lets doula this...

well folks... it's almost that time.  i'm huge.  

insensitive people tell me so.  (lots of them, too).

(albeit true... i don't really need reminders about my size... i'm well aware... trust me).

we are in the final countdown.  less than 8 weeks until my due date... which... don't ask me why us pregnant women cling to that date as if THAT'S the day.  we all know that hardly any of us deliver that day.  but it's an end point to the madness that is this expanding body.  

i hardly recognize myself anymore.  i used to be cute, i think.  

i don't remember, actually.  

my whole look has changed since i was pregnant with leif.  i've never quite recovered.  but let me tell you... i'm pretty excited to shrink... see my cheekbones again... my clavicle... my knees and elbows.  

so i've been working pretty hard this pregnancy to stay active.  i walk a couple of miles several times a week.  if i can't get it done during the day or because of the weather, i've been hopping on my treadmill.  i've been eating cleaner this time around... though not perfect.  (i'm pretty sure the gestational diabetes scare was actually MY fault.  the morning of my glucose test... which was scheduled for 3 in the afternoon... i drank a starbucks hot chocolate that i had bought for leif because i couldn't bare to see a $4 drink go to waste.  oops.)  i still have gained about the same amount of weight... so i'm slowly coming to accept that this is just what my body does when it's pregnant.  sigh.  while visions of a long, lean pregnant lady with a basketball belly dance in my head... i am stuck looking like a munchkin from the lollipop guild.  

all of this whining, which... yes... i'm totally aware that i'm doing right now... is to emphasize how excited i am to be nearing the end.  there is a light at the end of this big, pregnant tunnel.  then i only have to endure a few more months of insensitive comments while i whittle away my weight gain and rediscover myself as the mother of a newborn again.  

a part of me is just so truly happy to be nearing the end...  when the reason i'm up at night is because of a baby whose head smells like a dream and not because i have to pee for the fourth time and readjust my pregnancy pillow for the 10th time because i can't sleep on whatever hip i've been on for the last hour.  

and then there's the other part of me...  the part that is terrified of the whole birthing process. 

you might remember my "birth plan" when i was pregnant with leif.  i was all ready to go natural, unmedicated, draping my arms around my supportive husband's strong neck while i brought new life into this world.  to be honest, kjaer and i were high on this idea... we talked about it, planned on it and waited...

and waited...

and waited.

until my doctor threatened to fire me.  

so, together with our doctor, we scheduled a c-section and BOOM, we had a baby.  

many of you have had c-sections... and maybe you breezed through it with flying colors.  many of you were fine with however your baby came into the world... as long as they were healthy.  i envy you.  

this was not my experience.  i don't know why... but there was something so traumatic about the whole experience.  first of all, i felt so invaded.  one minute i was overflowing with baby, the next i was empty and being stitched up on an operating room table.  i didn't have time to labor, in fact i had never even felt a true contraction.  some people tell me how lucky i am because they hated laboring... but deep down i feel robbed.  i really had wanted to work at bringing my baby into the world the way i believe i was designed to do... like completing a marathon, but bigger.

it was my first surgery, ever.  and c-sections are no joke.  one person holds your intestines while another holds your stomach and the doctor yanks you around while they pull the baby out.  it was terrifying... at least to me.  

then, there was my hospital stay afterwards.  the first night my oxygen alarms went off because i stopped breathing for a second.  the alarm woke me up and caused me to take a breath as i saw the nurse come rushing into my room.  talk about heart-stopping.  plus, i couldn't walk two steps without throwing up.  it was awful.  

the next day the new mother in a room next door to me coded.  kjaer was getting ready to go home and pick up a few things for our room.  the next thing we knew alarms were going off, we heard a crash and the person who had been in the room with her was screaming for help.  the entire floor rushed to her room and worked to stabilize her.  it sounded like they were performing CPR... and it was totally terrifying.  i remember begging kjaer to stay with me, because i was just sure if he left, i would stop breathing (like i had the night before) and turn out just like that woman.  i cried and cried. he called our moms and had them come sit with me so that he could leave for an hour or two to get our stuff.  

and then there was the long recovery.  the bleeding for 10 weeks instead of the normal 3-4.  the trouble breastfeeding, which is very common with c-section babies.  the healing from three incisions in my guts.  all on top of the anxious, exhausted and overwhelmed nerves of being a first time mom.  

i don't really recall there being many moments of happiness or joy those first couple of months... and for some reason, i like to peg it on my c-section.  i just feel like if i had given birth the way i was meant to, i could have avoided half of that scary stuff that scared the ever-loving crap out of me.

so now... we're back to present day and i'm winding down to our next little munchkin's birth day and i feel desperate to make changes.   kjaer and i are attempting to go for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).  we've done research and have found it's actually better for mothers (and babies) to do VBAC's... but insurance companies scare hospitals and doctors into the old "once a c-section always a c-section" rule.  in fact, 95% of moms who attempt a VBAC end up having a c-section again because doctors are afraid of the minuscule chance that something will go wrong (even though the odds of something serious happening are more likely to happen during a c-section).  

our doctor has told us that we are good candidates.  the reason we had the c-section before was that i was 11 days overdue, had not dilated or effaced and had no regular contractions.  it wasn't an emergency, leif wasn't breech.... he was just too cozy all up in here!

so, on my treadmill the other night, i was waddling away at a snails pace watching a documentary on doulas (i watch such interesting things these days... insert eye roll here).  i learned the stunning fact that doula's decrease labor time by 50%!!!  

(!!!!)

this is one reason VBAC's are unsuccessful in hospitals.  if you don't progress in a certain amount of time, they just cut the baby out.  i started thinking, if i could labor at home for as long as possible and then have her come to the hospital with me to help kjaer and i labor... maybe i would progress at a reasonable rate, making my chances even better to be a success story.  

kjaer was giving leif a bath upstairs... unaware of my grandiose plans.  he brought leif down to his wife, who was loudly proclaiming over her loud steps, "i think we need to hire a doula."  

after a little discussion, kjaer was on the boat.  it did take some convincing though.  i mean... there's the whole money issue, which is nothing to laugh at.  current health insurance changes for educators has skyrocketed the cost of having a baby.  we will be paying close to $6000 out of pocket to welcome our new little one into our family.  so adding another $700 for a doula is daunting.  

but when i think that her mere presence with us will increase our odds... i think it's worth the punch in our wallet's gut.  anything to avoid being cut open and exposed on a stainless steel table.  

so i called one the other day and immediately my little hopeful heart sunk.  her first piece of advice was to fire our doctor and get a new one because, statistically, if you use the same doctor, they almost always cut you open again.  she assured me that it was my choice, but that i still had time to find a new doctor and it was her #1 piece of advice for us.  

i was torn.  first of all... i LOVE my doctor.  i've known her for forever... and i WANT to believe that when she says i'm a good candidate and she thinks i can do it, she believes it.  also... i'm scared.  i don't want to find another doctor this late in the game.  i'm paid up at the OB's office and honestly... i don't want to change now.  however, the more i realize the odds are against me if i stay with her, the more i'm realizing i need to leave my comfort zone.  the doula recommended a dr. to us with an extremely high VBAC rate (a rare thing, these days) and kjaer and i meet with him next friday.  

another reason i want a doula is because i think i need for labor/birth to be normalized.  i have everyone telling me i'm crazy for wanting to go unmedicated or to go for a vaginal birth (even though i've done more research on this than the nay-sayers have ever dreamed).  i have a feeling in the throws of hard labor, i will be scared and in pain and if the doctor says, "let's do a c-section, this baby is not coming." i'd just give in.  however, if a doula, who has witnessed hundreds of babies be born naturally said, "you are doing absolutely perfect, this is totally normal, give it another hour." i'd be more likely to press on.  (by the way, i know my husband would be full of this knowledge, just like he was while i was learning to breastfeed... but i didn't listen to the poor man because, well,  he's a man and i wanted an expert to tell me so... hence... ANOTHER reason we'll need a doula.)  plus, i like that the doula can advocate for me at the hospital so that kjaer can spend his time with me rather than trying to protect me from modern medicine AND help me labor.  

so think of us and pray for us as we start doula shopping.  there is a lot of yellow tape already because i've had a c-section... i have to go into labor naturally (no inductions because then i risk rupturing my uterus and possible death) and i have one week from my due date to do it or they take the baby out because of other risks.  we have to find a doula who is willing to work with those guidelines without making me feel like a wimp for adhering to my doctor's yellow tape.

so... in a matter of weeks i'll be holding the newest member of our family, i'll be starting my road back to a "normal" body (let's see if i can successfully get there this time!) and none of this will matter anymore.  i know that however this sweet thing comes into this world, as long as we are both healthy, it's all that matters.  but i'm truly hoping it doesn't have to be as traumatic as last time... 

    

dear kim kardashian...

several months ago, before i was pregnant with Baby K2, a much more famous person WAS pregnant with her first.  the whole world watched her as she tacked on weight and struggled to maintain her celebrity style as a well known fashionista.  

and the media was so cruel...

i don't care WHO you are... you don't deserve what that poor girl had written about her.

i felt my inner fat girl wanting to write her a letter.  because this fat girl had also tacked on a crap ton of weight when she was pregnant with leif and has really never quite been the same since.  and it's not that i idolize kim kardashian and want to be her BFF (though her reality shows are a guilty pleasure of mine) but it was because i felt like i could relate to her so well...

back when i was pregnant with leif, i gushed my feelings on weight gain in another blog.  it was received by so many with open arms.  my friends wrote emails of similar struggles and how it was nice to hear someone talk so honestly.  other loving and protective friends worried that i was being too hard on myself because i was, after all, pregnant and supposed to be gaining weight. 

but i didn't tell you back then what i'm about to say now... that i gained a whopping 75 pounds!!! that amount of baggage on a 5'3" frame is a tad bit overwhelming and VERY uncomfortable.  even more disheartening was that i was lifting weights with a personal trainer 3 days a week and trying my best not to go overboard on my eating.  it's just what my body did.  

so when kim began to get flack, i could feel her pain.  i can't forget the thoughtless comments made by a few people in my life.  i remember one woman at work said something so insensitive i went back to my classroom and cried.  my teammates consoled me and when they found out what she said they almost went down to her classroom and beat her senseless.  

but i begged them not to because that's just how people are...

quick to speak...

even now... i'm halfway through my pregnancy with baby K2 and doing much better on the weight front (though don't be mistaken that i'm a tiny pregnant woman... i'm as rolly polly as they come).  this weekend, i ran into a woman who had seen me a month before i was due with leif... meaning, i was HUGE.  she kept commenting on how "tiny" i was "this time".  at first i'd say, "well, i'm only halfway done, you get a lot bigger at the end."  secretly i was afraid she'd see me sometime in january and retract her kind statement.  later in the evening she started in again with how "small" i was.   i tried to be gracious, but then she said across the crowded room, "just look at how thin your face is!  your face was so much fatter last time."  

ummmm... thank you?

now, i'm pretty proud that i didn't and haven't gotten hormonal about this comment.  (another big difference with me this time is that i'm much calmer and less stressed out than i was with leif).  i realize that deep down, she meant to compliment me by telling me how good she thought i looked... this time. 

but i did fume a little (and complain to kjaer and my mom... well, and you) 

because WHO SAYS THAT STUFF?!?!?

(to a woman... let alone a pregnant woman... at that!)

it made me want to sit down and write ol' kimmy even more!  

but our dear friend kim has already given birth and is probably sweating it out in the gym with a personal trainer and eating salads made by a personal chef so that she can reappear in the public eye and wow those suckers who said the mean crap about her.  

so instead, i write for myself in the future (of this pregnancy and if there are any more to come... those too) and for my friends who are like me and do not look like a little twig with a basketball shoved down their shirts.  in fact, i write to those girls, whose butts started growing upwards the minute that pregnancy test came back positive.  i remember doing squats at the gym when i was pregnant with leif and seeing my derriere reflected in the mirror behind me.  i remembered thinking, "whose butt is that?  that can't be MY butt!"  i came home and asked kjaer if it was growing up my back... which, if i remember correctly, he thought was a trick question.  we now lovingly refer to my butt when i was pregnant as my "four story butt" because it was four stories high.  in fact, it was so big, i went to sit on the couch next to kjaer one time and ended up sitting on him...

not.

on.

purpose.

i just had no concept of how big it had gotten.

so you get the idea... i've been there.  i've been horrified at the weight gaining capabilities of my body and what it does when it's pregnant.  so i know a thing or two about feeling ashamed of my body.  so this is for those sisters... the ones who are embarrassed or worried about their growing bellies and bottoms.

first and foremost, i told kjaer to remind me of this when i was pregnant again, DON'T PANIC!  the first time around, i panicked.  i think it made me shove food down my face even more.  or else maybe it made me give up and think, "oh well, i'm huge, might as well have another cookie."  i was so depressed by the end of it i thought i'd spend the rest of my life trying to get that 75 pounds off.  it was so disheartening.  especially when it had taken me a couple of years to lose 40 pounds after college.  

but it did.

i know you look in the mirror and you feel fat.  your body is stretching out in directions you didn't even know it could go.  at the store, you try on that one cute maternity top in a medium and realize you need to upgrade to a L or XL (if you're being smart and want to wear it at the end of your pregnancy too).  DON'T DESPAIR, YOU WILL LOSE IT!!!!  6 weeks after leif was born i had lost a whopping 30 pounds!  a year after he was born i had lost another 30... (thanks be to breastfeeding and weight watchers for breastfeeding moms). I only had about 15 more to get back to my wedding weight when i got pregnant again.  

that's when i told kjaer to remind me periodically with this little one that it DID come off, i survived and it will come off again.  because in the throws of people's insensitive comments and judgmental stares, it is hard to remember a time when you were able to slither into your skinny jeans and a cute top feeling all super sexy and sleek.

and just so you know, women are usually the worst at saying cruel things to you... but i find the ones who usually do, tend to be the unhappiest and most critical of ALL people.  so try your best to let it go and move on.  every time i think of a thoughtless comment and the mouth it came out of i find my memory of that person's mouth is not usually as a smile.  they usually have their own weight issues or other baggage teaming with insecurities, which makes it easier to pick on you... because it makes them feel a little better about themselves.  so as the very wise mr. jay-z says, "go on brush yo' shoulders off."

buy yourself a cute pair of expensive maternity jeans.  splurge on a couple of cute tops.  and if you have a fat day, make sure your loving partner has been armed with the "right" things to say (ahead of time) to you so he doesn't feel like a jerk when you're crying and shoving ice cream into your face.  

because this to shall pass...

if you want to be back in those skinny jeans and cute tops, and you work at it.... with enough time and dedication, you'll be there again.  maybe not as perfect before.  maybe your skinny jeans will smooth out a few more lumps than you had b.b. (before baby)... or maybe not.  

but you will have a miracle that God entrusted you to carry for 9 months and bring into this world.  and you will find that a few pounds here or there in the long run, don't mean crap.   you will find yourself staring into the eyes of a brand new creation that is part of you and part of someone else you love.  so grin and bear it.  wear those pounds like a rockstar... and when your little one is born be kind and loving to yourself because you just accomplished a freakin' miracle.  and after several weeks of loving on your baby and regaining a fragment of control over your life, start eating wisely and moving again.  

it's like field of dreams... if you build it, they will come.  

if you want it... it will happen... slowly. 

and one day you'll pull out that box (mine was labeled "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY SURE" and wriggle into a pair of your favorite before baby jeans.  they might be a little snug, but your sexy butt squeezed into them.  and you'll coast on a concoction of hope, euphoria and the long road you've traveled to be there.  

i promise.

baby k1 and baby k2

up high, down low...

awhile ago i told leif's birth story and eluded to a funny moment that happened while were were in the throws of my c-section.  as i've begun to mentally prepare for our second little love, i've been reflecting a lot on the birth of our first little love.

the other day i suddenly remembered a moment that made me smile so big... i just had to share it with you.

...but first i had to ask kjaer's permission.

it involves him.

and usually, i do this kind of embarrassing stuff.

so... without further adieu... because i got the green light...

about 15 minutes before leif came into this world, i was sitting terrified on a metal surgical table getting ready to receive my epidural.  inside i was feeling like a huge baby (not to be confused with having an actual real, HUGE baby inside of me) but on the outside i was basically dead quiet and wide-eyed. now, i'm not bragging or anything... but i didn't jump off of the surgical table, tuck my hospital gown around me and run out of the room screaming, "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME DO THIS!!!" even though that's totally what my brain wanted me to do.  i was already so conflicted.  i had wanted to have a natural, drug free childbirth but my doctor had basically said that once i went past 10 days of being overdue, i'd have to find someone else if i didn't take any action because the risks were just too high.  so my doctor, kjaer and i made the decision that if i wasn't in labor by day10... a scheduled c-section it would be on day 11.  (she had already told me that if she had induced me... which i didn't want anyway... i would have had an 85% chance of an emergency c-section... recovering from labor AND surgery?  no thanks!).

but once my giant, pregnant butt cheeks were on that cold table, i was seriously fighting the decision to have major abdominal surgery.  the only time i've ever undergone the knife was having my wisdom teeth removed.  so i'm not really experienced in this whole leaving-my-life-in-someone-else's-hands field.  i was shivering because of the fluids they were pumping into me and kjaer was probably starting to sense that his wife was about to go feral on everyone in there.

and can we just pause here to talk about how God has blessed me with a man who compliments me so well?  sometimes (though he would probably say more often than not), i can get a little stressed out.  the symptoms include my vocal volume increasing to the point of nearly shouting, rigid muscles and shifty eyes.  the day we got married, i was sent down the aisle too soon.  this would have been ok, except that i had a song playing in remembrance of my dad (it was originally supposed to be our father-daughter dance song) and had to stand up there facing kjaer and listen to the words, all the while wishing my dad had been the one walking me down the aisle and thinking about how we were supposed to be dancing to this song on this particular day.  i started to tear up and shake and kjaer read the moment perfectly.  he stared right into my eyes and started wiggling his nose at me, thereby saving the day.  i immediately calmed down, smiled and remembered how blessed i was to have a man who could read me so well... and though i had some tears in those eyes, they went from sadness to joy.

so... like i said... kjaer started to see the signs.

the anesthesiologist, Dr. Morris, was behind me, prepping me for the epidural (which, of course i'd heard horror stories about people still feeling the surgery because it was placed wrong, and my mother the nurse doesn't help with these stories because she HATES most anesthesiologists and has to deal with their messed up leftovers, etc.) kjaer stood in front of me as i sat on that table and pulled my arms up around his neck.  and then he just put his forehead against mine and began whispering to me in that low, sweet voice of his about our new baby and how i was going to be ok.  all the while, Dr. Morris was readying me for the moment of truth, commenting on how he loved when he saw the new dad's with the mom's and how awesome kjaer was.  right at that moment, the dr. put his hand out next to my body, as if to give kjaer a high five.

so naturally, kjaer gave the doctor a high five back.

silence.

Dr. Morris's hand comes up next to me again.

kjaer high fives him again and looks at me like, dude, what is up with this guy.

third and final time... the doctor's hand comes up and he says... "now monica, your back is straight like this (high five hand) but i need for you to curve it like this (curves his hand)."

kjaer puts his forehead back on mine and quietly whispered... while we both tried not to laugh too loud... "dude... i just totally high fived him... twice!"

and immediately my animal instincts stopped with the fight and flight junk, and i was ready to have my baby with my crazy, lovable husband.  and even though i was still scared to death, i knew i had a man who wasn't going to leave me...

a few minutes later, kjaer was happily announcing to me that we had a boy with his winning, handsome smile and laying leif on my chest to meet me.

the beauty of this is two fold.

one... i love how kjaer demonstrated such tenderness in a moment where i really questioned whether i would survive.  i mean... i knew the odds were that i would... but honestly, i was terrified i'd be one of those whacky c-section stories that you hear about from time to time.  he was my cool cucumber.

second... i love that we could still laugh when i know that at that moment we were both so scared.  scared of c-sections, scared of what being a parent was going to be like... just scared.  it seems like sometimes when we need those moments... God sends them to lighten the mood and remind us to take a breath, relax and enjoy our lives.

so while i'm hoping i can do a VBAC for round two... if i can't and have to undergo a scary c-section again, i'll be holding that man of mines neck again, shivering with fear but laughing on the inside as i remember the time my cool cucumber high fived the anesthesiologist!

leif's badge of honor...

my dear baby boy,

daddy and I have been talking to you about this for weeks... but you just look at us nonchalantly and go about your business of being our baby.  so, i'm writing a letter (that you can't even read yet) to tell you that...

you are going to love being a big brother.  

you have no idea how excited daddy and i are for you.  i mean, we're excited to welcome a new little love into our lives that we haven't met yet... obviously.  but we are also so excited for you and your new role...

big brother.

your daddy and i are both the oldest siblings in our families and it's a role that we have carried with distinguished pride over the course of our lives. i know your daddy loves nothing more than spending time with your uncle keir and uncle keian.  his fondest memories always have your uncles in them and to this day he is so proud of them and who they have become.

and i don't remember my life before my brothers.  some of my earliest memories consist of when they were born. they are foggy, but they are there.  i remember oma and opa saying that uncle keith had hair as red as a fire engine when he was born.  and i remember opa waking me up one early morning in june and asking me what i thought of the name "grant" for your uncle grant.  but i don't remember life before those two boys.  

as we grew up together, they were my partners in crime.  i always felt a sense of responsibility when they were with me.  perhaps it was because i felt like i needed to help take care of them because they were littler.  but they were also my best playmates.  the neighborhood kids... they could be a little questionable.  my brothers didn't know cuss words or other bad stuff my parents didn't want us to talk about... so they were always safe and fun to be around.

most of my favorite memories with them took place in our backyard or our basement... our two main stomping grounds.  we would play "leaf war" and build crazy forts out of old cardboard boxes and junk your opa and oma were OK with us using.  we would run around and throw leaves at each other like it was going out of style.  your uncle keith would wear some camouflage pants just like an army guy with this light blue summer camp shirt.  he didn't really match, but none of us cared.  he was, like, the real deal.  we'd put on epic christian rock concerts, too.  we'd perch on top of an old door in the basement that we had unsteadily balanced on something.  uncle keith would be the lights and sound tech person with an old garage lamp your opa had and a boombox.  i can't remember what uncle grant's job was... i probably forced him to assist your uncle keith.  i would prance around the "stage" singing my heart out as amy grant... ultra cool christian rock singer.  i always made your uncle keith pretend he was michael w. smith and uncle grant i forced to be steven curtis chapman.

looking back, i suppose i could be a little bossy sometimes...

perhaps it comes with the territory...

although i don't think your daddy was that way with your uncle keian and uncle keir.

as we got older, the boys stayed playmates and i grew into a role of the "older sister."  i'd watch your uncles when we got home from school... making after school snacks for them like graham crackers and frosting or spoons of peanut butter with chocolate chips scattered on top.  we'd watch "disney afternoon" and sometimes i would start dinner for them... macaroni and cheese and hamburger helper were my specialties.  your oma always said i did a great job of caring for them, and i've always felt a great sense of pride in this.  your opa travelled over the road for weeks at a time and oma worked evenings... so often i was the one caring for them until our aunt marlene came when she was done with work.  i always look back on those afternoons with fondness.  we had so much fun watching cartoons together and playing in the living room.  we lived in our own little bubble and we were completely happy there.

when middle and high school came, i was more concerned about myself than my brothers i suppose.  i think it comes as a price with that age.  of course i always loved them dearly, but i was more concerned about making friends outside of my family.  and so i did.  but i never stopped loving that role i had.  i would drive them to and from school in my car that backfired every time i shifted from 2nd gear into 3rd and i'd listen to non-Christian radio... which was a no-no.  i can't remember if they ever told on me.  but they remembered that i wasn't following house rules... they just reminded me of it the other day.

when college came, they'd sometimes drive up to ft. collins to see me.  i wish i had spent more time with them during that time of my life.  they were growing up into young men and i was off doing my own thing.  i think i was often ashamed because i was rebellious at the time.  i didn't want them to figure me out for the phony i was.  i probably would have spent more time with them if my heart had been in the right place with God.  but i'm sure this is also pretty typical of most sibling relationships during this phase of life and i think they forgave me a long time ago for being absent so much.

after college i did something that most people don't do these days... i bought a condo with your uncle keith and we lived together.  to be honest, he was the best roommate a gal could've asked for... no girl drama... well, except for mine.  during that time he and i became friends.  by now he towered over me by at least a foot.  he'd joke and call me his "little" sister.  uncle grant and i became closer too.  he developed the same passion for music that i had and we'd trade mixed cd's and talk music all of the time.  something was shifting in our relationship.  i was no longer "the boss" (which i think i always secretly thought i was).  i was becoming their friend.  we were all young adults trying to figure out life together.  during this time we started a decade long tradition of sunday dinners at your oma and opa's house.  i'd find myself still helping oma with dinner and dishes, like when we were kids, while the boys and your opa would sit out back on the deck or watch tv.  we'd laugh over ice cream smothered with magic shell and talk hours after the table had been cleared.  not many families do that any more and i was so blessed to have that island of time where we were just "us" again.

after your opa died, it was incredible to watch the shift in your uncles.  suddenly i felt like they were the older siblings... like twin older brothers or something.  they took care of your oma and her house. they made sure that when a snowflake hit her driveway that she was shoveled out.  and they also made sure to mow her lawn for her every few weeks.  they did this on top of their careers and responsibilities.  they had both met your aunties and were beginning to take the next step in their lives, but they never failed to step up as the men of the house for your oma.  i've never been more proud.  it was probably during this period of life where i realized a greater shift in our relationship too.  i realized that my brothers took pride in taking care of me.  they checked in on me constantly always made sure i was well cared for.  it was like they were my big brothers.

to this day i take such great pride in watching your uncles as they grow older.  it's so cool to watch who they have become, what they choose to do with their careers and welcome your aunties and cousins that they love so much into the family.  even though we don't meet for sunday dinners as often as we used to, when we do it's lovely to see the loyal, kind and compassionate men that they have become.  sometimes, after they leave, i just sit around thinking about how cool they have become and how blessed i am to be their "little" big sister.

leif, what i'm trying to say is that you will never imagine the blessing that this new brother or sister with be in your life.  but one day, 33 years from now, you will look back over your childhood and young adulthood and realize that one of the most important relationships in your life was born in February of 2014.  there will be times you get annoyed with him or her.  there will be times they get you in trouble or say something that will make you angry.  there will be arguments over new toys in the house or who gets mommy or daddy's attention.  there will even be times you have to sacrifice something cool just so your little brother or sister can have it because they're younger.  but those little things are far outweighed by the playtimes after school, the long hours spent in your rooms building forts and living in imaginary worlds, vacations, and spending time with me and daddy.

i just know that you are going to be an amazing big brother.  you will be determined, loyal, protective, opinionated and perhaps a little bossy... a trait you inherited from your mama.  but you will love him or her with passion and you will find he or she will become one of your lifelong best friends.

so congratulations, my little one.  you are a big brother... and daddy and i know you are going to a fabulous one, at that.

love,
mama

a miraculous gift...

can we just talk about how incredible God is?

some of you personally know this God i'm talking about, some of you are talking with him but aren't ready to commit.  others... well, you just don't know if there is one.

i'm here to tell you that this God of mine... He blows my mind.

since my dad's passing in 2009, summer has always been an emotional landmine for me.  it's when my dad's journey went from being scary to a downright nightmare.  so i often find myself rehashing some of the fond and not so fond memories of june and july.  this summer was no different. as may turned to june i found myself going down that wormhole again, reliving parts of my dad's journey that can bring me to tears, even 4 years later.  the treatment, the pain, the help or lack of help from healthcare professionals, the grief...

it wasn't until a few weeks ago that i remembered something else about my dad's stoic journey and a new path in my life began to take shape in front of me.  i've remembered it periodically over the past four years... but it finally sank in this summer, and has left me with a peace that surpasses all understanding.

so let's start at the beginning, shall we?

after the initial diagnosis and shockwave, there was a lot of mind-numbing waiting before the treatment.  it was terrible to live in such a state... not really knowing how bad it was, feeling as if each passing day without treatment the cancer was going to grow stronger.  it was an awful limbo to be stuck inside of.  during that time, my dad went for a PET scan to see where the cancer was in his body.  he had to drive himself because we were all working at the time (and he was completely "normal" as it was during the beginning of everything).  so we sent him off in his little black truck and awaited to hear what a PET scan was like.

after work i called my dad, as i always did, to see how everything went.  i only remember two parts of our conversation.  #1 - he had to drink a chalky substance so that the PET scan could pick up the cancer.  #2 - he had to wait for it to settle into his body and so he sat in the waiting room.  the thing is, as he was sitting in the waiting room, he saw a lot of very young people with their whole lives ahead of them sitting there too.  he said he couldn't help but wonder what their diagnosis was or the fear they were all living in.

and here is where my dad got all stoic on us.  he said, "i've lived a good life, i've seen my kids grow up, i couldn't ask for anything better... so on the way out to my truck, i prayed that if God was going to give me a miracle, that he'd go ahead and give it to a younger person with a family and their whole lives ahead of them."

i remember getting very upset with him and selfishly scolding him.  i said, "DAD, DON'T say that!"

i know how God takes us seriously when we talk to Him... and i was petrified that my dad meant it and that God would just go ahead and do what He does best... listen.

i remember that my dad very gently told me that he loved us and he loved his life... but that there were many others who needed his miracle and he knew that it was right to ask God to pass him over for the sake of another.

i got a teensy bit hysterical on him.

i know how God is, you see.  so, i cried.

the next several months were full of our ups and downs.  my dad started treatment, which he went through with flying colors.  he won over the hearts of the radiation girls... i have videos he made them take with his flip camera so we could all see what his treatment was like.  i know they liked him because i went with him one day.  they let me come back and watch the machine on tv screens outside of his radiation room.

after his month of radiation and chemo, we waited to see if he was a good candidate for surgery.  during that time, my dad had some increasing pain in his back... which was strange because his cancer was in his esophagus.  we would rub his back with this giant sharper image massager and he'd go for walks.  he drank maalox like it was going out of style. it seemed worse in the evening.  i tried to push that request that he made to God from my mind... and focus on the good.  the doctors didn't see anything in his back, and the cancer in his esophagus had responded to the treatment well, so we had a glimmering moment of hope.

but his back pain just was too excruciating and deep down we all knew something wasn't right.  it would come in waves and while it was happening, you stood by quietly wishing you could help, praying for a miracle... feeling totally inept and powerless.  but when it subsided he seemed more like himself and we could go back to those feelings of hope.

the thing was, that the waves of pain increased until there was a week where it seemed constant. the pain got so unbearable (or the mental distress of not knowing when it would end) that one afternoon my dad called my youngest brother and asked him to remove all of the guns from the house.  i think we all got a reality check then... even though the dr.'s were claiming that so far things looked good... we knew something was wrong.

finally, one afternoon in early june, my mom took my dad to the emergency room at st. lukes where they ran test after test.  it was agonizing.  after a couple of days waiting in the dark again, they found that his cancer had metastasized and wrapped around his spinal cord, causing him unbearable pain.

we didn't know, but we were on a final countdown with my dad to send him home.

the doctors told us he could live another 6 months to a year... he made it 6 more weeks.

this time of my dad's journey is always hard to talk or write about.  out of all of the members of my family, my mom and i probably talk about it the most.  sometimes our eyes tear up.  sometimes we smile.  because of the pain medication, my dad wasn't himself at most times... but sometimes we had the pleasure of seeing his old self again.  for those of you who knew him, you knew he had the ability to light up the room and make anyone laugh.  kjaer and i still giggle about when he got up to go to the bathroom and he playfully looked over his shoulder as he wrapped his hospital gown against him and told us not to look at his "peaches."  there was also the time i had sat through a dinner with kjaer's family and thought about nothing else except that i wanted to be with my dad.  kjaer and his mom could sense my desperation, i think, so they offered to stop by the hospital on the way home.  i was so glad to see my dad, i climbed right into the hospital bed with him and snuggled up under the nook in his arm.  later that week, when my mom was having a hard time, he gently patted the bed and said, "if monica can find a way, you can." and she climbed into the hospital bed with him.

the weeks in the hospital can only be described as numbing with a terrible side of helplessness.  i wanted to be there 24 hours a day, watching over him.  but when i was there, i'd realize there was nothing i could really do but sit and feel useless.  it was brutal.  sickness and death have a way of making you feel that way.  it reminds us that we aren't really in control.  no matter how many nights i slept next to my dad's bedside, death was coming and i couldn't stop it.  i couldn't make his pain go away either... the only thing i could do was make sure he wasn't alone.

one thing that i can say is that through it all, i had an indescribable peace.  even though it felt like i was living someone else's terrible nightmare, i knew God had a plan.

my dad did too.

during my dad's stay in the hospital, we learned of another family down the hall; a woman my age that had just been diagnosed with leukemia.  it was a rapid growing kind.  she had a daughter barely over the age of 1.  i knew she was exactly the kind of person my dad was talking about months prior.  a young woman who may not get the opportunity to see her baby grow up.  my mom spoke briefly with her husband in the patient lounge, and mom came back to dad's room carrying her story on her heart.  though we were consumed with worry about my dad, it was a great reminder that we were not alone in this world as we lifted her up in our prayers too.

i have to admit... i wondered if at that moment my dad's request flashed through his head... because it went through mine.  but the scariness of uncertainty pushed it to the back as my dad fought to stay with us.

i remember after my dad passed away, telling God that i wished i could meet whoever got his miracle while on this earth.  i'm not sure if i told God that out of innocent wonder, or if i was demanding some sort of explanation. when i expressed this request to my mom, she said we may never know until we get to heaven.

i knew she was right.

some of you might think it a bit presumptuous to believe that my dad even had a miracle stored up for him.  i suppose only God knows.  over the next 4 years i've often found myself wondering if God meant to take my dad home all along, or if my dad really did bless the life of another with a miracle that had his name on it.

so as june began again, and the flood of memories came pushing past the walls I unconsciously built, i sat down to write a depressing post about cancer and all of the woes it brought us.  about halfway through this tedious and dark post, a friend of mine since grade school, Whitney, posted a celebratory comment on facebook about how she couldn't believe 4 years had gone by since she had first been diagnosed with leukemia and how blessed she was to be here living such a wonderful life.  

as i read it a light bulb went off.  the story of the woman in the hospital came back to me... as did my dad's humble request to God.  i filled kjaer in on the backstory and asked him if he thought it would be totally inappropriate of me to write her years later and ask if she was staying at St. Lukes for her treatment.  kjaer and i talked about it and we decided it would be ok.  i kept saying to kjaer...  "if she writes me back and says yes... she's the one."  

so i sent a very brief email via facebook and got a response 5 minutes later.

it was her... she was the woman down the hall from us.  the one we prayed for.  

i sat at my computer and cried.  not because i was sad.  but i was so floored with the awesomeness of God.  not only did he grant my outlandish wish to meet the person who my dad gave his miracle to, but it was a childhood friend of mine as well.  i sat and cried out of joy because my dad's pain and suffering wasn't for nothing.  God had a plan and a purpose.  

whitney and i met a couple of weeks later to catch up (since we hadn't really spoken in over 15 years) and tell our stories.  i went to see her thinking i wouldn't say anything about my dad's prayer request from the parking lot, just because i didn't think it was very appropriate to say, "hey!  i think my dad gave his miracle to you!"  but as the night was wrapping up it came out of my mouth so naturally (i'm thinking God wanted me to say it) and whitney confirmed what i had been thinking all along.  we found ourselves overwhelmed by the goodness of God because she is a living, breathing, walking miracle... 

some could say that whitney's story and mine aren't really this entwined.  that my dad was probably destined to die from the first day he was diagnosed and she was destined to live.  but whitney and i think something bigger might be going on here... and we are amazed to the point of speechlessness by the God we serve.

after i met with whitney i came home to kjaer knowing that God had blessed me beyond what i deserve.  he had taken my broken heart, where i had begged for there to be some purpose for all of the pain four years ago, and had mended it with a miracle beyond all reason. and as the anniversary of my daddy's homecoming rolls by this year, i find myself not only thankful for the life my daddy lived but for the miracle that is whitney.   

and i know beyond a doubt that on july 5, 2009, when Jesus came to collect my daddy's spirit from his broken body next to my mom in that quiet hospice room... my dad sat up excitedly to meet him. and as Jesus extended his hand towards him to take him home... he lovingly threw an arm over his shoulder he said something to my dad like, "well done, my good and faithful servant.  well done."

edge of learning...

the title of today's entry probably will make my teacher friends laugh...

it's teacher lingo through and through.

it's what we talk about when we discuss our students and where we would ideally like to have them all day, every day... right at that cusp of understanding and building on something new.

God has me here right now, at my edge.

well, i've been here for awhile in many respects... learning how to be a mama, learning how to love and accept myself, learning how to control my eating... you know... basically every struggle of mine has an edge.

i have a whole lotta edges.

but let me just pause here to say that the older i've gotten (and yes, i realize i'm not THAT old yet) the more i'm beginning to enjoy my dance on the edge with God.  when i've learned to actually let Him lead me by listening in the quiet spaces of my heart, my life changes drastically for the better.  i learned this lesson in college and have relearned it in many different instances over the past 13 or so years.

He speaks and if i choose to listen... miracles unfold.

i have been schooled many a time, though the best lessons have always been in more traumatic situations... my dad's cancer diagnosis and the 6 nightmarish months until he went home are a prime example.  out of pain, came dependence on the only ONE who could get me through... and that ONE does not have flesh and bone... at least in the past couple of thousand years he hasn't.

so when i *heard* the Lord recently, i had to pause in excitement and terror.  i'm not one to turn down adventure, but i sure like to drag my feet a little.  especially if i'm not sure where we are headed.

i was standing in the shower mentally whining to God... seems like lately i haven't had as much time to focus on my spiritual life... so i've been doing a little visiting with God during my morning shower.   sadly, i even multitask with God.  fortunately, He loves me and lets me talk to Him whilst in the buff.  besides, i had some pretty emotional territory to discuss with him...  i was overcome by a feeling that i needed to be at home with Leif instead of spending an insane amount of time and energy on other peoples' kids.

i know that sounds terrible... maybe only my teacher friends will fist bump me on this one.  but my job is not only demanding because of the mandates and the low socioeconomic status of the population i work with... but it's demanding because i'm often times the only source of structure and discipline some of these kiddos get... along with the role of being their therapist, nurse, mom, protector, disciplinarian (oh yeah, and the lady who's supposed to teach them how to read and write)... you name it.  during the workday, i do it all.  and lately i had found myself wishing i could just be all of those things for my son.  i wanted to be there for his firsts, to put him down for his naps, to not feel like i was working my toosh off from 7-4, running around like a chicken with my head cut off from 4-8 after i get home from work, sitting on the couch like a dazed and confused zombie from 8-10 (if i was lucky enough to get him to sleep at a decent hour) and starting all over again the next morning at 5:30 (not to mention the 2-3 times he wakes me up to nurse in the middle of the night).  on top of it all, the weekends are not the least bit relaxing at all.  aren't they supposed to be a source of respite?  a place to recover from your long week of working your tail off?  mine were spent cleaning, doing laundry, grocery shopping and feeling totally jipped on the quality time i was supposed to be having with my husband and son.

so... i was telling God that i just wanted some sort of miracle.  that if there was just some way he could bring balance into my life... i would really appreciate it.  i laughingly asked Him (probably because I didn't really believe He would) if He could PLEASE find some way to let me be home with our baby more.

i halfheartedly asked because i didn't really believe kjaer (or God for that matter) would go for it... just because kjaer and i had some conversations early on when we were dating that had led me to believe it wasn't an option.  i also had never truly taken the idea seriously for myself. i had never really pictured myself as  the stay at home type.  plus, sometimes i act a little martyr-ish with God... oh, He'd never do something like that for little ol' me.

good thing God doesn't fall for that sort of self loathing crap.

the next night was date night... a tradition for kjaer and i since our early days of dating (even got married on date night).  we always set wednesdays aside for each other... even if the only thing that's special about it is that we don't answer the phone... it's our uninterrupted night of one-ness.  (leif has been pretty good at trying to interrupt this, but don't worry... we've been taking back the night lately!)  so, i'm making dinner and we're drinking wine and chatting (so sophisticated... aren't we?)  when out of the blue kjaer says, what would you think of going part time next year?

ha, ha, very funny God!  i thought.

but then i realized...
this is God's answer to you, dummy.  You asked for a sign... and sister, He just gave it to you.  

if i could've actually raised only one eyebrow at kjaer (a favorite facial expression of kjaer's that he does to me routinely)... this is where it would've happen as i replied, "what do you think about it?"

what i was really asking is... is this a trick question???  i mean... i hadn't expressed any of those feelings i had been praying about to kjaer yet, as they were a newer development in me.  how could he know what i had been praying about during my shower/prayer session?  i took this not only as an answer... but a call to change directions in my life... a sign.

and the path to where i am today began to appear.  this is what happens when you watch and listen for signs and then move your toosh.  doors start flying open.  

actually, at first it felt like too many doors were flying open and slamming shut.   at one point i told my mom it was like having different dinner plates getting cracked over the top of my head and trying to sort through the chaos and figure out what belonged with what.  i felt like holding a poster board up to the heavens that said, 

what. 

the. 

heck?

but instead of the poster, i found it best just to say those things to God aloud, because He'll make sure to get you where you're supposed to be going if you keep asking.

which is why i audibly said to Him... more than once...
what.the.heck?

now that i think about it... i'm probably just as annoying as that kid in my class... and there's one every year.... who worries that you won't get them to whatever activity they're really looking forward to... lunch, art, their turn on the computer.  i always respond with, "have i ever not gotten you to lunch before?  trust me... i'll get you there."

that's probably what God says to me.  and i probably shrug him off like that kid in my class and ask again 5 minutes later...

what.the.heck?

anyways....

i kept grasping to the sign and telling God he needed to be a little more like mapquest and a little less like a crossword puzzle.  there were a lot of part time jobs available, but none had a schedule that matched what we could feasibly do.  we couldn't find or afford 5 day a week care... even if it was just 5 half days.  i had just about given up.  in fact, i shouldn't even say "just about"... i did give up.  when a door i was peering into closed, i tucked my tail between my legs and gave up.

i would lay in bed at night and say to kjaer, "i really thought that's where HE was leading me... i'm so confused."

(and then i would say, rather sadly and pitifully to God... what.the.heck?)

in case you haven't figured out by now, i can be pretty persistant with Him... which leads me to my next point... if you feel like God is leading you somewhere and the pathway is unclear DO NOT EXPECT HIM TO WORK IN YOUR TIMEFRAME.  his plan is always better and you just can't give up talking to him about it (unless He tells you to, and then i'd suggest shutting the heck up!)

two weeks ago my principal pulled me into her office and told me to think "creatively" about part a time teaching position.  it didn't have to look the traditional way... half days, 5 days a week.  

and thus, my new position was born.  i'm sharing a room with another fabulous teacher.  i'm teaching math and science 2 full days and a half day a week... she takes the literacy load.  best of all... the grandma's can cover the 1/2 day of work with leif so we only need to find childcare 2 days a week.

we're still working on the childcare facet of this new path... but i'm trusting that because God told us to jump... and we did... that He'll provide.  it might not be in our comfort zone... which would be to keep martha for forever... but it'll be His plan... which is always best.

once i accepted the position, i felt like the puzzle piece that was missing for so long just fit snugly into place.  i find myself walking around and whispering thank you throughout the day to the big man upstairs.  He didn't have to work in mysterious ways... but he did.  and for that, i'm so grateful.

so bring on the 4 FULL days a week of our brilliant baby boy.  extra full days of laughter, love, diapers, grumpiness, keeping house, making dinner for the hubs, naps, sesame street, hugs and kisses.  bring on two extra days a week of our sons early childhood and his mama being present for it.  

what a gift.  

seriously.

(my heart is screaming thank you God!)

it does come with some financial sacrifice (i still send myself into a tailspin when i think about 401K's, retirement, saving for college, etc.) but then i hear my friend karen happily reminding me in her best tough voice...

take it to Jesus!!!!

and so,
because he whispered to me, and i answered, i have to trust that He knew what he was talking about.  

it also comes with some personal sacrifice...   for instance, the unthinkable is happening; we're turning off cable.

someone hand me a paper bag please!!!

but once i remember the benefit, i stop whining about not knowing what's going on with the kardashian sisters.  because i'd much rather know what's going on with leif and his siblings. 

so if God has led you to an edge, my friends.,,  if you're standing there, like me, with your little toes wiggling over the edge...  i dare you to jump.

jump for all it's worth.
jump with faith... even if it's the tiniest bit.

  because we can never move forward to new places, amazing paths, if we don't take a chance.  hold up your big signs to the heavens that say,  

I'm Scared

Help Me Do This

I Can't Do It on My Own

What.The.Heck

and He'll move.  His direction might surprise you... His ideas might freak you out.  but, i swear, they are always better than ours.  and because he loves you, he will see you (shakin' in your boots) through.

and when He does... don't forget to put down those old signs,
throw your arms up into the warm sunshine and sing,

thank you! thank you! thank you!

all of the above...

about a month ago i found myself leif-less and happily wandering the aisles of party city looking for elmo decorations. i stood there debating whether i should buy the dinner napkins AND the dessert napkins since we planned on keeping it low profile this year... and then chucking them both into my basket mentally exclaiming that he only turns 1 once and besides... we are going to have a small party.

so what's a few napkins, cups and party hats?  right?

well, forty dollars later i found myself still justifying the expenditure because i still believe he only turns one once... and besides, we can use the leftovers on #2 one day.

the funny thing is it still hadn't really hit home that our little man is turning one.

i don't think it actually hit home until about a week later... when he went from taking a few drunken sailor steps between kjaer and i... to walking across a room while my back was turned.  the change came almost instantaneously.

we had been watching leif happily totter between us, the previous two weeks, while we clapped and cheered.  never once did it occur to me that the shift from this stage would be so rapid.  one night we eyeballed him carefully as he swayed back and forth between his two home bases, the next night we watched him walk from the kitchen to the living room, pausing briefly to let the dog pass.

kjaer and i basically exchanged a look that said, "well crap... that went by fast."

and the i realized that his first year has passed and the kid is sprinting into his future.

a year ago this month i was laying in a hospital bed, three sets of stitches in my guts, holding the sweetest smelling creature you could have ever met and wondering what had just happened to us.

don't get me wrong... i knew i was going to have a baby the whole time.  but when that sweet boy was laying in my arms i felt so incapable and insecure, so wild with love yet scared to death.  i wasn't really sure exactly what was down the road for us all.  all i knew was my little snow globe of life had been turned up-side-down and i was desperately trying to reorient myself to this new life we had started.

looking back, i have many sweet memories clouded by my senseless hormone laden brain.  there were some dark moments in those first few weeks too... brought on by a mild case of post-partem (it's definitely a real thing folks) and a severe lack of sleep.  i remember people cooing to me, "isn't motherhood just the most amazing thing?  isn't it so hard to picture life without him?" and staring blankly back at their (horrified) faces because i could still so clearly remember my un-responsible days before him... you know... when i used to sleep.  of course i loved him fiercely, but i was learning just how much work being a new mother was and i was totally unprepared for the initiation i got.  plus, we had issues... breastfeeding issues that took about 2 or 3 months to iron out... so on top of feeling like i was going to starve my helpless newborn babe, i was constantly stressed about things i never even knew existed before leif... like the mysterious latch and nipple shields.

those first few months were wonderful and stressful.  i'll tell you one thing, maternity leave was amazing and when i had to leave him at 3 1/2 months old to go back to work, i understood why switzerland gives its mothers a year of leave.  mama's are supposed to be with their babies.  at least THIS mama.  i can vouch for this because i have the best daycare provider/situation in the entire world (a.k.a. martha) and i still want to be with leif.  i have been brave all year as i've gone off to work every morning putting on my happy working mom face when i'd rather crawl back into bed with my warm little potato and change his diapers all day. i sometimes find myself staring over 2nd graders heads at the clock and counting hours until i can be home with my little family.

during the first few months of leif's life, he won me over every day.  the kid was irresistible.    sometimes i look back at the tiny little photos i sent kjaer from my phone (when he had to go back to work) and i realize how crazy i was about him even though i was struggling so much to find my bearings.  i would spend hours staring at him and trying to catch the right look on my phones crappy camera to share with his daddy while dressing him up in clothes that were too big for him because i couldn't wait for him to wear his brown corduroy cargo pants.  i remember kjaer returning from the outside world and feeling a little like the crazy mama's you see in the movies... hair all askew, talking about oprah... only i was talking about leif and my milk supply.  i'm sure those vows kjaer said not so long ago were scrolling through his head as he looked at this lunatic and wondered where his sweet wife went.

but then, the haze lifted.  i don't know what happened, but as i connected with my babe over the next few months it became quite obvious to me that i couldn't picture life without him anymore... i could remember it... kind of... but i didn't want it anymore.  even now those days seem so far behind me.  

now i sit here, my toddler happily sleeping upstairs, wondering where exactly all of those first few months went.  what happened to that sweet little baby who'd lay on his playmat and kick, kick, kick his legs?  or... remember when i could sit him up at a spot somewhere and he'd be there when i got back?  ahhhh.... those were the days.  the days before movement.  

i find myself staring at different pictures from a few months ago and realizing that it was taken back before he was even crawling.  and now i have a full blown walker on my hands... a mere few months later.  where did that tiny little baby go?

which leads me to the next burning question... what will he be doing 4 months from now?  

my friends, i'm new at this.  everything for me has been a little bit of dipping my toes in the water, splish-splashing a bit and then slowly wading in to ankle deep water.  i have that new mama feeling where i want to make every right decision and not just dive in and make mistakes.  don't get me wrong, i think i'm relaxed in most aspects when it comes to leif... my dearest friends and family have permission to slap me silly if i'm not... but i'm not exactly the most confident at times.  there are days when i drag myself into bed and wonder if i'll fail at this.  but most days i watch my amazing husband love on our son and see all that i've accomplished that seemed so daunting a mere 12 months ago and i think...

i've got this.

and i'll tell you why... by the grace of God, an amazing partner in crime (props to the hubs), the endless support of friends and family and one incredible, irresistible kid.  i'm sure there are many triumphs and tribulations ahead...  

but i tell you... with all of the above, we're home free.  

gestures of love...

this week marks 3 years of marriage to my sweet babboo... and over 8 years of dating him.  i can safely say that we've been together for awhile.  it's strange to have 8 y.e.a.r.s. roll off of my tongue and still feel as happy and satisfied as i did when we first started dating... though our love has continued to grow and change over time.

i started writing this blog last month with hopes to post it on valentines day.  but these days... everything takes longer than i think it should.  i'm constantly behind the times (i just sent out thank you notes for some things leif received at christmas time and it's MARCH for goodness sakes!)  so enjoy the fruits of my february labour of love... and the additions that came to it for our anniversary.

valentines day...

i remember always walking around the halls of my high school or church with a wistful longing that some fetching young lad would approach me and profess his undying love and devotion to me... with a handful of roses, of course.  

but it never happened.  

i was just never one of those cool cats.  

you know the ones... the girls who left school on valentine's day afternoon with a hauling of loot from the boys (or A boy).  they'd trapse out of school, carting their vases and balloons, sharing their chocolates with their friends, all with the promise of a wonderful date that evening with their admirer.

me?  

i'd go home, sulk... and drown my sorrows in a box of conversation hearts my mom lovingly set at my place at the table.

and then i'd sigh and think... maybe next year.

now that i'm older and wiser, i know that dudes absolutely hate valentines day... especially my dude... and that the last thing most of them wanted to do was profess their awkward love to some sappy girl on february 14th.  

when i started dating kjaer, i learned that valentines day was just another day to him... and that a man who really loves you makes lots of celebrations of love for you throughout the year.  kjaer has spent the last 8 years of our lives showing me he's loved me by making these gestures in a quieter, less hallmark-y way.

the early days... kind of (2007)

you see, kjaer and i had been friends for about a year and a half before we ever even considered dating.  when we did start dating, it was because there was suddenly an explosion of chemistry that just couldn't be contained.  we had started hanging out quite a bit outside of work.  one december afternoon he walked oh-so-casually down the hall (i always loved watching him saunter) and asked me if i'd like to wake up in the middle of the night and watch a meteor shower with him.  his first grand gesture of many.

here's how you know we were young:

1) we would be meeting at 2 am

2) it was a "school" night (ie - we worked the next day)

i tried not to let him know that i was the least bit excited and very casually said, "sure."

he told me he'd call me and wake me up.

i'd never been so excited in my little boy-adoring life.  here was this handsome guy asking me to rendez-vous in the middle of the night to watch stars, for crying out loud!!!  

AND IT WASN'T EVEN VALENTINE'S DAY!!!!!

when he called to wake me up around 1:30 or so, he glumly explained that the skies were overcast.  "BUT," he told me,  "we have options."  we could go back to sleep or hope that the skies cleared by the time we got out to our viewing spot.  

probably a level-headed person would've said, "oh well, that's too bad." and have gone back to bed.  

but not us. 

we decided to hope for a miracle and i hopped into my car to meet him.  (though i'm sure there was plenty of primping but only enough to make me look like i rolled out of bed beautiful).  when i got to kjaer's he had made a thermos of hot chocolate (!) and had his old jeep cherokee packed with blankets and a telescope.  he ushered me into his car and we took off into the cloudy, blackness of night.  

he drove me out to a desolate field, set up the telescope, cracked open the thermos, wrapped us up in blankets and then we settled in to wait for the stars to emerge from behind the clouds.  while we waited, we talked and scooted closer to each other.  

we waited the entire night for that meteor shower... and it never did make its grand appearance.  but something was ignited on that chilly, fateful night.  the next morning, i found myself rubbing sleep out of my starry eyes while trying to teach a room of 30 second graders.

and i tell you,  i just could not get that boy out of my head.

as the weeks went on, kjaer and i dabbled a little more with the idea of not just being friends... until finally a few weeks later... that handsome man kissed me.   it was the night before christmas eve... affectionately called christmas eve's eve from then on. ( i used to make kjaer celebrate this date as our genisis.  each year he'd call me... and i could tell it was to appease me... to wish me a merry christmas eve's eve.  i appreciated the gesture.  that man knows how to float my boat.)

needless to say, when february rolled around a few months later, i was quite excited to have my own real valentine.  it still felt a little awkward... it was like we were the best of friends who kissed too much and couldn't stop holding hands.  ahhhh.... young love.  but i'll never forget our first valentine's day.  he had just bought his house (now our house) several months prior.  it was a hud home that had been refinished in the saddest way by contractors.  he had purchased it and was in the process (which turned out to be a 2 year process) of gutting and refinishing it himself with the help of his family.  we'd often meet over there early in our relationship to hang out, kiss a little and dream of his bachelor pad.  he'd tell me with great big sweeping gestures which walls would be torn down and where new ones would go, how he'd do this or that to it.  i'd gaze at him in amazement (i still do when i think of all he's done with it) and trip over myself because i was so crazy about him.

so on that first valentine's day he invited me up to the roof of his house for an evening picnic.  we'd spent a lot of time up there already, bundled under blankets (must've been a pretty mild winter that year) watching stars.  so i met him there.  we climbed up the ladder to our perch on the northwest corner, he pulled out our dinner (sub sandwiches and potato chips) and we stayed up there for hours talking, laughing... and probably too much kissing again.  he told me he'd build an observation deck for us, so that our things wouldn't roll off of the roof and we could relax up there.

i still think he plans on building that...

all of this rambling is to say that my man has the most extraordinary ways of showing me he loves me.  he's quieter than most men and he thinks my loud gestures of adoration a tad bit goofy... though i know they are endearing to him.  but he has spent the last 8 years creating countless moments of love that have never been initiated by a greeting card company.  and though he made me a nice dinner on valentine's day this year... its the other 364 days with him that prove to me that i'm undoubtedly loved.

like how he makes me peanut butter french toast every saturday morning while i read aloud from our novel, how he listens to me when i cry and get a teensy bit hysterical over nothing (generally speaking), how he sometimes gets my coffee ready for me while i nurse leif before work (3 tbsp of amaretto cream and 1 tsp of sugar), how he makes me a juice packed full of fruits and veggies everyday for a snack at work, how i find my windows scraped on cold mornings when he's left 1/2 an hour before me.  how he sends me songs and emails throughout the day to let me know he's thinking of me.  how he feeds and waters trooper, even though trooper used to be one of the hardest parts about me to accept.  how he has quietly held me in his strong arms through the happiest and saddest seasons of my life.  how he is constantly compromising his hopes and dreams to make sure that he and i (and our family) are rock solid for years to come.  and how he strives to be a wonderful husband and father each and every day.

his kind of love doesn't show up in the form of roses and chocolate (though he has gotten me flowers a few times... which always emits shrieks of giddy pleasure from me... my old high school self feeling vindicated!) and that's the way i like it.  i'd rather have him romancing me the way he does best... not how the world tells him to do it.

it reminds me a little of the reading from our wedding.... 

"If the old fairy-tale ending "They lived happily ever after" is taken to mean "They felt for the next fifty years exactly as they felt the day before they were married," then it says what probably never was nor ever would be true, and would be highly undesirable if it were. Who could bear to live in that excitement for even five years? What would become of your work, your appetite, your sleep, your friendships? But, of course, ceasing to be "in love" need not mean ceasing to love. Love in this second sense-love as distinct from "being in love"—is not merely a feeling. It is a deep unity, maintained by the will and deliberately strengthened by habit; reinforced by (in Christian marriages) the grace which both partners ask, and receive, from God. They can have this love for each other even at those moments when they do not like each other; as you love yourself even when you do not like yourself. They can retain this love even when each would easily, if they allowed themselves, be "in love" with someone else. "Being in love" first moved them to promise fidelity: this quieter love enables them to keep the promise. It is on this love that the engine of marriage is run: being in love was the explosion that started it."

-- C. S. Lewis

when i reread these words, i feel a healthy sense of pride in the man my husband is.  he is a man of devotion, kindess and has a deep sense of commitment.  a man who understands that our love changes and grows, but it never ceases... and like a garden, it requires constant tending.  i'm so thankful that God has blessed me with him and that he is the head of our family.  

last night kjaer and i celebrated our three years together by going out to dinner where we had our wedding reception and then walking over to the hotel where we promised our lives to each other.  the sage room was set up for a brunch the next morning and vacant, so i dragged him in there, right up to the front where we had said those vows 36 months ago.  

i could feel my heart beating wildly as i nervously looked him straight in the eye, grabbed both of his hands and i said those vows to my valentine again.  because my man deserves grand gestures too.  and if i've learned anything over the course of our love story, it's that loving each other and telling the other so, will never be in vain.  

so... i'll say it every year, just like i did at the end of our wedding.

kjaer...

"if my heart was a compass, you'd be north."

i love you as big as the moon and beyond...

and i'm so glad we have a lifetime of valentine's days... and un-valentine's days... ahead of us.