss of a child.

Goodbye, Sprout.

This is one blog post I had never imagined having to make. I knew there was always the possibility that this situation would occur, but of course, I had hoped and prayed it would be avoidable.

Alas, what do I really know?

Seeing as how the Oxycodone I took two and a half hours ago did not make me fall asleep like I was told it probably would, and I cannot turn off my mind, I decided maybe I would share what was on it, and hope to find some peace... or at least wear myself out enough to fall asleep. Heck, at this point, I'd give for falling asleep in our computer chair....

On Monday evening, I started spotting. It was light, and when I called the doctor the next morning, they said it was normal and okay. So, I tried not to think about it.

Tuesday afternoon, though, it became suddenly heavy, and I started with light cramping. I called the doctor back on the way home from work, and she was more concerned. I was told to go home, rest, put my feet up, and do as little as possible. If it got worse, go to the ER.

Well, it got gradually a little worse, but come bedtime, it was starting to get better. Jake and I had been enlisting prayers all night, and I thought that perhaps, they were working.

Right before our scheduled ultrasound appointment on Wednesday morning, the spotting started returning again. I looked out the bathroom door at Jake, and simply said, "It's back." Right then, in the pit of my stomach, I felt like I knew what it meant, but I tried to remain positive, anyway.

One of the worst moments of my life came at about 10:40 on Wednesday morning. As soon as the ultrasound images showed up on the television screen, I knew. Before the ultrasound technician said anything about it, or even "looked" at Sprout, I knew. There was no movement at all. There was no pulsating little heartbeat. Just stillness.

And Jake knew it too, I think.

After she looked around at other things, she zoomed in. After a few moments, she uttered, "I'm sorry guys." Tears flowed freely from my eyes. I was right. Sprout was gone.

She asked if we wanted a printout of the image, and I said yes. Now, I have no idea why I did. I can still, very clearly, see the most haunting image in my mind. It's burned there. I don't need or want a photo of it to commemorate that saddest moment.

We cried in the room for a while before moving to the next, where they explained that at about 7 weeks, 6 days, Sprout's heart stopped beating and he/she stopped growing. There was nothing they could have done to prevent it, and it was most likely because there was something "wrong" with the fetus, chromosomes and the like. It was nature's way of protecting us and the baby, basically.

They explained options, and sent us on our way. I bawled all the way to my chiropractic appointment, and then somehow made it through, but on the way home, I broke down again. I laid in the bed, sobbing. Our baby died. The heart stopped beating. I thought I was going to throw up all over myself.

Then, I realized I was lying there with our dead child inside of me. They told me they wanted me to try to "pass it on my own" over the next week, but if I hadn't, they'd do the D&C surgery to remove the tissues. I decided, after talking with Jake, that I didn't know if I could go a week with the constant reminder of what was going on, and then maybe still carrying around our child, no longer living or growing, inside of me. And what if I didn't pass the tissues and have to have the surgery in a week anyway?

Emotionally, I just didn't think I could handle it. So, we called, and scheduled the D&C surgery.

I spent the majority of the day on Wednesday crying uncontrollably. I kept apologizing to Jake. I KNOW it's not my fault, and I was not in any way blaming myself (though, sometimes I feel it would be easier if it were my fault and I had someone to blame), but I was apologizing because I was genuinely sorry for him that his child was no longer growing inside of me, either. Sprout was not just my baby, after all.

I did have a few moments of happiness, of course, where I was not sobbing. Undoubtedly the best part of my day was when I was sitting in the chair by the window, crying so hard, and Spencer was on my lap eating a snack. He peeked his head around to face me, smiled, and shoved a puff snack straight into my mouth, then laughed. I couldn't help but laugh. And then, he kept doing it. It was the first time he willingly shared and allowed me to keep something without taking it back to be funny. It was the sweetest moment.

By the end of the night, I was terrified for today to come. I knew that Wednesday was hard, perhaps the hardest day of my life to date, but the next day was to be the procedure that really finalized our loss.

And to make matters worse, while at first, Jake thought he could/would be there for the procedure, by the end of the night, that wasn't the case. He couldn't switch his route days, and he didn't think he could wait until the middle of the afternoon to get going. So, we settled for him being there until I went in for the procedure.

I hugged him goodnight, and cried some more, letting him know how sorry I was that he lost a child. I couldn't stop crying, I didn't know how. Thankfully, he held me in bed so I was not alone.

This morning, I had a hard time getting out of bed. I prayed it could still be night. I didn't want to wake up, because I knew that in waking up, the nightmare would still be my living reality and there was really no escaping it. To make matters worse, I knew that I would be going through the procedure alone.

Not totally alone, of course. I had God with me. And my mother-in-law, Angela, was also there, as Jake asked her to come to be my support. And while I appreciate it greatly, of course, it wasn't the same as having my husband with me.

Angela and I left for the hospital, as I fought back feelings of being abandoned and alone, and Jake took Spencer to stay with some dear friends, because post surgery, I would not be able to care for him.

The ultrasound I had this morning to confirm wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, initially. But, tonight, I can see it again in my mind. I laid there, eyes transfixed on the screen, seeing the image of Sprout, even more lifeless looking than the day before. And no one was there to hold my hand. Following, the doctors and nurses went through the procedures with me, then I went to the lab for a blood draw, and then it was off to surgery.

Around noon, they took me through the freezing cold hallways into the even colder operating room, where, after a few agonizing and terrifying minutes, they finally put me to sleep.

The worst part of my day was what happened next. I woke up, cold, in pain, and alone, in a sterile, noisy, hospital recovery room with a bunch of medical personnel I did not know. I couldnt' even ask for my husband, because he was not there. I was there. No Jake. No Spencer. No Sprout. I began crying somewhat hysterically as the situation hit me. The nurse gave me oxygen and wiped away my tears as I tried to deal with the fact that indeed, I was no longer pregnant, and Sprout had gone to meet our Maker, instead of waiting to meet us in April of next year.

I don't know that I'd ever felt so lonely. It was truly overwhelming.

When I finally calmed down, they had me recover before meeting Angela back in my personal recovery room.

Seeing her helped me regain my calm. I was able to talk, to smile, to laugh again. We talked about our loss and the heartbreak, but we talked about the good things too. She reassured me that it wasn't my fault, and that these things, as sad as they are, happen.

When I was finally released, we came home, to find the door was locked. I had forgotten my key, so we ended up having to drive to meet Jake to get his. The car ride was a challenge. I felt very sick to my stomach and was fighting back emotions that I just did not want to deal with at the time. Angela was very helpful company then, too.

It wasn't until after she left for home that it started to hit me. I had been relatively numb for the majority of the day. But, I sat down on the couch, next to Wendell, and looked at the toys across the room. Spencer wasn't here, and he wouldn't be having a little brother or sister any time in the next 7 months, after all. I cried.

To cope, I went online and chatted with our friend who he is staying with, so I could hear how he was doing. That helped subside the tears a while. It was a nice break.

At 9pm I took the Oxycodone that they said would most likely make me dizzy and drowsy, and I went to lay in bed. I called Jake. He didn't answer. I waited and called again. No answer. Eventually, he called me back, but it's his busiest night on the route, so he didn't really have time to talk.

Needless to say, I felt abandoned and lonely again. I know, of course, that wasn't his intention, but with the huge loss of the day, the terrifying procedure, and all of the emotions I have been trying to deal with, I just felt... dejected.

I sobbed even harder than I had since finding out about our loss. I tried to call my dad a few times, to no avail.

I know that sometimes, it's easier for some people to cope or to deal by removing or distancing themselves from a situation. Unfortunately, it's really hard for someone who needs the person closest to them to be with them to deal with their own emotions. It's a huge conflict, really.

I can't sleep. When I close my eyes, I see the haunting image of Sprout's lifeless body on the screen. When I open my eyes, my husband and my son are gone. It's just me. When I wake up tomorrow morning, it'll be just me.

I just hope it's not just me for long. I don't know how to handle that.

I will admit though, that the countless prayers, the condolences, the kind words and sweet messages, on Facebook, in my email, and on my phone, truly are immeasurable in worth. I cherish every single one of them, even if I haven't the words or the energy to respond right away. I have never had to deal with something like this, and I'm just living moment by moment as I go along.

I know that it's not the same as losing a child you've given birth to, held in your arms, and watched grow. But, we loved Sprout from the very moment we knew of his or her existence. We were already planning for the future, shaping hopes and dreams. Sprout was definitely a part of us, and a part of our family. And while we did not get to hold Sprout in our arms, he or she definitely took up strong residence in our hearts. In that way, we very much lost our child.

And, I can't say that it'd be easier or harder to go through a miscarriage after struggling with infertility and the invasive and ruthless battle that it takes to conceive a child. I wouldn't know. I have been trying not to think about it. But, when it does cross my mind, I do feel like it is a double heartbreak for me. The rounds of assistance where you get a negative result are harder than I can describe. But then to have that positive result taken away from you... I just don't know how to deal.

I wish it made it "so much easier" to know that I'm not alone in this, and that many of the women I know have miscarried a child also. But, it doesn't. Well, it does, but it also breaks my heart. No one should ever have to lose a child, before or after they are born. It's a heartbreak I never would wish upon anyone.

I wish I knew a way to find closure in all of this. There's no funeral for a child lost before birth, really. It feels absolutely surreal at times. Did this all really happen? Surely it did, as I have the physical evidence and hospital discharge paper to prove it.

But don't worry. I am not angry with God. I refuse to lose my faith. God's what will really pull us through this. God, and the support we find in each other and in our friends and family. And of course, this doesn't mean that I do not appreciate the miracle child that I already have. Of course I do. I may even love him more now.

I am sorry that this was so long and disjointed. But, if you've read all the way through, I thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my broken heart.

From One to Two

Jake and I planned to have our children close together. Especially the first two. We've wanted that since we first discussed having children together. Jake has an identical twin, so he'd always had someone close to him as a companion. My brother and I are about 2.5 years apart, and we were pretty close growing up, too. It was nice to have a playmate living with you, despite the bickering and nonsense that ensued. It was an automatic friend and companion. And, we'd always wanted that for our children, too.

Spencer is 10 months old. I am nearly 8 weeks pregnant. Baby Sprout is due around April 18, 2012. When Mister or Miss Sprout arrives, assuming all goes well, Spencer will be 17 months old.

We're very excited!

However, if I get to thinking about it, sometimes I feel a little bit overwhelmed.

I wonder, "are we crazy?!"

I tell myself we aren't. I know we aren't.

But sometimes, it seems scary. It seems like it's going to be a lot for me to handle. For us to handle, though Jake works away from the home, and I am with Spencer (and Sprout) all day.

I was talking with a friend today, sharing my thoughts on the situation, and how it's going to seem like a really big change, going from one child to two children. It was a big change going from Jake and Nicole to Jake, Nicole, and Spencer, too, but for some reason, Jake, Nicole, Spencer, and Sprout seems a bit more drastic a change.

It's "difficult" at times to manage bringing an infant (child) around on short trips, say a run to get gas for the car, or to mail a package, get groceries, try on clothes in a dressing room. But, it's manageable, assuming Spencer cooperates and will sit in a cart and not try to crawl out from under a dressing room door.

But, when I have Spencer in the cart, and another baby to add, will it be impossible? Surely not, as many mothers already do it, but sometimes I am afraid I will feel that it will be. Will I be able to manage a trip to the doctor's office with two children if one is sick? Will it be manageable to take both children out of the vehicle into a gas station if I can't just pay at the pump? I don't know.

I foresee trips and errands will take a lot more planning and combining into one grand sweep across town, but will it work efficiently enough? Or will I lose my mind?

And what about mealtime, or bedtime? Will Sprout wake Spencer in the middle of the night while Jake's on an overnight and I won't be able to get either to sleep as they feed off each other, crying incessantly and I end up joining them?

How will I manage the dog? Taking him out to the bathroom? Will I be able to leave two children in the house and know they're safe? Will I have to "quarantine" them every time I get the mail? Will I be able to leave them alone while I switch the laundry?

What if an emergency happens and I have to try to manage both getting ready?

What if I get sick and can barely function, and have to take care of two children under two?

What if Spencer resents us in the future, because we were so "eager" to bring him a playmate that he doesn't think that we gave him enough time alone?

There are so many fears I have, so many worries. I try not to let them get the best of me. They've been dwelling in my mind ever since we aced that test on August 7th.

Now, I finally was able to write them out. I feel a little bit better.

If I Die Before I Wake...

For the past four days, I keep finding death on my mind. Not in a suicidal fashion, so don't worry about that. More so in a "I hope I don't die soon," sort of way.

I've had "episodes" like this in the past, so it's nothing brand new to me, but I can't help but wish it would pass quickly. I used to be afraid of dying when I was young. I'd lay in bed terrified to go to sleep because I was afraid I wouldn't wake up. After I met Jake and was engaged to him, I was deeply saddened listening to the song "Romeo & Juliet" by Edwin McCain, because it got me thinking (mind you, the song itself doesn't directly deal with death, that I recall, it's been a while since I heard it as I have long lost the CD it is on) that I did not want Jake to die before me, but I also didn't want to die early and leave him behind in sorrow.

Well, now I'm back to not being afraid of death, but rather... fearing it will come too soon and being saddened at the prospect of that and just praying that it doesn't happen.

I obviously realize that how I feel about the matter has no bearing whatsoever on when God will take me from this life into the eternal one, but I can't help but find myself praying that he lets me live out more days here, to see my family and watch my son grow, especially. I'm just not ready to be done. Graciously, thus far, he has answered my prayers.

Thursday night, I lay awake in bed shortly after Spencer fell asleep, thinking about how if I were to die that night, Spencer would be alone, he'd wake up hungry and sad and cry for hours and no one would be there to comfort him because Jake was on his overnight route. No one would probably come to the house to look for me if I hadn't shown up at Jillian's for work the next morning until many hours of calling my phone and no response. He'd be so hungry and upset by then, his diaper certainly soiled and irritating his bottom as his stomach ached with emptiness. Naturally, I started sobbing and continued to do so until I had successfully cried myself to sleep. Needless to say, when he woke up each time that night, I was relieved to hear him and know that I was still there to take on his needs.

Tonight, I had trouble falling asleep again, thinking about how if I were to die when he was so young, he would not remember me for himself, just through what others tell him and what little legacy I have left behind for him to find on my own. I definitely had trouble falling asleep. As luck would have it, he woke up half an hour later, so I changed his diaper, gave him a bottle, and came here to write this.

Hopefully, getting the words out will help this "phase" pass once again.

And, here's to one more prayer that God lets me live many more years so I can be there for my husband and son.

Under the Knife.

I don't recall if I blogged about this subject before, especially while pregnant, so here's a quick summary of the past before I give an update:

While I was pregnant, I had a cyst on the tip of my tail bone flare up... really intensely. More than once, even. It was so painful I had a hard time sitting, standing, even wearing pants. I would end up in hysterics driving home from work it hurt so bad. They drained it once "surgically" and it drained on its own a few times.

Since I was pregnant, they couldn't do much for me, but they said at the surgical tower that if it came back again, especially after giving birth, to call them and they'd discuss options. So, when it did the day after I got home from the hospital, and again a few weeks later, and then it never really disappeared... I called them.

Today, I met with the surgeon. I thought they were going to do a quick drain today and send me on my way.. which they did.

BUT, they also scheduled me for full-on surgery next Wednesday.

I'm nervous. I have a week to sift through this nervousness and pray it be quelled, but seriously, I've never had anesthesia before. The thought scares me. Before I had Spencer, I hadn't even been hospitalized. So... needless to say, I'm not excited.

I am certain it will be fine, though. So, it's just a matter of calming down my mind, really.

They're going to knock me out, cut me open, cut it out, put in a tube, and sew me back up. I'll have a tube for a week or so, and have to take it easy until it's out and the wound heals. They say it's a tricky location since there's so much movement and stress, so I'll definitely have to limit mobility for the first few days. I'll have to have a baby sitter for at least 24 hours, and they say probably help with Spencer for first few days because I'll want to limit activity that causes stress on the area.

Should be delightful.

Right?

A Hairy Deal.

Call it whining, or call it just being truthful, the bulk of this entry will probably come off in a negative way, even though I don't actually intend for it to.

I've always, okay, I'm already being dramatic...

I've been totally self-conscious since puberty. Yeah, I know, most teenagers are, and most probably hold onto it somewhat into adulthood. I know I'm not alone in that.

I have always been terrified that I was "part male." Why? Because I have really hairy arms (no, I don't sport other "junk" down below). I have also started putting on weight since puberty, and hated that too, and was always terrified that everyone was staring at me and judging me for being a freak. I still do, truthfully.

I learned last year that these traits that I loathe can most likely be attributed to Poly-Cystic Ovarian Sydrome, which I was told I had. While it brought some comfort, it did not bring any solace to my fear of people staring, judging, and my hatred to see these things about myself.

I finally started "showing" now, while pregnant, and feel like people aren't just looking at me as if I'm extra fat. So, that takes that away for a while, and you can bet, when I'm done being pregnant, I'm going to be working at losing weight again (which I was successfully doing up until pregnancy).

But I'm still always afraid that I'm the freak with the gorilla arms. My husband will attest to this. And now with celebrities like the "pregnant male" I'm just even more self-conscious that people are judging and snickering about it as I sport a baby belly and hairy arms.

I hate summer a little bit for this reason, every year. This year will probably be no different.


I'm in a wedding next Friday, for my best friend, as her Maid of Honor. It's funny, I know I'll look pretty all dolled up in my beautiul dress, with pretty hair. And I know her family has known me since 1991 and they all accept me and love me (or at least I like to think so) for who I am, but there are going to be people there who have never met me, and I just squirm in my shoes thinking about the stares I might get.

But, as always, I sport my proud, happy face and try to pretend I'm not self-conscious in the least.


Anyway, I don't want to end this in a negative fashion, because that's just lame.

So... a Maid of Honor speech! Ack! I haven't written one. I doubt I will. I'll probably just babble on and on and on and on and on and on.... or say something about how Michelle and I have known each other since the beginning of time, more or less, and I love her, and I'm happy for them, and you know, the usual. Maybe I'll shoot for a laugh or two. We'll see.

And I need to break in my shoes!

I'm so excited for this wedding. I haven't been excited for a wedding this much since my own (which of course, was more exciting to me, but that's because it was mine, and I know D&M don't judge me for that)! It's going to be absolutely beautiful, and I do love that it's on a Friday.

Jake will be in the congregation, but hopefully he'll get a good picture or two that I can show ya'll after it's done with.


Oh yeah, and I broke my laptop screen, with my Hercules fingers. But really, I did, with my pointer and my thumb. So I am using my new roommate's computer (Tarah, my cousin, is moving into the basement) for now, and won't be on as much as usual.

Peace.