toilet for a table...

ok, so... don't judge. 

i've already shared my struggles with weight and food with you all several times.  

since henley's birth, i've lost 75% of my pregnancy weight, but I have that damned last 25% to go.  and i'd love to tell you it's my last 5 pounds... but it's more than that.  don't pry too much.  i'll disclose if you truly care and want to encourage me.  but leave me alone to eat my damn carrot sticks in peace if you want to know for any other reason.  and if you're a REAL friend, you'll let me whine about how fat i feel even though you think i'm looking fabulous compared to the me you saw  9 months ago.  i want to live in my loathsome head right now and i'm too stuck in it to see myself for who i am... so don't try to argue with me.  i'll just smile and nod and go back to my dark, chubby cave.  

anyways...

it was fall break a few weeks ago.

fabulous fall break. 

which also means i'd abandoned any sort of weight loss regimen and had indulged in the finer things in life that week.  as i began to near the end of my diet vacation,  my anxiety began rising... deep down i knew that feast of a week was soon to be famine and my very cells were screaming more! more! hurry!  get as much in as you can!!

one evening was particularly stressful for me.  we were decorating pumpkins, henley had hardly napped all day, kjaer and i were having one of those serious conversations that almost turns into a fight and doesn't but it sucks anyway, we were still not sure who the hell was going to watch our kids the following week because our beloved daycare was closing... 

i was stressed.  soooooo stressed. 

so i thought, "i know, i'll eat a piece of cake with lots of icing!  cake fixes everything temporarily."  i had frozen some from henley's dedication and it was calling to me from our freezer in the basement.  so i sliced myself a lovely corner slice with ample buttercream frosting while trying to simultaneously clean up dinner, keep henley from fussing and help paint pumpkins (though kjaer was mostly in charge of that, thank GOD!)  my job was to play defense when henley would try to put her non-toxic painted hands into her mouth.  i kept staring at my sugary, sexy icing just spilling off of my cake.  i wanted to eat it so badly.  but i knew i'd be busy for another couple of hours (until both kids were down) and i just couldn't wait any longer.

(and yes, our children were naked... or as leif says, "naken" which kjaer always calls "naken bacon" and it makes my heart melt a little).

so when it came time to wash paint off of henley, i carried my slice into the bathroom with me to eat while she played in the tub.  

if you are already judging me... read on at your own risk and i don't want to hear from you how disgusting i am.  i'm already aware of my shortcomings and i find them a little bit funny in a sick twisted way (hence, why i'm sharing them with you).  

so the first problem (well, second problem if you consider that a piece of cake being eaten in a bathroom is a problem too) was that as soon as i set my plate down, my fork went flying through the air and landed behind the toilet.  

Lord knows what could be on that floor... so i ran through a quick mental debate.  the floor was just scrubbed a week ago, leif doesn't have bathroom rights in this bathroom, i have lucked out with one of those very clean men who never leave a mess around the toilet.  the disgusting pros kept growing.  but i knew i couldn't get up and get a new fork, because i had an eight month old who was fussing and needed to be quieted by warm bath water and floating alphabet letters.  and because i wisely chose to cease the crying at once and put her in the water, i couldn't leave her.  she's sturdy, but she's still a freaking baby that can tip over with the slightest change in air pressure.  so, i picked up the fork, wipe it vigorously with a towel and told myself it can't really be THAT bad... right?

what's the saying???
“No matter how bad things are, you can always make things worse.” (Randy Pausch)

so, i was watching my mostly stable daughter gnaw on a foam letter while taking my first bite.  if you know me, you know i eat the cake and filling first and save that delicious, sugary, decadent frosting for last.  it's my favorite part.  but right as the first bite on my fork is headed for my mouth, henley took a spill.  

i threw my fork aside and to catch her before she went under... staring sadly at my piece of cake as it slid down the side of the tub and the crumbs spilled onto the bathmat.  henley was fine... but i was not.  i knew i should just concede and wait to eat my cake until she wasn't sitting in a tub full of water.  but i continued to look jealously at that piece of cake during the rest of henley's bath, commiserating that i didn't even get 10 freaking minutes to myself to indulge in dessert (let alone go for a run or have a night out with my own husband).  before i could stop myself i had opened the drain and henley was curiously watching the water drain away from around her little chubby thighs so that mommy could have her way.  

i then took her out of the bathtub, wrapped her in her little monkey towel, stuck her in my lap and i ATE that damn piece of cake like a BOSS.  right there on the bathroom floor.  

as i was licking the last bit of frosting off of the fork, i came to my senses and realized all of the disgusting atrocities that had occurred in that span of 5 minutes.  and while i could have sat there a few more minutes, feeling terribly sorry for myself and the depths to which i have fallen...  i shrugged, got up, put my dish in the dishwasher and thought, thank God for things like cake on days like today.

being a mother has surfaced so many new pieces of me that i didn't know existed.  if young, childless monica had read this blog post, she would have thought, what the... i'll never act like that crazy woman when i have kids!  just like i used to think snotty things like that about other peoples kids before i had kids like... my kids will never act like that, it's disgraceful.  

kharma is a b*&$% my friends.

i now have a 2 1/2 year old little boy... who has the biggest heart and happiest soul i know.  BUT he also is an independent and strong willed 2 year old... and can be a rude little booger at that.  sometimes, after he has matter of factly yelled at some poor unsuspecting soul YOU DON'T TALK TO ME i float above my body and look down thinking... this is what you get for judging others... judgy mcjudger.  i literally have no idea what to do and feel like a failure.  i just want to drown my sorrows in cake and hope it all works itself out without me having to figure out a way.

i'm coming to find that in the glory and blessing of being a mother... there is also the part of motherhood where we find ourselves crouched on the dirty bathroom floor eating cake.... wondering things like: when will i get 10 minutes to myself or when will i figure out what it takes to change my children's rude behavior or when will i finally snuggle into the nook of my husbands arm for the night or when did i last brush my teeth and comb my hair?

but then i remember that i also have moments where my vivacious two year old lays his hand on my cheek during naptime and whispers ever so sweetly, "mama... you are my sunshine," and i can muster up the moxy to keep moving and try my best.

so for all of you mommies out there who find yourselves at a low point, take heart.  our babes give us those profound and beautiful moments to counteract all of the terribly messy ones we find ourselves sitting hopelessly in.  and for those times when it still isn't quite enough... there's cake.  lots of cake.  so grab yourself a slice, pull up a bathroom rug and indulge with me as we figure out this messy, hysterical... and yet beautiful thing called being a mama.

the underpants dance...

i didn't plan on potty training this early...

in fact, i've been counting on not potty training early.

ever since leif was about 18 months i'd get the occasional, "aren't you going to potty train leif?  isn't he old enough?" and i'd smile sweetly (while scoffing internally) and say, "no, i've heard not to even try with a boy until he's 3. plus, i think having him in diapers while i'm nursing a little one is probably best because he can wait until i'm done."  

it. was. THE. perfect. plan.

i had it aaaallllLLLL worked out.

but then a funny thing started to happen.  leif would wake up with dry diapers or get on the potty every once in awhile when he was running around naked.  

hmmm, showing some signs of readiness... it's ok to let him experiment, i'd think.
and when he's 3 we'll go for it.

i'd watch other mamas try dutifully to have their kiddo out of diapers as soon as possible while i happily used our diaper sprayer to spray the tar out of toddler sh** into our toilet and think, thank God for a diaper sprayer!  i'd NEVER make it to 3 without that bad boy!

then, about a month ago i went to a consignment shop to pick up some winter clothing for leif.  i walked by the potties and thought, well, it never hurts to expose him and let him explore.  but i am NOT going to potty train him.  so i bought him a potty and a few pairs of 3T underwear... thinking he'd fit in them by the time he was 3 1/2.  never hurts to be prepared... for potty training after 3 years of age.  

he didn't even seem particularly interested in that little potty while we were at the store.  he was too busy running around playing with things he shouldn't (and perhaps certain costumes his mom dressed him up in because she couldn't help herself.)

but i brought that toilet home and BANG... he wanted his diaper off.  

awww.... how cute, i thought.  i'll let him explore.  but i am NOT potty training him. i just don't have time and besides... i'm nursing an infant right now.  it's just not convenient for me.

he went potty... everyone cheered and clapped. 

then i went to put his diaper back on and he looked me square in the face and said, "no thank you."

so i played along with his little game... dead set that i was NOT going to (did you hear me?  NOT GOING TO) potty train him until he turned 3.  

but he was obsessed.  he woke up the next morning and asked us to take his (dry) diaper off so he could go potty.  

and then he went.

and ate breakfast.

and asked to go again.  

crap!  i thought.  crap! crap! crap!

so i did a little online research and thought, well... perhaps i'll let him explore a few hours in the morning and few in the afternoon when we're home...  but i am NOT potty training him.  i'm not shoving kool-aid down his throat and locking us in the kitchen for the next 3 days.  i don't have time.  i don't want it that badly.  

by the way... i have no problem with those potty training methods that others use... kool aid and such.  i don't care if you potty train at 1 year or 3.  seriously.  i'm just lazy.  i already have to watch a wild two year old while nursing... i didn't want to run said wild two year old to the bathroom with one boob hanging out.  it's just not my style.  i am already exhausted... i don't want to be hanging topless over a potty (more than i already am) and exhausted.

plus... cleaning out poopy underwear is WAAAYYYY worse than cleaning it off of a cloth diaper.  at least cloth diapers can easily be removed without dragging the poop down his legs or it falling out with a sickening thump.  i don't know why no one has told me of the horrors of potty training... everyone has probably repressed their memories of it... because it's traumatic.  for reals.

about 5 days later i'm telling miss robbin (his daycare provider) about our exploration of the potty world.  she had me bring him some underwear just to see how he did.  he had a poop accident but did stayed dry all day.  i declared (with relief) well, he must not be ready.  that's 3 accidents in a week.  DARN!  i'll just try again when he's 3!  robbin reassured me that poop was the last to master and that i really shouldn't stop because he was ready to do this.  

but i'm not ready to do this! i told her.  

and she said (with a laugh) it's not really about you, though, is it?

.

.

.

.

sigh.  

i guess not.  but i wanted this ONE thing to be about me.  it feels as if everything in my life for the last 3 years has been about my children.  couldn't i have this one thing?

n.o.p.e.

so just in case you're wondering... my brilliant little boy potty trained himself in about a week in a half.  the other morning kjaer and i were enjoying a conversation after breakfast when we realized it was deathly quiet.  we peeked into leif's bathroom and there he was taking his morning dump.  "i had to poop!" he grunted, and then he got back to work.  

we just stared at each other.  that kid is seriously amazing.  

well, so much for me waiting until leif was 3.  he had other plans.  he potty trained himself a few weeks before he turned 2 1/2.  my co-sleeping rockstar of a son also decided he was no longer sleeping in our room (he's been in our room since he was a baby because it's the only way any of us got any sleep).  a few days into his potty training fiasco he crawled into his toddler bed and declared, "i'm sleeping here tonight" and he's been in his room ever since.  (even though i wasn't quite sure he could tackle two big milestones at once and nearly fainted from panic... he rocked it.)

you know?... in this game of motherhood i've always felt a little awkward because my choices for leif have not been what "everyone else" seems to be doing.   i'm not going to lie, i've felt a little judged... (and it could totally have been self perceived) as if people have been walking away from me laughing under their breath.  but these past several weeks have been a vindication of sorts for me.  my little rebel of a son, who has never done anything the way it's "supposed" to be done in our culture, has just proved to me that by meeting his needs (which were plentiful and high) my husband and i have developed a brave, independent little guy.  and my hope is that as these milestones keep rapidly approaching, we continue to read his signals instead of our own or everyone else's so that we can elevate him to the amazing man we know he can become.  

but i will tell you something... i am NOT going to teach him how to use the tivo remote. 

  

a woman has got to (feel needed and) have some boundaries.

(btw... i'm very proud of him and i'm excited he is potty trained.  i know all of my complaining makes me sound rather ungrateful.  he's a rockstar... and i'm his mom!  couldn't be prouder!)

when it counts...

usually every july i post a little tribute to my dad... last years being the most famous... 

this year i was having trouble getting started when i happened across the journal i kept while he was sick and after he passed away.  as i read it i was instantly transported back into a memory that had catapulted to the front of my brain shortly after he was gone... i thought i'd pass along the story that was so typical of my dad.  funny how i had forgotten about this until i reread it.  glad i wrote it down to remember... and re-remember- again.

may 5, 2010

was taking a shower the other day when the most random memory came upon me.

i was 16, interviewing for a job at the Gap (swoon).  i didn't have a car yet so my dad had driven me there and patiently waited in the mall on a bench. (ironically, it was at the Old Buckingham Mall... which i live 1 block away from now)  i wore a black baby doll dress with yellow sunflowers that i had borrowed from a friend and it was my very first job interview... 

and a weird interview at that.

it was a group interview... totally nerve wracking.

they even made me assemble an outfit, to my horror.

i guess i hadn't realized you actually had to be fashionable to work there.   

before the interview was even over i knew i wouldn't get the job...  and it was a teenager's dream job. 

by the time i left the store my heart was broken into a million pubescent pieces.

i walked out of the storefront and straight into my daddy's arms... a ball of tears.  it was like he knew i would be exiting the store in tears and he needed to have his arms open just for me. he was my harbor and i just soaked up his love as i cried about my impending rejection.

then (i think) he took me for ice cream...

that or i've inserted it into my memories because it seems the sort of thing he would do.

it is one of the happiest of my sad memories because even though he spent a lifetime on the road as a truck driver away from us, it seems to me he was always there when it really mattered... 

and i can't picture a better person to console me in that moment than him.

ramblings of a pierceless wonder...

you guys...

i lost my crap the other morning..

and not just a little.

lost.it.

as in, stomped off to my room, threw myself down on our bed and howled until i could howl no more.

kjaer and i used to call these sorts of days D-days (daddy days) after my dad died.  it was a code word to tell him it was basically pointless to try and make me happy... because i just needed to be sad and have myself a good cry and move through the day with puffy eyes.

that's what the other day was... a D-day.

if you asked me why... which is probably what you're wondering... i'm not sure that i could even tell you.  i mean... i know the incident that set the whole emotional downslide into motion, but it's really a cacophony of thoughts that have been running through my mama brain for weeks now.

that morning, the minor straw that broke the camels back was that i was sitting in our beautiful sunroom trying to wake myself up after a lo-o-o-o-ng night.  i can't really describe why the night was so terrible... but it was.  it was one of those nights where you are sure you probably got some rest in there, but it came in increments of 30 minutes here, 20 minutes there.  henley, who is usually an awesome sleeper, was moaning and groaning the way a baby would if they could toss and turn.  i had pulled her into bed with me around midnight and after two hours of (refusing to get out of bed) trying to snuggle and nurse her into submission... i finally gave in and went into the nursery, changed her diaper and nursed her in the chair.  she was dead asleep in less than 5 minutes.  when i went back to my room i put her in her rock and play... because even though i love having her in my bed, it was 3 AM and i had hardly slept at all.  the minute... i kid you not... my head touched the pillow leif started wailing for me from his little mattress on the floor.  kjaer was sleepily trying to get up and get to him... but i was up so i decided to be a martyr i suppose.  pooooooor meeeeee, i'm a mama and evrrrrrrry bodyyyyy neeeeeeeds meeeeee.  after throwing a mini fit into my pillow...i went and laid with him on his mattress and promptly fell into a restless sleep until 5.  when i woke up i tiptoed back to my bed... exhausted and ready to soak up a handful of hours of good sleep.  about 20 minutes later henley was ready to eat again.  so i pulled her back into bed and fell asleep nursing her.  i then i had weird dreams about my daddy... whose anniversary of his death is this week.

 so... i could feel i was fragile that morning already.  kjaer was playing with leif in the kitchen and i had taken henley with me outside in the backyard to let trooper out.  as i was out there i just sunk with henley into the grass... it was like i just needed to feel the earth beneath my feet, the grass between my toes... something to ground me.  henley seemed perfectly happy sitting in the grass and so we sat... avoiding the clamor that comes with a two year old boy who has just had his whopping 12 hours of sleep.  then i got up and moved into our beautiful sunroom... soaking up some sunshine and trying to absorb my dreams from the night before.  i just wanted to idle there for awhile.  sink into my surroundings and enjoy this place i call home.

so i'm sitting there... and leif comes running over delighted to see me.  he's in his santa claus jammies, eating a bowl filled to the brim with strawberries.  his blue eyes are sparkling and he has the silliest shock of bed head in his beautiful red curls.  he keeps climbing up into my lap and down, pushing and poking at my sack of potatoes that i loathingly call my body right now.  i don't mind so much... he's so happy and sweet and kind.  the whole time i'm thinking... 

damn, that kid is one amazing masterpiece.

and then he cracked my phone.

the back story is that my phone has been broken a few times.  we have some service plan that replaces it absolutely free... so i shouldn't really care...  except that the employees of best buy mobile are starting to treat me like i'm doing it on purpose.  i hate it.  i hate it when people assume the worst about me because i am not THAT person.  and then they always replace my phone with a refurbished phone with more problems... and it usually takes 3-4 refurbished phones until i can get one that acts like a good phone should.  so i'm sure it looks to them... on paper... like i've had my phone replaced a gajillion times over the past two years... when really it's been my fault (or leif's) about 4 of those times.

so... leif picks up my phone... which i had purposely moved out of eyesight 5 minutes earlier so it wouldn't be tempting for him...  but somehow he spotted it, picked it up and it slipped from his hands.

i didn't curse... though i wanted to.

i just sat there.

and then i became leif's jungle gym again.  he's crawling and poking and prodding and he won't leave me alone.  only now it isn't cute.  it was then that the cork popped off... i couldn't handle it anymore.  i moved leif aside and ran off to my room like a school girl and threw a big crying fit in my bed.

so i'm sobbing on my bed... telling myself that i just need a good cry.  but as i'm crying, the intensity with which i'm doing so is ramping up.  i feel like i mentally floated above my body and looked down on myself and saw the craziness unfolding there... and i starting flipping through all of the things that are making me upset... because i knew a phone that could easily be replaced couldn't matter this much.

first of all... we have been battling a diaper rash with henley for almost 3 months now.  finally... FINALLY... we figured out that she has super sensitive skin and can't even wear the plastic covers that go over her cloth diapers (and disposables have the same effect). so now i have to switch over to wool and fleece covers... which are much more involved than the little plastic covers that we have come to love.  and wool is expensive... so it's like we're having to make another small financial investment right before i have to send two children into part time daycare and we're already cinching up our belts.  it's a learning process and i just want it to be simple like cloth diapering has been with leif.

and speaking of those two kids going into daycare... one of them REFUSES a bottle.  she is the easiest baby i have ever met... except with this one crux.  everyone is telling me not to stress... but our daycare provider keeps nervously asking me if henley is taking the bottle yet... like EVERY time i see her (we still bring leif once a week in the summer) and it makes my blood pressure jump.  i feel so... pressured.

i don't like pressure.

and then yesterday (*Sigh*) i remembered that i hadn't put my tongue ring back in from my visit to the dentists office last week.  i was feeling particularly self conscious... looking like a ragamuffin.   and not the cute kind... like all of my girlfriends with the cute yoga pants and tank tops and doo-rags.  no... as in giant maternity shirts fresh with spit up stains and water from lanolizing some wool covers, unshaven legs, crazy hair and glasses.  so i decided to put my tongue ring back in that i had discreetly tucked into my wallet when they took x-rays at the dentist because i thought it would make me feel a little bit like my old self.  it was the only piercing of my many at the dentist's office that i thought, "oh, i'll just do it when i get home."  well... by the time i had remembered, the hole was closed.  i tried to go from underneath and above.  i thought about just ramming it through the new skin.  and then i could feel my daddy laughing at me from up above... because i had promised my parents years ago that when i got married i would take it out for my wedding day and never put it back in.  then my daddy died (around the time i got engaged).  as my wedding drew closer my mom reminded me about "that stupid tongue ring" and my promise.  i told her i didn't recall making such a promise and laughingly reminded her that she couldn't prove that i had because the only other witness was dead.  

she didn't think i was very funny.

but now here i sat... not one shred of me feeling attractive... and this stupid tongue ring... which must've had signified my beauty and youth was being rejected by my tongue. (who's laughing now, right?)

you wouldn't think it would matter after 15 years... but apparently i had a lot of identity tied up in it.

suddenly all of my sex appeal... or what i had left of it after having children... was left on the counter in the bathroom and my emotions were plummeting.  so i did what any depressed and unsexy mom would do.

i went grocery shopping looking like a total wreck.

i mean, i figured i already felt like crap... let's just get this shiz over with.

and then i'm catching my reflection in the dairy cases and thinking, so it's come to this, has it?

here's the thing, people.  it's not really about a phone breaking, or a tongue ring that won't go through it's hole.  it's about me feeling so unlike myself that i cling to these tangible things that i perceive as "attractive" or "cool" about me.  my iPhone isn't fat or greasy... it's sleek and stylish.  my tongue ring doesn't have lumps and bumps where it shouldn't... it is young, hip and sexy.  i don't have to worry about putting them on diets or squeezing them into too small clothes.  they don't have to wear clothes that are wayyyyy to big for them either.  they are perfect, unchanging, tiny little objects that i've staked my value on because i've forgotten who i thought i was... or as leif so sweetly proclaims i "got-for" who i was.

i've read the inspiring blogs and articles my mommy friends post to facebook... hell, i repost them too.  the ones where the mommy's are proud of their tiger striped stretch marks, their soft bellies and cellulite.  i've even been moved by some... the other day i put up a picture of myself on facebook of me at the zoo with my kids... even though when i looked at it i could feel my insides churn at the sight of myself. i've been inspired to wear a swimsuit and not miss out on making memories with my children this summer... except all i have right now is a damn, old lady looking, maternity suit that i feel like crap in.

if i only had money... yes, money would fix all of this.  money and being skinny.  

and probably wine... lots of wine.

but here's the truth.  here's the revelation i'm having.  yes i want to be the mama who doesn't care what others think and embraces who she becomes.  i will be that mama... just not today.  today this mama also needs to grieve what she's lost.  i've lost my athletic body... it's somewhere under these giant nursing boobs and post-partum belly.  and even though i've been watching what i eat and have started running again... the boobs and belly are still there.  my loving husband... who knows me all too well... likes to remind me that i just grew a tiny miracle and it'll all come back with time.  he strokes my hair and tells me i'm lovely and not to worry and i want to clench my fists and stammer through gritted teeth BUT I WANT TO FEEL SEXY AGAIN, RIGHT NOW!!!!  

even more unfair than losing my image of who i was... is that i lost my daddy and our (greatest accomplishments) babies will never know their opa on this side of heaven.  well... i say they'll never know... but leif seems to have some sort of spiritual connection with him.  he tells me when we pull up to oma's house "opa is here" or when my mom was watching the kiddos so i could nap when henley was born he looked up from his toys and quietly said, "opa went bye-bye." just yesterday (this probably is also contributing to my emotional train wreck) he pointed to a picture in a book we were reading and said, "that's an opa."  and wouldn't you know it... it looked just like him... bald head, happy grin and plaid shirt... even though leif has maybe seen 2 pictures of my dad in his life.

my dad was the original safe harbor before i fell in love... the OG.  if I had D-days like this before he was gone, i would crawl up into his lap and he would anchor me.  he was the earth beneath my feet and the grass in between my toes.  he may have thought i was crazy or a bit nutty, but i was also his daughter... one of his masterpieces too.  so that softened the insanity surrounding me, i'm sure, and allowed him to let me take shelter under his wings for a speck of time while i recovered without too much scrutinizing.

now i have a husband, who my daddy passed his mantle onto rather dramatically, and he is also trying to figure out this parent thing.  he's waking up next to this hormonal, puffy woman who goes all sorts of batty when her tongue ring hole closes and her iPhone cracks.  he probably doesn't recognize me in all of this either... but he does a fabulous job of holding down the fort while i take a D-day to sort through the emotional mess that is me.  he's my harbor... where i dock my little boat and wait out the storm.  but i'm also his harbor... so that makes it a different type of relationship than what my dad and i had.  we have to take turns losing our crap and picking up each others broken pieces... and i think we do a damn good job at it if i say so myself.

but i haven't fully gotten to the revelation yet, have i?

it is this... sometimes we all need a D-day.  a day where all that gets accomplished is having a good cry, making the bed and then watching a movie.  a day where we stand with mouths agape as we stare at the scary role of parenthood and wonder if we'll ever survive.

but a D-day is also something else.  it is defined as an important day for an operation to begin.  it's a day to pull yourself up by the bootstraps (in my case, after laying in a puddle for a bit of time) and take on the role that's been gifted to you.  a day to accept your challenge and strategically move on.

so for me... this means i need to accept that i'm not as hip and skinny as i once was (or thought i was).  accept that my daddy's physical presence is gone from this world.  accept that being a mother is stinking h.a.r.d. and trying to be a good one and a rockin' wife can often leave me feeling like a waste of space by the end of the day.

the operative word in all of this is acceptance... of who i am and what i'm becoming.  acceptance of the woman who stands in front of the mirror at the end of the day with no tongue ring, a chubby mama belly and a gap between my two front teeth when i smile.  because that woman can conquer mountains.  that woman does the best she can every single day by the grace of God.  and though there are failures, and tears (and childish temper tantrums that involve wailing on my part), and hiccups... it is ultimately the operation at hand... and nobody said it'd be perfect.

so i tell myself it's ok to fall into a mess of tears and sobs every once in awhile.  but after i've exhausted those frustrations, it'll be time to lace up those boots and get a move on girl. 

 throw your arms around those who love you, lean in and press on.  

and one day i'll look back on this challenging season of my life and see it for all of the splendor it really was... the chunk of time where i got to know and love myself for the beautiful mess i am... and embraced it.

foxy lady...

apparently i not only can endure 3 days of unmedicated labor, complete 3 half marathons and make pad thai... but i also can rescue our cat from a snarling beast.

ok... it wasn't snarling...

but quincy almost died and i saved him.

period.

(.)

a few weeks ago i had awoken around midnight to leif falling out of bed in some strange manner.  after rubbing his back and getting him back to sleep, i asked my man if quincy had come in yet for the night.  he sleepily told me no and rolled over to go back to sleep.

quincy not coming in at night is to be expected around this time of year.  sometimes he refuses to come in during the warmer months when we beckon him at dusk.  he's lucky i've either been a nursing mama or pregnant the past few years and have get up every few hours throughout most nights.  he gets second and third chances frequently to come in.

so it's not unusual for quincy to be out do god-knows-what during the wee hours of the morning.

i went out on our front porch and clapped.

that's how we call him.

we clap about 10 times really loud and then call his name.  i'm sure it drives the neighbors insane.  (i don't really know why our cat comes to a clap... but kjaer discovered this quickly after he brought him home from the cold, hard streets of aurora... colfax to be precise.) so, we clap.  i usually give him a few minutes to abandon the poor mouse he's been torturing and hop a few fences to get home.

anyways...  i'm standing there in the dark... with this gut feeling that i need to wait a couple more minutes... when all of the sudden i see a fox run past our house in the middle of the street.

i had two thoughts:

woa!  cool!  a fox!

then...

crap!... a fox!

i wonder if quincy is nearby and the fox spotted him! 

so i walked to the end of the driveway to get a better peak at what the fox was up to... because now that i knew a fox was out and about i couldn't leave my cat out there (at least until i was sure the fox wasn't after him).  the fox had stopped cold in front of this house about 3 doors down and across the street.  he was staring at something... though i didn't know what, and looking curiously at me.

all of the sudden, he turned and ran a couple more houses down... and here comes quincy, bounding out from underneath a car and chasing after him.

dumbass cat

i'm sorry... i can't really think of another word to describe our brave and valiant feline.  he thinks he's soooooo tough that he can go after his own predator.

well, the minute i saw quincy's fluffy tail chase after that fox i freaked.  this was a pretty good sized fox (about the height of my dog who weighs 45 pounds)... and i knew it could easily take quincy out.

so then i was a dumbass

i don't know why i thought it would be a good idea, but i called quincy again...

clap, clap, clap

quincy immediately stopped his pursuit and turned around

i then saw the error of my ways... because once his back was turned to the fox, i KNEW he was in trouble.  and what made it worse... it was my fault!  at least before i clapped quincy was keenly aware of where the fox was.  but now he was distracted and i was the idiot who did it.

he then proceeded to walk....

W A L K

up the street to me.

now you have to understand... he was about three or four houses down the street and he's taking a sunday stroll up to me... like, oh hey mom, you rang?  i was just out, chasing foxes and stuff.  what's up?  did you see me chase that fox off?  he won't be messing with the kirkegaard's anymore!  it was such a proud little strut that he was doing... and isn't pride always such a thief?  his pride was about to cost him.

meanwhile, ol' foxy loxy starts stalking him from behind.

i didn't know how i was going to explain to my husband, who loves that cat more than anything, that it was my fault our cat got eaten by a fox because he had to turn around a brag to me.

if my cat could speak human i would have screamed RRRRUUUUUUUNNNNNN STUPID!

but quincy doesn't speak human... that or he pretends not to understand...
which is also pretty likely.

so i bolted down the street and scooped up my adoring, purring feline... who seemingly had forgotten that he had just been playing cat and mouse with a fox.  when i looked up, the fox was about 10 feet away and still on the prowl.  so i started power walking back up to my house, reprimanding quincy the whole way.

you almost were toast!

(nervous glance over the shoulder... yup, still a fox)

what were you thinking?

(another nervous glance... DUDE!  IS HE STILL FOLLOWING ME?)

when i got to the front door, that fox had followed me all of the way up to the grass in our front yard.  i'm not sure if he was planning on snatching quincy from my arms, or if he just wanted to see where that feisty little cat lived.  either way... quincy and i made it into the house... quincy totally oblivious to what had just gone down.

i deadbolted the door and stood there holding my adorable, idiot cat with adrenaline pumping through my veins.  i couldn't believe what had just happened.  i went into the bedroom and tossed quincy onto kjaer, loudly proclaiming I JUST SAVED OUR CATS LIFE!

so there you have it.  i'm a freakin' hero.  i stared a fox dead in the eyes whilst holding a fluffy appetizer for him and won.

but let's hope that's the last time i ever have to do that again.

love wins...

this blog was originally written around valentines day... but i didn't finish it (for an obvious 8.1 lb reason named henley!).  i didn't mind... i figured the following month i could finish it and post it for our anniversary.  that didn't happen.  so here it is... several months late.  

let me let you in on a little secret about kjaer and i...

we were destined...

had you told me ten years ago today that i would marry the man standing in front of me... i would have probably fainted in ecstasy and laughed in your face all at once... and that would be AFTER picking my jaw up off of the floor.

because it was about ten years ago that i sat with my mother, totally frustrated by the male species and ready to swear off men and be alone for the rest of my days.  

my life had been a series of unrequited infatuations with boys who paid no attention to me.  i have always wondered why this was... i couldn't figure out why some girls had the boys lined up around the block and why i was always their "cute friend" who couldn't seem to snag a boy if she tried.  i had recently experienced this with a couple of guys who had i really liked and who ignored the fact that i was even datable material.  

i was really beginning to think that something was wrong with me.

you hear me?

w.r.o.n.g.

i mean... how could i be so invisible to the male species?

so i was whining about this to my mom... who challenged me with what seemed like an absurd suggestion at the time.  she said, "why don't you ask God to reveal your husband to you?"

i laughed... probably snorted a little.

and then i went home that night and prayed my guts out.

i think i even cried... it was an act of honest sincerity and desperation.

that night i dreamed about a handsome man with a beard and when he hugged me, my face went into the safety of his chest.  in my dream i couldn't make out his features very well, just his beard.  i woke up feeling a little unnerved, thinking that i had dreamed my spouse was going to be Jesus.  and well... that made me feel a little... awkward and unholy. 

not that i ever feel holy... i'm just sayin'...

when my mom asked me about it i said,

thanks a lot mom.  now i just feel like a pervert because apparently i'm going to marry Jesus.

and, to make it worse, it was one of those dreams where i woke up in love.  i seriously walked around for days feeling like i was in love with this person already, even though i didn't know who they were.  some friends of mine suggested kjaer because he worked with me and he was the only person i knew with a beard.  but honest to the G.O.D., i did not even make that connection.  

several months later, kjaer asked me to go watch a meteor shower in the middle of the night and the rest is, as they say, history.

it wasn't until i was married for a few months already when my mom reminded me of that dream and i realized that God had been revealing kjaer to me.... not Jesus.  and wouldn't you know... when he hugs me, my face goes right into his chest.

so... he's literally the man of my dreams... if you catch my drift.

but he snuck up on me like a thief in the night because we were friends first...

i think i hooked him into being my friend when i came to school my first year of teaching with a BRAND NEW CAR.  i didn't really have a ton of friends yet but i really wanted to show someone my NEW CAR.  the hallways were inexplicably empty except for this handsome fellow i had talked a couple of times with.  somehow this came up when he and i passed in the hallway and he, very enthusiastically said, "well, i'll go out and see your new car!"  so we marched out to the parking lot at 7:30 in the morning for the big reveal.  i was twittering with excitement.  it was my NEW CAR and somebody (especially a handsome somebody) cared!

i can't even imagine what went through kjaer's head when we arrived at said NEW CAR.  i'm not sure what he was expecting... but i doubt it was an old 2 door Toyota Tercel.... which by the way... was THE nicest car i had owned to date and i LOVED it!  it had most of it's paint AND it's dashboard wasn't cracked... now that's high class!  AND it had my faceplate stereo installed in it... so i was living the dream.  he seemed really excited about it and i got the attention i was so desperately craving.  but i'm sure he went back to his classroom, shut the door, and bent over clenching his gut in fits of laughter.

see... i had judged him all wrong.  i thought because he had this sexy beard thing going on with longer hair and because he was a quiet, introverted artist... that he wouldn't judge me and my taste in cars because i assumed he wasn't interested in cars.  what i didn't know, and what i've come to learn over the past 9 years... is that the man is a car freak.  he knows so much about cars that i sometimes find myself pretending to know what he's talking about because he's so stinking smart about them i can't even follow his train of thought.

it's a little surprising he wanted to date me after that.

actually, it's a little surprising we got married after that!

anyways... at that point in kjaer's life, marriage was something he wanted no part of.  kind of like my aversion to scary movies.  he didn't want to think or talk about marriage or even acknowledge the possibility of it... just enjoy life.

so, it was a little stunning that he wanted to date me.  because... to a woman, at least a woman like myself... dating, if all goes well, leads to marriage.  and even though i told myself i wasn't going to concern myself with stuff like that and just enjoy our relationship... after a couple of years my brain was beginning to wonder if he was the one.

and we dated for awhile... quite awhile.

we have been married 4 years now... so you do the math.

sometimes this got frustrating, especially because we both didn't know where we were headed as kjaer wrestled with letting go of his aversion to marriage because he loved me so much.  but now i see that those years of dating have really solidified this thang we've got going on.  some of the brick walls that so many of our friends encountered after getting married had already been tackled by us before we were married because we learned to communicate through them.

and i'm not saying this makes our marriage better than anyone else's...

i just am seeing the greater purpose to it now as we enter this phase of life with babies...

because... you guys... i've never done anything so challenging as being a mama and a wife at the same time, in my life.

january 2014

if i could just be a wife... i could nail it.

if i could just be a mama... i could na--... well, that's a lie.  i need kjaer to be successful in that too.  i have no idea how you single mama's do it, but you deserve mad props!

to be both requires something more in me that makes me reach waaaaaayyyy down to the soles of my feet and give everything.... so much that sometimes i feel like i have nothing left for anyone, including myself.

and i'm sure kjaer would say the same about being my husband and a daddy at the same time too.  this newest challenge of having a family often overshadows some of the necessary time it takes to cultivate your relationship.

 but back in january i had a moment.
 we were watching the bronco game on the couch and i looked at him.  and in that split second, i really saw him again.

do you know what i mean?

i saw his strong jawline and his gorgeous eyes that made me so weak kneed nine years ago and i felt this explosion of love come surging out of me.  i lovingly grabbed his hand out of nowhere and said something really mushy to him... though i can't remember what it was now.  (he sort of looked at me like i had gone off of the deep end).  i couldn't believe that 9 years later i was sitting next to him, our two year old running around at our feet and me 9 months pregnant with our second child, happily married.  it was almost like it all was a dream...

or... like the matrix... my husband would excitedly exclaim.

because i, for reals, have myself a good man.  i have someone who loves me... and i mean REALLY loves me.  he's seen my giant, pregnant body naked and he STILL loves me (even i had a hard time loving that).  he's sat with me while i've sobbed uncontrollably about the smallest, most insignificant details and he STILL loves me.  he's followed me quietly into the deepest, darkest pits of myself and he STILL loves me.  he has been my rock during the most trying times of my life and he STILL loves me.  he has tenderly picked up the pieces of my broken heart after the death of my father when i thought i couldn't....

i repeat

COULD.
NOT.

go on anymore and he STILL loves me.  he let his bachelor pad get slowly taken over by the dreaded woman's touch... and do i even need to say it?

yup!  that man l.o.v.e.s. me.

sometimes it takes a little friction for me to remember this.

like a couple of months ago, i came downstairs totally burnt out from being mega-pregnant and mother to an almost 2 year old whose two hour bedtime routine was wearing on me.  i was feeling so wretched... isolated, alone, tired, jealous.  and i spewed forth the tears and the qualms... sometimes aiming my little darts at kjaer.  looking back, i suppose i was mostly just an exhausted person complaining and needing to be heard.  and i truly think that kjaer is the only man that God placed on this green earth to cope with this sort of behavior.  not that there's anything wrong with the feelings i was having... just how i was reacting.

sometimes i feel like i am like a bumpy texture on a wall
and kjaer is the special tool that smooths me out.

do you feel me?

he diffuses.  he loves.  he listens.

and then he goes to bed because doing all of that makes him really, really tired.

and i'm left thinking, damn i'm so blessed.

so blessed that he cares enough to do the hard work of being married, to get his hands dirty, and be my partner in crime for life.  so blessed that he walked out to that tercel with me one day back in 2003 and didn't humiliate me.  so blessed that he overcame his fears and took the plunge with me one perfect day in march of 2010.  so blessed to help him raise our children so that they can grow up to have his integrity, loyalty and passion.   so blessed that he holds me in the safe harbor of his arms and loves me and our children so intensely that he sacrifices bits of himself every day to make our lives better.

that, my friends, is the man i love.

that is the man of my dreams.

food for thought...

our triumphs and our defeats erupt from our vaults [of secrets]

-beth moore

secrets.

we all have them.  some are good, some are bad.  some we are holding onto faithfully for others because they had nowhere else to turn.  we file them away into our vaults... into the darkness to (try to) forget about or stuff down.  

regretfully... sometimes we're able to dust our hands off, turn around and walk out of our vault without looking back.  

and regretfully... sometimes we camp out in our vaults.

i learned almost 15 years ago about the freedom in sharing your deepest darkest secrets.  i had been carrying my own secret around, hiding it from everyone i knew... living in darkness.  one of the most freeing moments in my life, was digging that secret out of the cellar in my heart, brushing the spiderwebs off and telling my mom.  in that confession, i learned the art of acceptance, mercy and forgiveness... so beautifully displayed by my mother.  and since then, i've done my best not to file away my shame.  i try to be honest about who i am, where i've been and what i've done.  

but i know i'm nowhere near perfect.  while i've only begun to brush the spiderwebs away over the last 15 years, there is so much in that vault that even i don't know about.

for instance...

i have always known that after henley's birth i would need to lose a substantial amount of weight.  while many of you gain the recommended 20-30 pounds... my body does not do that.  i can truthfully say that this time i made a valiant effort at staying healthy, but still managed to gain almost the same amount of weight i did with leif.  i have always known that at my 6 week check-up i would get the green light to start losing a little weight... healthily, of course.  so i've anticipated this for a long time.

after henley was born my brain switched into countdown mode.  

6 weeks until i get it under control...

5 weeks until i get it under control...

4 weeks until i get it under control...

you get the picture.

 you see... i've been down this weight loss road now 3 separate times (with other minor events when i had to re-lose 5 pounds here or there).  the first time was after college when i lost about 45 pounds.  the second time was after leif was born and i lost 60 of the 75 pounds i gained with him (before becoming pregnant again).  now i've had henley... i've lost (as many do) about 30 pounds in the first 8 weeks... and have 30 to go until i'm to my wedding weight.  

so when i had about 1 week left to go... i did something that i've never done before. 

i decided to do my best to get to the root of the problem.  

i'm tired of having to struggle so much with my weight... so i asked God, over the course of several days, to shine His big old flashlight into the cobwebs of my heart and expose the motives to this roller coaster i've been on to me.  i figured if i could get to the root, i might be able to experience some of that freedom that i've experienced in other areas of my life.

and as the week unfolded... here is what i learned...

lean in... 

(it's a secret)

i have food issues.  

major food issues.

we are as sick as our secrets... right?

well, as the week progressed, i started to notice secrets about food that i had been avoiding for a long time.  like if i had mcdonalds and indulged in a quarter pounder with cheese, a large fry and a large coke... i'd take the evidence of said meal and walk it to our outside trash can so that kjaer wouldn't see it when he got home.  

why, you ask?

honestly, i don't even know.  kjaer couldn't care less if i stopped at mcdonalds for lunch.  you and i know an occasional fast food trek isn't something to be ashamed of.  but i wanted to hide it... like a big fat secret i was ashamed of.  probably because my eating over the first 6 weeks with henley was more like a feast than famine.  i've probably been to mcdonalds four times in those 6 weeks... which is more than i went in the past couple of years.

but deep down, subconscious monica knows that mcdonalds is no way to start losing weight.  she's thinking... 

the end times are near, i must fatten up!!!

  hence... the shame, the hiding... the secret.

but that's not all.

when kjaer isn't around, i secret snack. 

yes... it's a real thing... this secret snacking.

i find all sorts of things around the kitchen and try to snack so that kjaer won't notice that anything is missing.  if his mom has brought over some delicious cookies from her bakery, i eat several, making sure to leave plenty enough in each bag (there are usually several varieties) that it looks like none are missing.  i NEVER eat the second to last cookie... that's a dead giveaway.  

also... right before i go back on track with my eating

i go WAAAYYYY off track.

as in... i derail my train.

i try to hit every restaurant i know i'll be craving, as if it's my last time i'll eat there again... EVER.

it's a little wild (and expensive).

two mondays ago was my first official day back on track.  as i was dutifully counting my weight watchers points for every item going in my mouth (only cheating a couple of times, of course, another secret),  kjaer and i were happily eating dinner and talking.  he was sharing with me how much he loves me and how he doesn't want me to get too stressed out over losing this weight.  he loves me no matter what.  

which is soooo nice to hear...

and yet part of me had to actually tell my brain...

this DOES NOT mean you're off the hook.  you still have to lose your 35 pounds.

and then, i dug those food secrets out of my vault, and told my husband what i've been hiding from him for the last 4 years of our marriage and 5 years of our relationship (i do this stuff even when i'm thin!)  and let me tell you... 

it

felt

good

(a little embarrassing)

but good.

and do you know what i realized?

i'm no different than anybody else with an addiction.  

alcoholics do this.

shopoholics do this.

drug addicts do this.

compulsive liars do this.

WE

ALL

DO 

THIS

in some form, somehow.  

it's just the facing - the putting words to it - that makes it different.  if i air out some of these secrets i've been burying for unknown reasons... they are no longer secrets.  and if we're as sick as our secrets... then i have a few less bad secrets to keep... and less sickness.  

simple as that.  

i'm not saying there isn't a place for secrets.  i believe my role as a wife, friend, sister and daughter is to be a trusted listener and keeper of secrets.  i really work to protect the secrets that are shared with me.  i also believe in good secrets.  for example, if i were to try to bless someone because i had that desire placed upon my heart... i don't believe i should go talking about how i attempted to bless someones life by doing whatever i did... bragging is telling good secrets that should be kept to ones self. 

but what i am saying, is i think each one of us can think of something that needs a little air... something that needs to be said out loud to someone else... even if it's just a whisper of a prayer to God.  it doesn't mean you have to be a blabber mouth and post it on a blog, like me.  but maybe find your trusted confidant and share it with them.  maybe it's your partner, your best friend, a parent.  who knows?  but chances are, if you have picked that person wisely (that being KEY)... you will experience freedom... like a breath of fresh air stirring through your soul.  

so there...

now i've told you one of my minor secrets... i'm a mess when it comes to how i think about food.  please try your best to keep it.  but even if you tell everyone you know, i also know that the truth will set me free.  and hopefully this journey will be a learning experience for me this time, rather than something i HAVE to do.  

so here's to dusting off the cobwebs and shining a light into my darkest corners.

here's to freedom.

warrior princess...

henley wednesday kirkegaard
february 18, 2014
8.1 lbs

hot dang... we did it!

i have to say... several weeks later and i'm still feeling a bit like SheRa: Princess of Power.  kjaer (who is HeMan... i mean, obviously) and i had fought a 58 hour epic battle... and we won.

it started sunday morning, a day before i was due, when i peed myself.

just kidding...  i thought i peed myself in my sleep.  it was one of those humiliating pregnant moments... as if pregnant women don't have enough of those... where i felt something wake me up and thought... "well sh**".  i rolled out of bed like a turtle stuck on it's shell and waddled off to the bathroom.  but when i hit the hallway i knew something was different and i felt a big splash.  i stood there in a puddle of wetness, kind of in shock, because i was so certain that baby k2 would come late since leif did.  i had an internal dialogue going...

am i so pregnant i can't even control my bladder?

then...

did my water break?

that couldn't have been my water!

and then i heard myself cry out a couple of times in a reserved yet alarmed voice, KJAAAAEEERRR!

but alas, the man was asleep and he requires more than a whimper from the bathroom to awaken him.  so, being sure to move our freshly cleaned bathroom rug out of the way (remember i had gone into ultra cleaning mode a couple of weeks ago? i couldn't possibly risk getting the clean rug dirty!) i started cleaning up the mess.  but more liquid kept coming.  finally, i faced reality and wrapped a towel between my legs and waddled over into the darkness of our room and woke kjaer up...

i think my water just broke...

our house went into a sudden bustle.  i texted our doula, who knew better than i that labor would probably not start for awhile, and we began to ready ourselves for the hospital.  we had to go to the hospital because this pregnancy i was strep b positive and i had been told by the midwives that i could labor at home until my water broke, upon which they'd want to start antibiotics right away.  well... of course we had to do it backwards and my water broke before my contractions came.  my doula had indicated we could probably stay at home... but you guys know me.  i was already feeling nervous about the whole VBAC thing and i'm kind of a control freak (snort!) so we decided to head in.  my mother in law came and picked up leif and we were off... a pile of towels under me... to the hospital.

our hearts were racing... we were giddy with excitement.  (and we missed leif terribly already!)

breakfast at the hospital

once i got to the hospital they confirmed it was my water and then let me know that it could take another 12-24 hours for labor to start.  they admitted me and then told us to go grab some breakfast.  so kjaer and i fled the campus for burger king and brought it back to the hospital where we sat in a sun-shiney spot and talked excitedly. after we went upstairs, they started me on antibiotics and we settled into our labor room to wait and rest.  i'd have occasional contractions, but mostly it was just a peaceful waiting time.  i napped a little, though i was too excited to really sleep deeply.

around 9 in the evening kjaer and i were exhausted from sitting around and waiting.  we decided to go to bed.  we pulled out kjaer's hide-a-bed and snuggled up together for the night.  an hour later, my labor started.  it was fairly mild... enough that i could breath through it and go back to sleep in between contractions.   but mild labor only lasted an hour and pretty soon i was having strong contractions... with the dreaded back labor.

my massive profile - when labor started

in spite of all of my hullabaloo about an unmedicated birth... i've always deep down been terrified of back labor.  in fact, i wouldn't even say the words aloud for fear that i would be cursed with it.

but clearly that didn't matter, because i had it... and it sucked...

...and not just a little.

the nurse and kjaer were incredible.  i was having double and triple contractions and they were right there with me.  the midwife that night was more hands off.  she tried talking with me, but i was so tired i couldn't respond so she asked me if i needed some quiet.  i responded yes... which i realize now might have seemed rude... but she asked!  she left and i hardly saw her again.  by four or five in the morning i was in such intense pain i could hardly handle it.  i thought for sure i was at 5 centimeters because i had been laboring so hard and working like a champ.  the nurse decided to get me into the tub because she could tell i was in so much pain.   the tub felt good, but when i knew it was slowing things down i wanted to jump out.  i didn't want to go backwards.  but it was too late.  it stalled.

at some point they finally checked to see how far i had dilated... i was 1 1/2 centimeters.  this was pretty frustrating since i had been dilated a centimeter a week before my water had even broken and had been laboring all night like a mad woman.  when the midwives changed shifts, claudia came in... a midwife i had worked with for the past several weeks.  she had me start pumping and get labor going again. (who knew, right?)

by lunchtime i was sick of the breast pump. i would stare at it in disdain between contractions and curse it every time i had to use it. labor would start, i'd labor for an hour or so and stall and have to go back and pump again.  i hated that damn pump.  i wanted to throw it out the window.

by this time claudia was bringing up the dreaded "p" word... pitocin.  i could feel myself react like a pissed off cat internally when it was brought up.... i think because i knew that if they started pitocin i would have more intense contractions than i would if i were naturally in labor... and to be honest, i wasn't sure if i could handle that after the previous night of back labor.  i also knew that the risks to my baby (and myself) went up with more medical interventions.  i wanted to stay away from that at all costs.

so we called in the big guns, whitney, our doula.  i have to say, i'm so glad we made the decision to have whitney there... her expertise was invaluable and helped us make a lot of key decisions over those next 30 hours that proved to be the right ones.  so she came to the hospital, along with a bottle of castor oil.  she talked with us about how castor oil usually gets things started within 1-2 doses or so.  when claudia came back to check on me, probably certain i would be ready to start pitocin, i asked her if she could give me 4 hours to try a dose of castor oil.  she was pretty open to it... though i know she was hesitant because the longer we stretched out labor, the more we were increasing the risk of infection to the baby and i.

i should probably pause the storytelling here to clarify that the only reason i kept moving forward without medical intervention was because Henley and i were both doing so well.  had her heart rate dropped or if i was showing signs of infection (a temperature) i would have stopped pushing forward and done what the midwives recommended.  i NEVER would have put Henley or myself in a position where either of us would be at risk.  i'm only saying this because i think so many people who have heard this story wondered why kjaer and i would keep going for as long as we did... and that's why.  never once did Henley show signs of distress or did i show signs of infection.

so i took the castor oil...a 1/2 of a dose... with a cup of orange juice (BLECH) and waited.  during this time i took another nap while whitney hung out at the hospital.  when i woke up, she and i walked the halls for awhile to try to get labor started and talked.  during this time she talked to me a little more about pitocin.  she had said that if we could just get me to dilate to at least 2 cm, i would have a much better chance with pitocin than if i was at 1.  she had seen too many births go south (c-section) because pitocin was started too early (between 0 and 1 cm).  i think it was her way of prepping me too, and letting me stay more open to the idea that we may have to use medicine as an intervention.  but, deep down, i was still clinging to my unmedicated birth.

four hours later, nothing had happened and it seemed like claudia was anxious to start the pitocin.  baby k2 and i were still doing well, so i asked for 4 more hours to take a second dose of castor oil and brought out the dreaded breast pump again.  i could tell i was frustrating her a bit.  but i promised her that if nothing was happening by 10 that evening, we could start pitocin.

so this time i took a full dose and got to work with that wretched pump.  within an hour i was in  active labor.  it was dinner time and i was trying to eat through it.  we sent whitney home because she had been up for two nights in a row with other births and we wanted her well rested for when we really needed her.  she said to call her at any point we needed her and headed home.  at first i was feeling like a rockstar.  kjaer and i had this sort of dance going on.  but soon i required more than two hands.  i needed kjaer in front of me and then the nurse and the midwife applying pressure to my back.  pretty soon i was in such intense labor i was throwing up.  i was having triple contractions and i'm pretty sure the whole labor and delivery floor could hear my moans and cries.  but i clung to that 4-5 centimeter mark... because i knew that then i could get into the tub without labor stalling.  so i tried to power through.

it was during this time where i felt so intensely close to my husband.  i've always been proud of the team that we are, the way we communicate and how we work through things together.  but this was a different sort of challenge... and i've never been more proud of us.  we were the a-team... well, kjaer was the a-team.  he handled me like a pro, and i wasn't always the easiest person to pacify.  after all, i couldn't talk because i was just trying to breath through contractions.  he had read that this would happen later in labor and that often women would slap at their partners or use gestures since they couldn't communicate any other way.  ummm... that definitely happened a few times.  he read me like a book and he did it without taking any of it personally... because of course he was doing a fabulous job, i was just in the worst pain of my life.  truthfully, if i had to choose one person in the world to go through that with... midwives, doulas, nurses, doctors included... it was him.  you could've eliminated any one else in the room... if we were in some dark cave and i got to pick one person to be with me to get me through that, it would've been him.  when that pain hit, i wanted his body in front of me.  i would throw my arms around him and inhale his delicious smell and feel his strong hands on my back as he whispered to me.  he always knew the right things to say and didn't falter when it got ugly.

and it did get ugly... i mean, i did take two doses of castor oil... need i say more?

we had set a deadline to measure me... 2 in the morning.  so i kept trying to power through the intense labor.  the whole time i was having visions of being in a nice warm tub, which i knew would help my back pain so much.   by the time they measured me, i was writhing... i mean w.r.i.t.h.i.n.g. in agony.  they had to wait for my triple contractions to stop, lay me down (which is impossible when you are in hard labor and weigh a million pounds) and check.

and here is the first time i really got mad a God.

i was so sure with how hard i was working and because of the terrible back labor, that i would be at least 4 cm.  but no... i was 2 cm.  i had been working my butt off for 8 hours and had dilated a whole 1/2 a cm.

if you've been keeping track of this timeline, you can see that we had now been up for almost 48 hours straight and i had progressed a whopping 1 cm in the 30 hours of active labor i had traversed through so far.

we were getting no where 

(except when you consider that our doula's goal was to get to at least 2 cm... which we did)

i felt so exhausted.  i didn't have the energy to go on.  if it took me 24 hours to gain a half of a centimeter, i'd be in the hospital for weeks!  i couldn't bare the thought of back labor with triple contractions for days and days. the midwife advised that i get an epidural since my labor wasn't really progressing and i was so fatigued she was concerned i wouldn't have the energy i needed at the end to push.  i felt like 48 hours was a good shot and kept the ultimate goal in mind... a VBAC.  it was more important to me than accepting medication.

it took 3 times for the anesthesiologist to get the epidural in.  every time he'd miss i'd see kjaer's face fall with that look that says, "COME ON, MAN!  get my poor woman out of this misery!"  when the epidural went in i fell asleep almost immediately after it had taken effect.

i slept for about 3 hours.  i have vague memories of nurses coming in and rolling me from side to side.  they'd say, "the baby doesn't like that side so we're going to move you." then they'd come in again and say the same thing and roll me again.  i woke up around 5 to them strapping oxygen on me and mentioning "the baby" again.

and here is the lowest point of my whole experience...

as i laid there in that dark room, dead weight for legs and oxygen on my face, i mulled over my sleepy memories and worried that i was doomed for a c-section.  this moment is so clear to me because it was that point where everything i had fought for... not only in the last 50 hours... but the last nine months... wasn't going to happen.  the dark room felt like a dark pit... so symbolic of the defeat i was feeling.  i tried to tell myself i had done everything possible.  but deep down i felt so crushed.

it was a dark place for me...

the nurse, who had helped us labor through the night, came in to check on me and i looked at her with weepy eyes and asked, rather pitifully i might add, "am i getting a c-section?"

i swear the girl was an angel in disguise.  she smiled so reassuringly and said, "no... you're doing so well.  the baby looks great and your contractions are regular now.  they are going to measure you later this morning to see how far you've progressed.  it's not over yet!"

they had started pitocin while i was sleeping because the contractions had stalled (...AGAIN!) and i was now having regular, strong contractions.  so i sat in bed to relax and wait.  as the morning went on, i decided that i might as well look good for pictures (i mean, DUH!)... so i put on make-up while i chatted with my mom on the phone.  as i was talking with her, i started feeling a strange sensation in my derriere.  it started to intensify so much that i'd have to stop talking to my mom and breath through it.

i told the new nurse for the day, "i'm feeling pain... shooting pain, in my butt."

she'd say, "yes dear, pressure is normal."

and i'd get that nervous, high pitched voice and answer, "no... not pressure... pain."

pretty soon i was having to brace myself for each contraction, because it would send shooting pains, like knives, through my... well, you know... rear-end.  the midwife came in and looked at me quizzically, and said, "something big must be happening for you to be feeling that kind of pressure."

and i'd correct her and say, "pain."

the anesthesiologist came in and told me she could try to place another epidural.  she said that nine times out of ten it would help and rarely did it not help.  but she wanted to see how far i progressed before she placed it.

i was back to being extremely uncomfortable but handling it the best i could, especially because i couldn't get up and walk it off like before due to the dead weight i had for legs.  the midwife measured and i was 5 cm.  i thought the whole room would erupt into high fives... and she looked at me reassuringly and said, "it looks like you're going to have your VBAC!"

the anesthesiologist put in a fresh epidural (for the fourth time for those keeping track) and i waited for the pain in my booty to subside... which it did.

but within an hour i could feel every contraction in my front end... and they kept getting more and more intense.  so basically, my epidural took my back labor away... but i was about to have an unmedicated birth... even though technically i was medicated.

i have to admit, after all i had gone through, i got a little mad at God a second time here.  my visions of epidurals were that you got to sit back, relax and enjoy your painless birth (my vision might have included kjaer and i toasting with champagne glasses, too... but whatever)  ... and here i was, experiencing pain as if i was having an unmedicated birth.

truthfully, it kind of felt like a sick joke.

the pain kept escalating until i was clinging to kjaer's hands and crying out during each contraction.  the midwife came in, looking confused again.  when she checked me i was 7 cm in between contractions but 9 centimeters during a contraction.  she smiled at me and said, "you're gonna have this baby very soon!"

kjaer called our doula down and we readied ourselves to meet our newest little one.

well, i didn't ready myself.  i rolled with the waves of the contractions.  i feel like things got very primal for me... and that i almost turned into another creature.  i'm sure my eyes glazed over and i seemed like an entirely different person... because i felt like a different person. it's like i went deep inside of myself to work through the greatest obstacle of my life, and the only person who could reach me was kjaer.  this part of my memory is a little fuzzy.  i have snapshots of memories, like Polaroid pictures in my mind that i can flip through.  if i could walk you through these dreamlike memories... you would see my face right up against kjaer's face while i clung to him (although i can't remember exactly what part of him i was holding onto... that's how vague the whole thing is).  i'm not sure the reasoning, but i needed him right up in my face, needed to hear his voice, feel his strong hands, smell his smell.  he'd ask me in between contractions if i'd want ice chips and i'd fall into a deep, deep 15 second sleep while he scooped them from a cup and then shake me to wake me up and feed them to me.  once he asked me if i wanted chapstick and i fell asleep.  when he woke me up i tried to eat it, thinking it was ice chips.  during contractions i can clearly recall looking down at my midwife and seeing "other" people i didn't recognize and wondering who the heck they were, but not really caring enough to find out.  i couldn't talk anyway so i suppose it didn't matter.  when things got really serious, they repositioned me and i remember my doula coaching me while she held one of my legs.  i think i was on my right side and she'd say something to the effect of, "with your next contraction i want you to take that sound your making and turn it into a lion's growl."  then she'd make the sound for me so i could hear it.  and what do you know, next contraction i'd get kjaer right up in my face, she'd hand me my leg so i could bear down and then i'd start to make the sound she told me and i could feel the baby move down.  it was amazing.  so my clearest memories are of my husband when i'd open my eyes and listening for my doula's voice coaching me.

at some point i felt a change and kjaer's cheering would get more enthusiastic.  the doula would tell me to do something, i'd do it and kjaer would excitedly say, "keep doing that, keep doing that." and i knew he must be seeing some sort of progression.  when i heard him say, "reach down and feel the head," i knew we were close.  once i could feel her head, it was like that last quarter mile of a half marathon.  i had a sudden burst of energy and knew i could finish this.

i remember the "ring of fire" hurting... and that thought of oh, so THAT's why they call it the ring of fire!  and then i remember that in between the contractions, henley would slip back in and the next contraction i'd have to bare the "ring of fire" again and thinking, what.the.heck. i thought you only had to do the ring of fire once!  at some point i recall thinking, who the h** cares how bad it hurts... it's going to hurt until you push her out... so PUSH!!!

henley was born shortly after that.  

it was the most amazing and rewarding accomplishment of my life.  

the room flew into activity and i feel like i kind of started to come out of my fog... or zone...  or tunnel... or whatever it was.  henley wasn't crying, so the pediatric team took her to suction her lungs out with kjaer right there.  a nurse next to my bed said, "it's a boy!!!"  i remember feeling authentically surprised, because deep down i had always felt like i was going to have a girl.  kjaer told me that at that same time a dr. over with him said, "it's a girl!!"  and he was angry because he had wanted to tell me and i had heard it from some stranger.  but during that time i was busy delivering the placenta and listening to my midwife coach me so i had never heard it.  when that last part of business was done, i asked "so we had a boy?"  the midwife smiled and said, "daddy, are you going to tell her what you had?"

and kjaer turned around and said, "we had a little girl!"  

i knew it!!!!

as i reflect on those 58 hours, i feel so amazed and blessed at how each part... whether frustrating or exciting... was grooming me for the next chapter of our adventure.  i find it mind blowing that pitocin... the dreaded drug i wanted nothing to do with... actually saved my VBAC.  without it i'm pretty sure we would have ended up having a c-section.  i now find it such a blessing that the epidural didn't numb my pain (well, actually... it DID take away the back labor... pa-raise Jesus!) and that even though i was "medicated" i experienced an unmedicated birth just like i had originally wanted.  this was like facing my own personal mt. everest and summiting... i can't even describe the emotions that go with this to you.  i heard a woman once describe labor as an empowering time when a woman faces her biggest, darkest trial in life... and overcomes it.  and how it's then that she truly understands that she can do anything.  that's as close as i can get to how i felt.  

a few days later, driving henley home from the hospital, still high on the endorphins of all we had been through... i turned to kjaer and said, i know what henley's birth taught me... but i still don't know what leif's birth taught me.    

i felt a little guilty about this... because leif's birth wasn't the experience i had hoped for.  of course, we got our beautiful little boy out of the whole thing and he and i were healthy, which is what really matters... but it had been emotionally and physically traumatic for me.  i felt robbed and exposed and invaded by the doctors.  

however, it was brought to my attention by my wise mother that leif's birth taught me about perseverance.  the weeks and months following leif's birth were full of challenges that i had never expected: recovering from a major surgery, breast feeding issues, post-partum depression.  all of these things were trials that i had to persevere through.  sometimes it felt like i was walking through wet concrete with lead boots on.  i remember that about 5 or 6 months after he was born, i felt like i finally came out of the fog and could really enjoy being a mother to my beautiful son.  but it wasn't until i had persevered through some challenging issues that i never had thought of facing.  

when we got pregnant again, leif's birth also taught me how to advocate for myself.  i kept asking questions and educating myself the whole time, trying to make sure that this time i would do everything i could to make the birth as "healthy" and natural as i could and make sure i didn't get pigeon holed into something i didn't want to do again.  because of my perseverance... we got that birth.

henley's birth, and the last couple of months leading up to it, taught me about another facet of myself i had not seen yet... that i'm a fighter.  when i began suspecting my doctor's intentions a couple of months before i was due... i did the scariest thing anyone could have ever done in my very pregnant shoes... i left her safety zone and went out into the world where i didn't know anyone anymore.  we researched and interviewed... it was totally stressful... until we found a place that lined up with our expectations (6 weeks before we were due).  and then we waited.  when i went into labor (or at least when my water broke) i thought i'd have your typical 24 hour labor and have a baby.  i didn't think i, of all people, would be the woman who powered (and cried and sometimes screamed) her way through 58 hours of endless back labor and triple contractions.  i didn't think i would be the woman who would decline suggestions of her midwife in order to try castor oil (another game-changer for us... don't think i would have hit 2 cm without it).  i didn't think i would give in for an epidural... only to have it not work and power through the pain to have our baby.  leif taught me to never give up... and henley taught me that i'm a fighter... that when i want something, i will fight hard enough for it and i won't stop until i have it.  

it's amazing how God uses these little creatures He blesses us with to teach us about parts of ourselves we hadn't even known before.  now i know that you can put any obstacle in front of me, and i can rise to the occasion... especially if it involves my little ones and my man.  i'm a mama and wife who will not accept defeat, who perseveres and fights for what she believes in.

i'm a warrior.