A Year Post-Test

One year ago this very morning, I sat in silent disbelief on the edge of my bathtub, staring, dumbfoundedly, at a test. 

There was no way the test was right. I was certain of that. 

I trembled later as I tested once more. This time, I used a digital, and in less than 30 seconds, the test glared

PREGNANT

in my still shocked and disbelieving face.

I trembled. I cried. I worried. I feared. 

After battling infertility to conceive our sons, I just could not believe that I was pregnant again. We had been utilizing charting to avoid pregnancy because we wanted to wait a few years before expanding our family again. I've never been a very scheduled woman inside, but I was certain I had missed the window to have a baby that month.

I was wrong.

It wasn't a "good time" for us. I had JUST accepted a job two days prior. We were just getting on our feet again after financial crises. We were finding our footing. 

This pregnancy scared me. And I worried for nine months whether we could make it work. I wondered if I would be a good mom to THREE babies under four. I wondered if we could afford it. I also worried if, due to all the stress and worries of poor timing, that I would love this baby or resent myself for getting pregnant.

I felt judged. People close to us knew the timing wasn't great. I didn't want them to think we were being stupid. Or that we shouldn't have another baby. So many more worries of similar fashion circled mind.

They didn't stop circling for nine months. They slowed down circling a month or so after that.

One year ago, I was terrified. 

I always said that one of my dearest dreams was to get pregnant "on accident" because I just did not think I could. But I did. And I was guilty because I was upset about it.

Tonight, after a few hours of protesting, Norah Rachelle sleeps peacefully in her bed. Her soft, sweetly scented skin pokes out beneath her (big brother's) silky, pink blanket. Her soft breath whispers as I sit here in silence focusing on my memories and emotions. Her gorgeous, dark eyelashes flutter as she dreams.

I couldn't imagine my life without her. 

She is a perfect fit in our family. I feel that she looks like a bit like one brother and acts a bit like the other. She laughs and squeals and smiles so frequently. She's absolutely the snuggliest of the three. She loves her brothers and they adore her. They're a perfect trio. She calms down to daddy's scent and voice. She lights up when she hears me talk.

While I know my fears and worries were founded in practicality, I feel ashamed for being scared or sad about adding her to our family. 

I was wrong. God was right. She belongs with us, here and now, even if a year ago I was on the verge of being completely convinced otherwise.

Boo, Baby Norah!

On Tuesday, April 15, 2014, our third little miracle, Baby Boo, joined the world.

Here's her birth story. If birth stories make you squeamish, read no further, though I'll keep it as graphic-free as possible.

Norah Rachelle joined our family on Tuesday, April 15, 2014 at 2:42pm. She weighed 9 pounds and was 21 inches talk upon arrival. 

At my midwife appointment on Monday, I was 40 weeks, 3 days gestation. I had not slept in over a week due to nightly contractions and other discomforts. So, when I was checked and nearly 4cm, a sweep was done to try to jump start labor. I was measuring well and she was moving well, but everything was favorable for induction. So, if I was not already admitted into the hospital overnight, at 7am on Tuesday, I was to check-in for induction.

Well, despite some contraction increase overnight, the sweep didn't really jump start anything, so after yet another night of about 3 hours sleep, Jake and I headed to the hospital. I felt pretty calm about the entire idea, with an odd combination of relief knowing she would soon be here, and anxiety over the fact that for the third time in four years, much sooner than we had planned, I was about to be going through the childbirth process again. When I was being induced with the boys, I didn't have the anxiety as much, and after much personal reflection, I decided it was likely because they were very much planned, whereas this pregnancy was a mind-blowing surprise. I just wasn't really prepared yet.

Paradoxes aside, here we were, getting ready for the arrival of child number three.

Our nurse was a friendly face we both recognized, though we couldn't initially pinpoint why. Later on, after Norah arrived, she said she checked and saw that she was one of the nurses during Collin's labor! So cool.

Initially, upon being hooked up to the monitors and checked, I was having somewhat sporadic contractions (still) and by this point was 4.5cm. So, the iv was placed and pitocin started. 

I walked 1/4 mile. Sat around. Walked another 1/4 mile. Attempted to nap. Walked 1/4 mile. Text some friends. 

Came back and was monitored a whole. Checked and was at 7cm. Woohoo! At this point the contractions were every 2-3 minutes and really starting to hurt. My hips were taking the brunt of it, it seemed, and when walking with then it felt like they were going to possibly crack in half. Fun times. So, I decided walking was done. Jake and I relaxed and had some lunch, and at noon-thirty-ish, my midwife came by to check on me and break my water. 

It didn't take long for the contractions to really pick up in intensity and frequency despite the pitocin being decreased by half. And good golly, that was wretched. I had come into the hospital with an "open" birth plan, meaning I was just going to see how things went with no real plan at all. It was pretty much the same plan I had with the boys, and it just works very well for me. This time, I decided that I was going to probably go without an epidural, because with Spencer, it wore off way top early and I felt pretty much everything by birth time anyway, and with Collin, I waited too long for it to actually kick in and I delivered before it was really useful.

So, as the contractions worsened and I thought my hips might shatter and my back might snap, I moved to the tub. My nurse said it would likely help with the hip and back pain as well as the increase of pressure with each contraction. 

I think she was probably right. At least at first, she was. I sat in the tub for I don't know how long. After a while though, I thought I was going to be super sick, and so i got out and went back to the bed. 

I could hardly concentrate on breathing at this point, but was at 8.5cm, so I knew  it was getting close to the end. The pressure and pain was so intense I thought I was going to lose my mind and I could hardly think straight, so the nurse offered me a dose of Fetinol at 2:15pm.  I think that's what it is called anyway... as she said it might help with my hips and back. 

Well... It made me feel like I was drunk and dizzy and not much else. Things hurt just as bad, so I changed positions on the bed, and it just continued to intensify.  I was to the point of tears and fear that I wouldn't be able to finish going through with it all, not that I realistically had a choice. It was at this time that my midwife told me I could push.

But... I couldn't. I honestly could not figure out how. I was on my knees upright and just could not process in my mind how to do it, even though she was coaching me through, so I panicked. I started crying and stating I couldn't figure out how and was shaking and nearly hyperventilating.

Jake was across the room in shock, I think, that it was so close to happening, and I cried terrified for him to come to my side.

So, I resorted to the way I had the boys, "normal" fashion, on the bed. But it was still so intense that it took me a contraction or maybe two to figure out how to get my body to do what it needed to.

Then, I pushed through two contractions. Everyone in the room told me it was a short process, realistically, probably about 5 minutes. But it felt like the most painfully agonizing period of my life and I was unsure it would ever end. I cried out that I didn't know if I could do it. I begged for help. But at the end of the two contractions, she was already born.

My first words to Jake were "is she really a girl?!" I guess, deep down, I really did have worries they were wrong and we would have a baby boy and no infant boy things. I think my heart skipped a beat when Jake paused a second before saying "yes," with a giant grin. Turns out he was in shock it happened as quickly as it did and he was not mentally prepared for her to be here already, and she came out facing downward so he hadn't even seen yet. Haha.

I also asked nearly immediately after, if I could take a good nap on Subday, and a Reese's blizzard. Jake promised I could, and I'm pretty sure the whole room laughed at me. 

They placed her on my chest, and I proclaimed to the room how "wretched" and "horrific" and "absolutely horrible" that was to go through with basically no pain medication. Jake told me over and over how great and amazing and wonderful I did, and how awesome it was that it was so fast. I just couldn't believe how much it hurt, and how I actually did it. 

I held her to my chest for a while. I don't know exactly how long, as she cried a minute, and then just looked at me. Jake and I both just gazed at her, still somewhat in disbelief that we had a daughter. We greeted her, kissed her, told her she was beautiful. I told her that some day, she would understand how much I went through to bring her into our family and just how hard that process is. We laughed. 

Eventually, they took her to clean her to and weigh and measure her. She nursed a while. Daddy held her the first time and grinned with tear-brimmed eyes as she cried at him. And we fell in love.

So far, she's been a fairly happy little girl. She's a good eater and sleeps through most of the noises the boys have made while visiting. Her brothers seem to like her well enough. Spencer is excited to talk about her and point her out to people. He calls her "baby Norah" and "baby sister." Collin, with daddy's help, held her. Spencer, as expected, refused.

I'm excited for she and I to join all of our boys at home tomorrow.

Norah Rachelle is a name that carried a lot of significance. Nora is a name on my mom's side of the family, through her mother, who was one of my best friends, that has been used somewhat frequently in multiple generations as a middle name. We added an H to the end as a way to honor one of my very best friends and beloved cousin, Tarah, who has an H. Rachelle, pronounced a bit like Ray-She'll, is a name we chose to combine the names of the two women friends that have been like sisters to me for the longest periods of time in my life, Michelle and Desirae. I do not know if either will ever have a daughter, but I love being able to honor our friendships this way.

Thank you to everyone for all of the well-wishes, thoughts, visits, and prayers!  We are open to visitors at home as well!

Snips and snails and sugar and spice...

This morning, I recieved a notice on my phone saying "Congrats! You are now 21 weeks pregnant!"

It stated some other stuff but I didn't read it before I cleared it away. I sat on my bed a few minutes in disbelief. How on earth can I be 21 weeks pregnant already? It can't be true.

Well, yup, it is. I know for a fact it is, because a little over a week ago, I had an ultrasound that confirmed it.

AND, Baby Boo was cooperative and shared the big secret- It's a girl!

I was in disbelief about that, too, I've always wanted a daughter, but my heart and mind had me feeling I was a boys' mommy and I would have three or four boys eventually. I LOVE being mommy to my sons and it just seemed to make sense that Baby Boo was a boy. We even had the name finalized.

So, when the first (of three) technicians and nurse said "it's a girl!" I think I probably gave her a strange "are you kidding me?" look. Not at ALL what I imagined that mystical moment to play out as. I saw myself giggling and maybe crying and squeaky. Instead, I was questioning her sanity and probably a bit smug. Eh, it is what it is. 

I sat there musing how my husband would think I was kidding, and my sister too, when I told them the news. So I had them re-glance, and the tech and nurse both said there were no boy parts. Okay then...

Toward the end, another tech came in and finished the ultrasound and she checked too. Independently, she also decided Boo is a little lady and printed an ultrasound to "prove it." 

By this point I was becoming a little giddy, but still totally shocked. I couldn't wait to tell Jake (who couldn't get off work to come with me), but wanted to do it in person, so I text asking if I could stop by work to talk to him- that it needed to be in person.

Fast forward: an hour (I had my midwife appointment) later, I was pulling into his work, with the ultrasound laying beside me. I could tell he was freaked out and worried I had bad news, but I simply handed him the print-outs. He looked at the first few before finding the one that read "it's a girl!" (I have this all on video because I'm sneaky like that, but I don't have permission to share it, sorry). His face turned into a smirk and he asked me (as I knew he would), if it was true, if they were sure, how they knew, and a few other things. He concluded telling me he doesn't know if he trusts ultrasounds, which lead me to start second (ah.. quadruple) guessing the results, but I said they were as sure as they can be and three different professionals all say girl.

As the day went on, he got more excited.

I wanted to tell my family in person because we were seeing them on Sunday, and nearly all of them were hoping for a girl. So, I avoided telling them and text a few close friends, about half of whom were shocked and the other half off-the-wall-I-told-you-so-excited.

Came home and put a pink border on Boo's quilt before I went to work (and told a handful of little girls who had been guessing the gender and were anxiously awaiting my news).

On Saturday, we did a quick gender announcement photo session with Something Clicked Photography for our public online announcement that would come after telling my family.  My sister and I joked with my husband about naming the baby Precious Beulah. He is NOT a fan.

On Sunday, we told my mom by way of showing her the adorable blanket we made, saying "look what we made for the baby!"  I gotta say, my family seemed pretty excited. That night, I shared these photos:

Spencer and Collin... honestly don't care. Haha. Not that I find that surprising in any way. Spencer gets excited to say "baby sister!" as well as the name we are basically certain we will give her (nope, not telling yet). It's ADORABLE. But beyond that, they're just happy for balloons in the house again, and a new fuzzy blanket to cuddle with. Yup, we are all enjoying her blanket, because 19 or so weeks is a long time to store it away. 

I'll be honest, I still catch myself thinking of Boo as "it" instead of "she" and I think it's because the concept of calling my children a feminine pronoun is just bizarre still. I know eventually it will come naturally.  But sometimes I still nearly call Boo the name she would have been if she were a he. 

I'm nervous about raising a daughter, too. Various things concern me: I'm not super "girly" and the idea of tons of baby-pink/pastel pink is a bit unnerving, we have to buy all new clothes, and will have to have girl toys! What? Jake and I both watch the boys play and say to each other "what is she going to play with? I hope she likes cars..." But more than anything, quite frankly, at this point in time, is my plaguing worry that she too will suffer from PCOS and all of the insecurities, ugly symptoms, and heartbreak struggling to have a family will affect her in the future as it has me. I've already cried over the possibility.

Only time will tell.

For now, I'm still wrapping my mind around this fittingly surprising (as everything about this pregnancy has been) discovery and realizing that another one of my lifelong dreams is (assuming that ultrasound was right!) going to come true.

Thanks to everyone who has congratulated us! 

Symptomatic

When I was a little girl, before puberty, I dreamed of a wedding someday. As many little girls do, I went through periods of dreaming of marrying a prince. I dreamt of a movie-type romantic love.  I dreamt of being a mommy someday.  

When I hit puberty, I still had these dreams, but they were tainted with fear and worry. As many girls do, I suffered from self-esteem issues related to my appearance. I worried people thought I was ugly and fat. 

But, I also had added worries, and they haunted me for years. Well, they still haunt me sometimes. 

As most teens encounter, I began developing some acne. I felt so gross, because nothing seemed to help clear it up. I was sure people thought I was crazy hideous.

Next came a change on my arms. I started noticing the hair on my arms was darker and thicker than it once was. I thought maybe I was part man. It sounds stupid, but I had nightmares. I tried shaving my arms a couple times, but felt it worthless because it would just grow back, quickly, dark and coarse. I resigned to wearing long sleeves as much of the year as possible and just cry about it. I was certain I was a freak. And I was pretty convinced no one would ever think I was pretty.

And then toward my 20s, I started gaining weight. I wasn't really any less active in college than in high school. In fact, I would argue I was more so, walking campuses constantly, for example. But it didn't seem to help.

However, by the time the weight gain had started, I had met a new friend. His name was Jake. I thought he was pretty good looking. I had a crush on him I his from myself, or tried to ignore, for over a year. I met him in 2001, and the crush started a few months later when he caught a ride with his best friend and surprised me for my 18th birthday party, having traveled hours to get there. He wrote the sweetest, longest message in my birthday card (I still have it), and after, we emailed, talked on the phone for hours, wrote letters, and visited as much as possible. He would drive five hours to come see me for one night. He would kidnap me for a weekend. 

I just never imagined he could love me. I was too nerdy. Awkward, ugly.

But, in the fall of 2002, as I lay on my dorm room bed, he told me "I love you, Nicole." And I confessed that I had fallen in love with him, too.

It was surreal. There have been countless times since then where I have doubted him. Not necessarily his love, but his attraction to me, and whether or not I could believe if he said I looked great, or was beautiful, or sexy. And I would doubt whether or not he could just honestly love someone he wasn't really attracted to.

I love myself. I've gotten there, by the grace of God and support from family and friends. I do. But I still suffer from self-esteem issues. Especially from the symptoms of PCOS that I suffer. These things that haunted me since puberty, made me question if I was really a woman (or if maybe at birth my parents just decided to raise me as a girl). These things I didn't understand until college when I researched them more, and after college when I was diagnosed with PCOS after we began trying for a family. (Oh, I married Jake, in case you're new to my blog).

These symptoms cause me the most self-doubt and negative thoughts when  meeting new people for the first time. At job interviews. Around groups of kids. I still opt for long sleeves if the weather allows it. I try not to show my arms or full body in photos, if I can help it. Kids, as blunt as they are, sometimes ask me about my arms, or if I'm part werewolf. (Depending on the kid, sometimes I say yes, and they think that's so awesome.) I worry that one day my kids will get made fun of because their mom looks like a gorilla. Or is hairier than their dad.

I worry that the first things everyone notices about me when they see me in person is that my arms are hairy, my skin isn't clear, and I'm pudgy. I worry they are embarrassed to be seen with me. I hate it. But I am pretty good at hiding my dear and carrying on. 

Last night, I took this self-portrait for my August Moms group, because someone asked the pregnant mommas to show off. I was in a hurry and not paying a lot of attention, and uploaded it without "proofing" it to hide my flaws- those ugly symptomatic arms especially. In my caption, I apologized-ish for showing my gorilla-esque arms because they're unsightly and embarrassing.

And one momma replied she hadn't even noticed until I said something.

And this morning, she reminded me that there are some people who see me as beautiful, for whatever reason, or who don't see what I see in the symptoms that cause me so much self-doubt. She reminded me that my husband thinks I'm beautiful, and attractive, even if I don't see it. He even told me I was last night (or it may have been the night before). 

It reminded me that some people really like me for me.

On my blog, I sometimes wrote serious topics. I write for me, but also on behalf of the countless others who may relate but not be able to express.

I cherish every comment my blog receives. If you wish to comment, but prefer anonymity, you may comment that way. If you need someone to talk to, but don't feel comfortable commenting here, you can reach me at Nicole.m.worthley[at]gmail[dot]com

Blessings!

Conflicted

 

It is absolutely heart-wrenching to suffer with infertility. To try, to battle, to lose month after month, while friends and family around you bring new life into their families. It's crushing to hear people say "we weren't even trying!" or "we got pregnant the first try!" when you live, day in and day out, in the agony and turmoil that infertility brings.

I know. I've been there.

It's so incredibly hard to lose a baby. It takes your breath away. It makes your uterus ache with emptiness, and your arms ache with loneliness. The hot if a positive pregnancy test shattered and stomped on with the absence of the heartbeat that was once in your womb. The constant ticking of the clock that no longer brings you closer to the joyous birth of your miracle. 

I know. I've been there.

When I went through those dark journeys, I did so openly, not caring that there would be (and there were) judgements and ridicule, shame and condemnation, for choosing the level of openness that I did. I knew that if I held it inside, seemingly to hold it all together, my hope and my spirit would crumble quickly. (You can read about my journeys here on this blog.) 

I've been blessed now with four pregnancies, and the births of two sons.

And in this fourth pregnancy, I find myself on the opposite side of the some of the darkest of journeys motherhood, or the pursuit of motherhood, can bring.

This time, I've been the one to openly confess that, despite years of infertility battles, we conceived without trying. 

I feel like I should be over the top overwhelmed with pure joy in this miracle that we never imagined would come naturally. And yet... 

I've been conflicted, openly, from the beginning, mostly regarding the timing of this new miracle.

However, there's more to it.

This time, I'm the one with the baby growing inside of me, while multiple friends that I love so dearly, struggle through the darkness of infertility, miscarriage, or the sheer longing to be a mother but the inability to be one due to various other life circumstances.

When I was going through the battles and the loss, as I said, the pregnancy announcements and births were quite a paradox. There was the incredible joy I felt for those I care for, but also the sharp stabbing pain in my own heart and hope. Jealousy, anger, despair- they are miserable and lonely emotions. You feel ashamed beyond description to feel the negative side while also the joy for them. You find yourself either distancing or trying to overcompensate by being extra interested. Not always, but sometimes. I've done both to various extremes. 

You try so hard to discount your negative feelings, because you think they shouldn't be there.

I say, embrace them. Explore them enough so you can understand them. Then, pick up the pieces of your broken heart, and try to heal. Somehow.

I don't have the magic answer. For me, it was being surrounded by support. Love. Empathy and encouragement. Understanding. Compassion. Prayer. Blogging.

It may take years, but I believe you can heal.

But, I digress.

I'm learning about the other side, as I said. I'm now the one who, God willing, will be delivering a baby in April. I have multiple friends due to welcome new life into their families around the same time.

But, I also have a few friends who were supposed to join. That's what their pregnancy tests confirmed. That's the joy they've embraced so fully, dreamed about, and maybe even shared with the world. And suddenly, as happened to me, the dream was shattered. They've empty wombs and broken hearts. And, no matter how much I portray I understand, I'm now a living, breathing reminder that they lost their child.

I am sure it was so with the previous pregnancies, though I cannot say with the certainty that I can this time around.

And, while I'm reveling in my miracle, my heart breaks for my beloved friends. Perhaps they need to distance themselves from me because just the sound of my name brings them to tears. Or, perhaps they've reached out for my comforting ear and empathy.

Either way, I cry. When I cannot sleep, and I feel the early flutters of this life I side me, I often find myself praying for these amazing women. Tears well up in my eyes, and my throat constricts with intense sorrow. 

I feel ashamed. I feel embarrassed. I want to withhold my joy and be private about this miracle. I want to take back my pregnancy announcement so we can be as we once were.

But I can't.

 It kills me inside every time I want to share, but feel incredibly rude in doing so. But, I know also that it's no good for friendships to deny my joy either. It seems the unselfish thing to do, but it doesn't necessarily mean its the right approach. 

It isn't my "fault" that I am pregnant, just as it isn't their "fault" that they no longer are. One of my dear friends said that to me recently, while we discussed how her loss and my sustained (this far) pregnancy affected us. 

But then, what can I do? I don't want to be the salt in the wounds that have not healed. 

I pray for them, knowing that I cannot heal them on my own, but that my God can. And, I pray it happens sooner than later. I pray they can embrace their sorrow, and hope for the joy that will come again someday.

And I miss them. 

I'm not sure I've made a concise point, but I'm hoping that my thoughts, which help me process, reach those out there that need it.

Love to you all.

Note: while I cherish all blog comments, I understand sometimes it is scary to put your feelings out there. You are able to respond anonymously, but if you are wanting someone to talk to, feel free to send me an email at Nicole.m.worthley[at]gmail[dot]com

Peek-a-Boo, Baby!

Surprise!

Yes, that's right. Our family of four is going to become a family of five. 

As you may (or maybe do not) know, I struggle with infertility, specifically, Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), and after three years, started seeking assistance from a reproductive endocrinologist. It took a few months before finding the proper treatment, and after two cycles of Letrizol, my husband and I conceived our first miracle. Spencer was born on November 1, 2010.

We decided we were "ready" to expand our family again around the time that Spencer was six months old. We conceived a few cycles after starting on the same regimens, however, we were devastated by the loss of our second miracle baby during the first trimester of the pregnancy in September 2011.

After a couple of months letting my body heal, we conceived out third miracle, with the assistance of Letrizol, Metformin, and Progesterone. Collin was born on September 1, 2012.

We are so blessed.

While giving birth to Collin, I told Jake I would like to wait a little longer (at least a year longer) in-between Collin and our potential fourth miracle.

Well, sometimes, God has other plans.

Honestly, we were "trying" not to get pregnant. After I was no longer nursing Collin, my cycles were fairly regular for the first time ever (without medical assistance), so I was charting and planning around when it was the time of expected ovulation. Just in case by some crazy odds, I actually was ovulating on my own.

The beginning of August arrived, and according to my calculations, my period should have. I dismissed it as my body going back to its old unpredictable ways. But after I was about 7 days late, Jake and a couple close friends suggested that maybe, just maybe, I should test.

So, August 3, in the evening, I took an ept test. That's the "error proof test" brand.

And, ironically, the test produced an error. Malfunctioned. No line in the control window. The test window read negative so I told myself it was probably negative, and decided I would take the other one in the morning, and then my period would finally show up.

Well, early morning, Sunday, August 4, that test stunned me.

STUNNED ME.

I told myself the test was not reliable since the first one of the box was a failure. But my support system remained unconvinced, and later that day, I took another.

Jake was thrilled. The close friends I told were thrilled and shocked. 

I was terrified.

Not because I don't want another baby, because I do. But I kept telling myself that we aren't ready. With all the struggles we've been going through the last year, the timing was just not great.

But I was told by each person something along the lines of "God sees the bigger picture. His plan is not our own. You will be okay. This is a blessed miracle!"

I didn't want to tell my parents until I knew for sure, because I was not completely convinced. Also, I was very emotional yet. But two blood tests confirmed I am indeed pregnant again.

Two ultrasounds have shown me this amazing miracle. I've seen the heartbeat. 

My labs, for the first time ever, are excellent. 

I'm finally embracing it. It's sinking in. I'm preparing my heart and mind for this adventure.

And I'm still scared. Scared if we will be able to handle it. Terrified that we could lose this baby too.

But I'm choosing to be hopeful. I'm choosing to rely on God's bigger picture. I'm now choosing to publicly rejoice.

Join us, in prayers and joy, if you would love to!

I'm approximately 7.5 weeks pregnant. It's still a risky time. But, Baby Boo is looking healthy, and preparing to arrive in April 2014.

Special thank you to my friend Staci of Something Clicked Photography (http://www.facebook.com/SomethingClickedPhotography) for helping us with this special announcement!

Happy Due Date Day, Ollie!

Dear Collin,

It's hard to believe that it's been a full year since you were tucked away inside my body.

That's what you looked like one year ago.

I was so incredibly anxious to meet you. Not only because I had reached the point of constant discomfort weeks before, but because, one year ago, we didn't even know your name. To us, you were still Baby Bojangles. We didn't know if you were a boy or a girl, and we were finding it a bit agonizing to have to wait and find out.

For weeks, I had been having uncomfortable contractions, and thought maybe, just maybe you were arriving soon.

Goodness, I was wrong. Your stubborn (albeit adorable) little self decided to stay put. I spent the next thirteen days trying nearly everything I could to coax you to come out. I cried nearly every night, wondering why you weren't as excited to meet me as I was to meet you. 

And one year from your due date, you're walking around the living room, chewing on apples, laughing, smiling, and bringing us joy.

Someday, I will tell you these stories. Until then, I will just keep telling you "Happy Due Date Day, Ollie!" because it is absolutely adorable to see your face light up with your precious four-tooth grin as you squeal with delight at my greeting.  

Love, 

Mommy

Our second miracle has finally arrived.

When Baby Bo's due date was decided to be August 19, 2012, I can honestly say I never gave credence to the idea of being pregnant the entire month of August. We "evicted" Spencer the day before his due date, and I just assumed Bo would come around that time as well.

I was wrong.

August 19 came and passed. As it did, we made an appointment with a nurse midwife, who later that week, said she would be willing to wait up to two more weeks, possibly even up until September 9 to induce. I felt pretty frustrated and discouraged. I was only dilated 1 cm and barely thinned out. Realistically, I knew that the end of the pregnancy was coming soon, but with all of the pain sitting, walking, standing, sleeping, doing stairs... basically ANYTHING that I had been enduring the previous couple of weeks, and nearly a month's worth of seemingly pointless contractions, it felt like we would never meet this baby!

I decided to continue on trying "home remedies" to prepare the body for and/or induce labor... evening primrose oil capsules, spicy food, walking, stairs, pressure points, baths, etc. Heck, I even let Jake bounce me around on a teeter totter, and I did 120 jumping jacks one night!

On August 31, we had a third appointment with the midwife. They wanted to do an AFI ultrasound (amniotic fluid index) and a non-stress test before the long holiday weekend. The appointment was set for ten in the morning, but they didn't call us back until 10:57. I was annoyed. The ultrasound took about four minutes, and the doctor came in saying everything looked fine, and making some stupid jokes about how I wanted to hold out until labor day. Ugh.

They sent us upstairs to my midwife, and Jake left to run a few quick errands while I did the NST. Everything seemed to be going well by my analysis, and it was obvious that I was having a few "light" contractions from time to time. The NST took quite a while. The midwife was waiting on the report from the doctor from the AFI and he was not getting it to her. She came to check on me a few times, once saying something like, "since you are do far overdue (almost two weeks past the 19th), we want to be very careful in things, or just get the baby out..." as she walked out the door. Confused and a little alarmed by the wording, I sent Jake a message telling him her words and how I wasn't sure what they meant exactly. A while later, the nurse finally came in and said the ultrasound showed baby was healthy, buty fluid was lower than they liked, and that meant they were going to induce me. She then said the midwife was going to call the hospital and schedule it, but they didn't know when precisely yet.

Oh, I forgot to mention that earlier that week, at our second appointment, they scheduled an induction for 6am on Wednesday, September 5, and I was then 2.5cm and starting to thin (yay for the teeter totter! Haha).

She then left and I text Jake, who showed up minutes later. He seemed a bit anxious, whereas I was just confused and tired of being in the NST room.

Finally, we were told that at 3pm that afternoon, we should arrive at the hospital for check-in, and that a different nurse-midwife would be delivering the baby.

We left in a state of shock. I didn't expect to be induced that day at all. After always waiting... and waiting... and waiting... I was certain that I would be pregnant until the following Wednesday. I had hoped to have the baby way before so that my sister, who spent the summer living with us, could be one of the first to meet him/her, and she also was planning to watch Spencer the first night we were in the hospital. Fortunately, she wasn't moving home until the next day.

We told our parents and siblings, packed our bags, and ate lunch, then the hospital called asking us to come in an hour earlier to get things started. So, off we went.

As luck would have it, though, they promptly checked me in, hade get ony gown, hookede up to the monitors again, and then... I waited for three hours while they figured out what was going on. It seemed to take forever. I laid/sat on the bed for almost two hours staring at this creepy freaking pigeon across from my window who sat there, statuesquely staring in my window, not moving. He actually recruited a friend to help creep me out, and they were both there until dark. I was relieved when my friend Sam showed up to keep me company and we walked a mile.

Finally, at 5:20pm, I met the nurse-midwife who would deliver the baby, Teri (who I loved!), and got the pitocin started. I felt like things were finally, officially, underway.

They were slow moving for a while yet, though. Jesse, make's twin, Sam's boyfriend, came, and then they brought us supper. Creepy birds kept staring. Jillian ce to visit. Jake tan home to put Spencer to bed and get his guitar around 10.

I sent him a text around 10:30 or so saying things were starting to get more painful. He got back to the hospital around 11. By this pint, my times are more approximate, but pretty accurate yet.  I was in some deal of pain now, but getting through it on my own. Within the next half hour, my water started leaking and the pain intensified greatly. I was checked and at 7cm. I told them I was thinking about pain relief but unsure yet.

Then, it felt like my hips were going to shatter. I wasn't having back labor like I did with Spencer, bit it was in my hips and lower abdomen. After talking with Jake, initially I decided that the next some sometime came to check on me, I would request an epidural. My plan had been that I would try to do without, but also that I didn't want to torture myself. Plus, it was late, and I was already exhausted.

The contractions then were steady and painful to the point I had tears. I "agreed" to let Jake get the nurse early and ask for the epidural. This was probably my saving grace and I am thankful he suggested that he would do that for me.

The epidural was administered at 12:25am. It wasn't a fun process. The contractions were every minute lasting minute and a half and having to sit up and hold still as the stuck things in my spine... yeah.  After all was done, the anaesthiologist said it would take around twenty minutes to reach full effect but each contraction would gradually be more bearable.

And... it was, for a little while. But then, around 1am, the pain returned... for transferred, to my back area. Each contraction brought on more pain and pressure. I felt like my insides were going to explode. I had incredible shakes and tears that I could not, for the life of me, fight back. I have never trembled so ferociously in my life. It really scared me, and I told Jake that.

He went and found a nurse who came in and checked me out. Said I was almost ready and that the shakes were a normal side effect. Wretched. As she left, I swore I could probably just have the baby then and there and kept telling Jake that it just needed to be over with NOW.

I felt like pushing, but held back because I was told I wasn't ready, and also, there were no doctors in the room.

Finally, at about 1:45 I was told I was ready to push. So, they helped me roll over and got everything ready, and the next 21 minutes were nothing short of the most painfully, horrific, torture-filled minutes of my life, pretty sure. I believe I told everyone a few times how it "hurt so much" and that I wasn't sure I could do it. Teri told me I could, of course, and was basically on the verge of being done. I had an excruciating leg cramp right before I delivered, and I screamed like I do not recall ever screaming before. I think it freaked Jake out a bit. And then...

Jake proudly announced "IT'S A BOY!"

Collin Liam was born at 2:11am, Saturday, September 1, 2012.

Teri handed him to me immediately and I snuggled him as they cleaned him off. He did not cry, not really. He made a little whimper that lasted maybe 5 seconds after delivery. He just stared at me peacefully. It was surreal, as Spencer screamed for around 40 minute when he entered the world. Truth be told, Collin did not cry for more than 8 collective minutes in the course of his first 24 hours after being born.

Teri, shortly after the birth, said something to the effect of "oh my gosh! I have NEVER seen this before!" It freaked me out, for sure, because she hadn't handed him to me so I couldn't see what was going on. She told us, "this little guy has some angels out there. He has a double knot in his cord."

Woah. Somehow, in utero, Collin had flipped around so much that he tied not one, but two knots in his umbilical cord, one right atop the other, and they were tight. She showed us. It was a bit terrifying, as she explained that could be fatal.she kept saying two knots is just crazy. Guess Collin really was a dancer, like his nickname, Bojangles.

After he was clean, I passed him off to Jake, who cuddled him a while longer. I just stared in awe, thinking how wonderful it is to have two sons. Two of Jake's boys. Two little buddies. I couldn't take my eyes off them as Teri stitched me up.

Collin weighed in at 8 pounds, 13 ounces, and measuring 20.5 inches tall.

Spencer calls Collin "baby." It's adorable. He looks for him in the basinette if he hasn't seen him in a while. He has tried to help feed him once, and he laughs hysterically if Collin has the hiccups.

We love having two little boys. It's going to be quite an adventure.

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.

Almost Due.

It's almost April 18, 2012.

That wonderful Wednesday, my youngest sister will turn 13. Man, that makes me feel old!

That same Wednesday, last August and September, was slated to be our due date with Baby Sprout.

I can so clearly recall how "perfect" we thought that pregnancy worked out to be. I mean, really, being due on my sister's special birthday!? It was AWESOME. I for one, had prayed about it constantly since I calculated what that date would be, just asking God to allow it to happen. When I tested positive early morning on Sunday, August 7, I was shocked with disbelief, but through the roof with excitement. We told my sisters about the baby that morning already, we were so overjoyed!

And, as life would turn out, we lost Baby Sprout in the middle of September. Grieving and healing from the loss of the baby was a huge process to me. It was overwhelming for days before I finally could make it hours without crying. And over the weeks, and months as my body healed from my D&C, my mind started to heal as well, with the prospect of trying again for that second birth.

A sidenote: Sometimes, I get confused as to what to call Baby Bo. Is Bo my third child? Or is Bo my second child? I opt to say second child because it's less confusing for everyone else. Second child, third pregnancy, perhaps?

Anyway... On December 12, 2011, I tested positive again, and was cautiously optimistic and excited with the "perfection" of this pregnancy as well. As I had calculated that due to be August 26, 2012, which was just days after Jake's twin and his girlfriend, one of my best friends, were to be home for a wedding from Alaska. It seemed another pregnancy too "perfect" to be true, and for weeks I was scared of the same fate. Jake and I relish every movement (even if they wake me, or if Bo seems to be trampolining off my bladder during a 2.5 hour car ride) that we feel, knowing that Bo is alive and growing and gearing up to meet his/her family.

Now, I'm 21 weeks along, with an adjusted due date of August 19, 2012. We, again, are beyond overjoyed at the idea of bringing a sibling into this world for our wonderful son.

When I got my memorial tattoo for Sprout in November, it really helped me to find peace in the situation. Never once was I really mad at God (as I shared in a group not long ago at Operation Prom Dress), but I was frustrated, sad, and disappointed that it all happened. But then, it was like a release. Letting go of the sorrow as much as I could, I guess, and moving on to what lies ahead.

And I don't think I've cried over the loss since.

Until last night. Out of nowhere, it seems. I guess I was thinking about what the date would be next Sunday, when Jake and I have plans, and how my sister's birthday is only a few days after. And then I realized.. that was our due date. If that pregnancy had gone well, I would be due any day now. Or maybe, just maybe, we'd have already met Sprout. Maybe we'd know if Sprout was a boy or a girl. Maybe... And I got to wondering if Sprout was our son, or our daughter. I feel like the baby was a boy, though of course, there was no way for us to know.

I started sobbing. I told Jake that in over a week and a half, Sprout would have been due to be born. It was so overwhelming.

But, of course, I realize I am already over halfway through this pregnancy with Baby Bo. God gave us this gift, too. And this time, God willing, we've been able to progress smoothly, and God willing, will be able to meet our son or daughter in 19 or so weeks.

While it doesn't take away the loss, it helps to cope, some, I guess. But I'm torn. It's hard to be sad about the child we lost while we are getting ready for another child, now. But, Bo will never replace Sprout. Bo is just the given we were given after Sprout left us. And it's okay to be sad, I think. It's okay.

I'm not going to let it bog me down. I'm not going to dwell on it and take away from my sister's birthday. I decided if I wrote out how I feel, maybe, once again, like it did right after the loss, it will help me cope and move on. So, here's to that prayer.

It's been almost 2 months together.

Let's just be honest. I haven't blogged much lately. Not for lack of things to blog about, mind you, I've had a ton on my mind. In fact, as much as I would say I need to de-clutter the computer desk, I feel the need to de-clutter my mind, as well. Hopefully over the next few days (or weeks...) I can write it all out and find some more peace inside that chamber of thoughts.

Why haven't I blogged? A few reasons. The first is that I've been busy. I haven't been on a bunch of exciting or awesome vacations (though, I have visited my parents and siblings a few times), but rather, Spencer keeps me pretty occupied. And with the unseasonably nice weather we've been having, I've been trying to get us out and about (whether in the yard, or parks, or play dates), and not just hanging out in the living room all of the time.

And also.. I am EXHAUSTED. I remember being tired when I was pregnant with Spencer, and I had a job and all that, but hey, I feel like at least then, when I was super tired, I could rest. Now, my resting is dictated by a 17 month-old who just doesn't see the need to rest himself. Ah well.

We've been spending time with my cousin, who is also one of my best friends, during small chunks of the day a few days a week, as she comes over for lunch (she works blocks away).

Oh yeah, and I'll admit, I've been reading the Hunger Games triology. My husband purchased them on the nook, and we've both been reading them. I must say, while I'm not a fan of a lot of murder/death/gruesome reading and science-fiction stories... I'm somehow hooked anyway. I can that about the "Ender's" series, as well... books I was hooked on (of the sci-fi genre), that I never would have thought I'd become hooked on.

Anyway...

Although I was super comfortable in bed (for once) and nearly asleep, my neighbor and her boyfriend decided 9:45pm would be a good time to start an argument, so... I forced myself out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, where I now find myself.

Voila. A blog post.

It's not about anything weighty, or many of the subjects that bog my mind down and keep me awake, but rather, about the last two-ish months of being a stay-at-home-mom.

My husband asked recently, in summary, if I like being a SAHM and want to keep doing it.

Despite some reservations about the "gig," I told him I certainly would, as long as I am able to.

I love it. I do, but it's not always an easy "job" to love, I will admit.

Sometimes, I get really lonely feeling. Not for lack of having a lovable (and loving), chatty, busy-body with me in the house. But, as much as Spencer talks, and says actual English words now, and will hold a "conversation" with me, it's not the same as having adult interaction. Thank goodness for my cell phone (texts are my favorite), and Facebook. Shallow sounding, maybe, but it's true. I'm very grateful for those luxuries.

Fortunately, though, being a SAHM has given me time and opportunity to cultivate and strengthen friendships with a couple of my other stay-(or work-)at-home-moms that I know. It's been such a blessing to have time to spend with them. Whether it's via text message, email, Facebook message, like I said, which makes it very easy to keep in touch at all hours of the day, or play-dates with them and their sons, it's a treasure to Spencer and I both.

One thing that kind of caught me by surprise was the idea of "getting a lot done" around the house... not... so... much... happening. Not for lack of ambition (well, sometimes), but moreover, it seems that every time I start picking something up or organizing it, I have a little "helper," who I always seem to think is adequately distracted and won't notice what I'm doing. I'm generally wrong. Half of the time, it seems as soon as I start washing dishes, even though we won't have been playing or interacting, really, he will run to the kitchen and wedge himself between my legs and the cupboard and push me away from the sink. Or.. if I throw things away, he finds whatever he can find to throw away too.

And let me tell you, getting laundry done is not as easy as I had imagined. I never really saw the "need" to have main floor laundry until I started staying home with Spencer. Our laundry area is in the basement. Occasionally, say, if Elmo is "babysitting," I can sneak away to get it done. But, usually, I do NOT trust Spencer, nor Wendell, for that matter, to be alone, free, upstairs.

I don't really trust Spencer to be buckled into his high chair, and unsupervised, either. He's some sort of wizard, I swear.

I know, I should force myself to stay awake at every nap time and scrub the house and wash and dry and tend to the laundry, but as I said before, I am exhausted! I didn't realize that being pregnant with a toddler running around would be so tiring. I don't mean that to sound as a complaint, just a realization of my naivety on the matter.

I also didn't realize how hard it would be to sneak away to the bathroom to do my business... alone. I think he's got some sort of radar for that. I can't tell you how many times he's come barging in (because I don't always get the old, sticky, warped door latched all the way) with his shape sorter. Or if the door is shut completely, someone likes to pound and scream at me.

But, it's not all bad. Not even close, so don't let me fool you into thinking that.

I LOVE being home with Spencer. I loved working outside the home with him, too, of course, but there's something to be said about being able to wear your pajamas or comfortable pants (because I'm getting bulbous) all day if I want. Or to literally, not change him out of pajamas (or re-clothe him) on rainy days when I know we won't be leaving the house.

He has always been somewhat of a "night-owl," even as a newborn, and being that we don't have to be anywhere at a certain time, most days, it's okay with me that he stays up until nine (though I really prefer him to be asleep way before 10), and sleeps until eight... or nine.. or ten... thirty... in the morning. I don't mind not having to get up at 6:30. And, it affords me time, currently, to see my husband on the mornings he is home before work. I will admit, though, it's odd to not have to get up to wake him (either him, actually) in the morning.

I love that I can be attentive to Spencer, solely, as a child. To watch him intensely, as he develops skills, learns words, and uses his creative mind. He's just an unbelievable creation, to me. I tell Jake often that "I can't believe we made him." (Of course, thanks be to God, who had a very large hand in it.)

I love the freedom to visit friends, or family, during the week, if we so choose, and it works out for them. I love not having to cram errands into a half an hour chunk of time in the evening on the way home.

I love being able to relax and enjoy my role as a parent, as frustrating and exhausting as that can also be.

So, overall, I'd say it's been a pretty great two months. The first weeks, two or three, were a breeze. It felt like a vacation. The few weeks after, where the weather was kind of crummy and I was beside myself trying to figure out what to do, how to stay sane, how to continue interaction with others, and how to keep him entertained... were harder. But, I think after that, we've started to figure out our routine, a balance, and a way to make things work.

Of course.. soon enough, it's going to change again, and again, and probably again. But more on that another night. The neighbor is quiet again, and I'd like a snack before I fall asleep.

The differences in the first and the third.

A friend replied a few posts ago, requesting that, if I find time, I share some things about this pregnancy that are the same/different than the previous. I am going to compare Spencer and Bo, because I believe I will meet Bo on this earth, and Sprout, I did not. So, it just feels to make the most sense to me to compare Spencer with Bo.

Side note: I'm writing this as Spencer hangs out in the living room with Wendell, watching "Elmo's World." Sometimes, I let myself think that setting him in front of the TV makes me a bad parent. But, I've reconciled that feeling with the fact that I don't set him in front of the TV ALL THE TIME, or even that frequently. Just when I feel I really need a few minutes (3-50, depending on the day) where he's focused on something intensely and that something doesn't include me. It's been a very long week (I've been away from home 11 or so hours a day last Thursday, Friday, and this Monday-Today and including tomorrow) at work, and I am exhausted, and sick as heck, and stressed. So I thought blogging a little might help me relax, as, well, I love to write.

Anyway.

What inspired this post? I'm not going to lie, and I'm sorry if this is disgusting, but... I just was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a soda (in attempt to eradicate a headache that's making me have the urge to bang my head on a wall for relief), when I started gagging so fiercly that my eyes were watering, and therefore, I couldn't see well, and didn't make it to the bathroom before I started losing...

Yup.

It's the same as Spencer's pregnancy: I didn't start getting the gags and throwing up until the second trimester. Well, I'm almost there this time, and sure enough, it's starting to force its way back into my day.

Although, it's worse this time. Really. It's more frequent, more random, and more intense. And, truthfully, when I'm done throwing up, most of the time, I cry about it. Sweet.

Baby Bo is measuring ahead, almost a week. Spencer measured ahead, but only a few days up until I was full term, and then he was a week ahead. I'm kind of scared that Bo will be ginormous!

But everything else feels a little different, and I don't know why. I have cramps and pains that I didn't have with Spencer. I mean, I had them, but barely noticed them then. I don't know if it's because of the little problems we've had along the way this time that makes me more aware, or what.

I am drop-dead exhausted almost all parts of the day. I think part of it has to do with already having a 15 month old. But, who knows. Well, I also think part of it is the progesterone they have me on to help me sustain the pregnancy, and I'm happy to report that I stop using it on Monday! Woohoo! I can't wait.

I don't have consistent cravings, or really food aversions (although the smell of bacon freaks me out). With Spencer, I wanted chocolate milk, tomatoes, and potatoes, frequently. This time, it's pretty random. I guess the exception is Buffalo Wild Wings. Haha. But otherwise, it totally varies.

The sciatica is an issue I didn't have last time. Not even at the end of my pregnancy.

I think I *may* have felt baby flutters this morning.

And lastly (for now, because Spencer's getting tired of Elmo), this time, I feel really self-conscious. As in, I have lost 9 pounds since I got pregnant (as I did with Spencer, I lost a bunch of weight before gaining any back and barely gained more than I was before I was pregnant, which was nice (so that's a similarity for now)), but I feel like I look much pudgier already. I can tell that some of it is baby, whether it's bloat or actually belly, I can't always tell, but it makes me feel awkward. I can't zip and button my regular pants and comfortably sit down, already, and it freaks me out. I find myself nervous about what I wear because I don't want to look like I'm overly-obese or something. Ugh.

And... there's Spencer's crying. More another day, perhaps.

Oh, and another side note: Tomorrow is mine and Spencer's last day of daycare, and then, we begin our journey staying at home together. Wish us luck.

Stay-at-Home

It seems lately, that I, and my little family, is in the midst of a season of change. Here's two that I'm talking about that really are affecting our home.

I am pregnant again, which I already blogged about. It's one of the most exciting things to happen in our family since... well, since Spencer was born. We are thrilled at the prospect of welcoming our second child into our family in August. We talk about it frequently, and I am finally starting to feel like it's "real" and that it will last this time. Though, admittedly, I'm still cautiously hopeful.

In a few weeks, I begin my "stay-at-home-mom" audition. A try-out, perhaps.

I have loved working with one of my best friends, doing daycare in her home. But, with the addition of a second child into our family and the knowledge that it just won't work out as nicely to continue that path once the baby comes, coupled with the fact that there have already been complications with this pregnancy that we've not experienced with the past two, and the mounting stress of those situations, along with the realization that daycare is not a "money maker" and by me not continuing to work with her, she can earn more income, we decided to "split up." Not break up a friendship, by any means, but rather, just the business.

After much talk with Jake, about whether to take on a child or two in our tiny place, or to find a "high enough paying part time job to put SJ in a daycare part-time hours which would still allow me to be his primary care giver all days of the week," Jake suggested that perhaps, we try working out our budget and finances in a way that allows me to stay at home with Spencer. Since I will be bringing out second child into the world at the end of the summer, it also seems to make less sense to find a job and have to go on leave, if it's not going to make much financially anyway, there might not be much of a benefit. And, like I said, financially, doing daycare doesn't provide much for our family either.

So, starting mid-February, we're going to try it out. If it doesn't work financially, though we're hoping it will, then we'll reconsider other options.

Jake seems pretty excited at the idea. He said so on the phone this evening again.

I'm pretty excited. I like the idea of having more time to keep our house in order. To organize. To work on a more steady schedule for Spencer, eating, nap, and bedtime wise. I think that will be good for him. It will be good for all of us, hopefully.

And, hopefully, it will allow me to take it "easier" with this pregnancy. Although the sciatica is mostly gone, some days, it flares up pretty badly. Most days, I still can barely sit on the floor to play with Spencer for any extended period of time because of the piercing pains in my hips and legs. But, we work through it, and sometimes we just play on the couch or the bed. And with the SCH that has caused some bleeding and spotting over the past two weeks, trying not to do a lot of lifting and heavy movements or work will be easier when it's just us at home, hopefully. (For the record, Jake has been so helpful with things like laundry, since it, oddly, hurts to carry baskets full up and down the stairs...) Though, we're praying there are no more complications along the way, we're just being practical in realizing that there just may be. I had hardly an issue with Spencer, and up until losing Sprout, none there either.

Though, I must be completely honest. As excited as I feel at times, there are other times I feel completely terrified. I look at Spencer, and it freaks me out to think it's going to be just us. What if he gets sick of me? What if I don't "raise him right?" What if he resents me for "taking away his friends" and social interactions? What if we don't get along? What if we're both miserable? What if I get super lonely?

There are just so many things to think about when it comes to the situation of staying home with your child. While I think it'll be a great thing for our family, how can I be sure? I can't, I guess. So, we'll just try it out and see how it goes.

I find it kind of amusing. I have always wanted to be a mommy, but truthfully, I never saw myself as a stay-at-home mother. But, then, it took us so long to conceive Spencer, that as soon as I got pregnant, I secretly wanted nothing more. Though, I spent the last year and a half trying to convince myself otherwise. I guess, even if it doesn't end up working out in the long-run, at least I have been blessed with the opportunity to try.

Prayers are appreciated! So is advice.

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!