walmart jesus...

back when i was SUPER pregnant with Henley, i was suddenly struck with a fear.  i was laying in bed reflecting back to my first trimester when i thought for sure i was pregnant with a girl... this was so exciting to me as i really wanted a girl and already had my sweet little boy.  i don't know why i thought i was going to have a girl then... i just felt really feminine and drank a lot of lemonade when i felt nauseous... so i just kind of knew she was a girl.  

but as the second trimester started those feelings of just knowing faded.  i was ok with this as first trimester wasn't THAT far behind me and i could still vividly remember the feeling of just knowing.  so i waddled in confidence that yes, this was going to be a girl.  

but then the third trimester came.  you know... when your maternity clothes no longer fit, you've been pregnant FOREVER and you can't remember the last time you saw your shoes, never mind the feelings you had 6 months ago.  

so i laid in bed, clinging to my giant pregnancy pillow, with this fear washing over me... what if she wasn't a girl and instead of receiving her with joy i felt disappointed?

so i unashamedly asked God for a sign... just to see if i was on the right track.

he had given me several with leif... which i tried to ignore (only dreamed about boys, saw an ultrasound image of his head and "just knew" he was a boy) because i had wanted a girl so bad.  reflecting back, i knew that leif was going to be a boy but i think (poor leif) that i was really hoping for a girl.  

i just didn't want to feel that way again... like my mothering instincts were terribly out of whack or something.

so i asked for a sign... just anything to give me a little insight.  

i think in my pregnant little head i thought He'd give me a dream with a little boy or girl in it.  i don't know... i mean, i was hoping for a sign but it's like i forgot that He's GOD and has managed to get pretty creative when He's had news to share with someone on earth.

(ahem... heavenly hosts singing...)

so...

the 

very. 

next. 

day. 

(i'm not even exaggerating) 

i was grocery shopping at Wal-Mart.  I had left leif with kjaer and was enjoying a toddler-free shopping trip.  you mama's know what i'm talking about.  i was savoring walking down the aisles whilst checking my list and actually crossing the things off of my list with a pen instead of mentally crossing off... which always gets me into trouble.  

i was standing in the bread aisle putting tortillas into my cart when an older man... probably in his 50's or 60's walked up to me.  he had a slight limp and there was really nothing else about him that stuck out to me.

anyways... he walked up to me, looked at my very round belly, and said:  making three bullet points in the air with his finger from top to bottom.  

"boy,

girl,

girl"

and then he walked away.

at first i laughed.  probably a nervous laugh because i'm not very good at playing things cool when i'm baffled.  and then i realized what truly just had happened.  

a stranger...

came up to me...

and told me...

about all of my children...

the one i had...

the two i didn't have yet...

and walked away.

so i started roving the aisles of wal-mart looking for a middle aged man with a limp and he was nowhere to be found.  i'm not sure exactly what i was going to say if i had found him... but i think it would have sounded something like... "sir, excuse me.  who are you and why did you say that to me?"  

i mean... who walks up to an extremely large pregnant woman and starts spouting off sexes of babies and quantities?  it would just be cruel.  

i never found him.

so i came home and told kjaer... whose first reaction was, "WE'RE GOING TO HAVE THREE?!?!  I DON'T THINK I CAN DO THAT. I JUST DECIDED TODAY THAT WE'RE GOOD WITH TWO." "

after kjaer settled down, we discussed it and decided that we wouldn't tell anyone about my strange encounter until baby k#2 was born.  i think i was mostly afraid people would think i was crazy.  we did end up telling immediate family and very close friends before the baby came, but i really did keep quiet because... well, it just all seemed so surreal.  

so you guys know what happened.  baby k #2 was born and she was a beautiful baby girl.  those that we had already confided in were astonished and we started telling everyone else about "walmart jesus" who we lovingly refer to him as... though maybe it was a "walmart angel".... i don't know.  

so here we are two and a half years later... i'm one week away from my 20 week ultrasound (where we will NOT be finding out again.)

 expecting a third child in itself is already amazing as kjaer was truly happy with two and i was the one who wanted one more.  however, it was really important to me that if we had one more, the decision came from kjaer.  so i was starting to wonder about ol' walmart jesus and if i was crazy.  but kjaer's heart changed and now, very suddenly, we find ourself expecting our third.  and we're thrilled.  and i'm getting a little bolder in believing that one of God's messengers really did show up for me in that Walmart store.  He showed up for my very insignificant, selfish request because sometimes He likes to blow us away with His love.  

so my question for you, dear friends and family... is what do YOU think?  

boy?

girl?

we won't know until a late day in May.  but i'm telling you, i believe... we believe... our loving God has already told us one ordinary january day in 2014 in a grocery store.  

perpetual child delay...

i'm the kind of girl... at least i used to be... that was mostly on time.

by that i mean i usually arrived at my destination right on the nose... give or take a minute or two... 90% of the time.  while i know this wasn't best practice, it is basically how i've functioned my entire life.  yes... sometimes i'd occasionally be 5 minutes late.  but for the most part, i was there when i was supposed to be. therefore, i've always considered myself one of those punctual-ish people... though not quite as impeccable as my parents.

my mom... she's 15-20 minutes early to every place.  i'm pretty sure my dad was about the same as well.  this isn't because of a generational gap -  they were/are basically just the most decent human beings you've ever met and they would never disrespect you by being late... not even for the most casual of occasions.  

going grocery shopping with my mom?  she'll be at your house ten minutes early.  

me?  i'm punctual-ish.

the problem with this mindset is that then i had children and now i'm on a constant child delay.  to illustrate how much i cogitate upon this perpetual lag in my life, here is an excerpt from an email i sent kjaer last week after my drive into work:

got out of the door at 7:27.  was feeling so proud I was actually leaving 6 minutes earlier than my usual lateness and ON TIME.  got stuck behind a caterpillar bulldozer on Dayton from 6^th to that next major light.  basically showed up at work at my normal time. (five minutes late)

I’M TELLING YOU… I CAN NOT WIN!  :/

and that's the way it always goes these days.  i have two small children and a senile dog who will poop on his hind legs should there be a whisper of punctuality.  and though i have instituted a plethora of precautionary measures meant to ensure our punctuality to preschool/work/church, nothing seems to help.  

precautionary measures include:   

-exercising and taking my shower at night 

-setting an alarm 15 minutes before we're supposed to be backing out of the driveway

-revising said alarm to 30 minutes before we're supposed to leave to include going potty and brushing teeth

-packing bags/diaper bags the night before and sometimes even loading them in the car by moonlight

-packing lunch night before

-making coffee and setting timer night before

-waking up 5 minutes earlier

-waking up 10 minutes earlier

-waking up 30 minutes earlier
-resorting to a daily "messy bun" and no longer styling my hair

seriously... 

it doesn't matter. 

i'm cursed. 

it's like i'm sisyphus... pushing two children out the door and into a car.

to further my case of how i just can't win... let us cozy up and hear the tale of last thursday.  

leif goes to pre-school on tuesdays and thursdays- my days off.  he needs to be there at 9:15... seems like a reasonable time of day, right?  i mean, since having children i haven't slept past 7 AM so you'd think that two hours to get myself and two small beings out the door would be plenty of time.  especially since i have put all of the precautionary measures in place over this past school year.

negative. nope.  never.

we still stroll into preschool 2-7 minutes late...

every.

time.

i feel the director eyeballing me as i charge through the door every tuesday and thursday like a wrecking ball. 

what's worse is, i'm a freaking teacher for pete's sake.  

you'd think i could get my own child to school on time.  

but no.

so this particular thursday morning, things were going fairly smoothly.  both children were dressed, hair was combed and pig-tailed, bags were packed and i was waiting for the 30 minute timer to start our exodus.  i was SO ready.  nothing was going to stop me.  i could literally visualize us pulling out of the driveway at 8:58. looking back, i probably should repent for my cockiness.  

so the timer on the oven beeps with the 30 minute countdown and i ask leif to turn off Curious George (yes... he still loves ol' c.g... and i love that he loves him so) and go to the bathroom.  i could see the funnel cloud form above his head.  there was an exchange of angry three year old words with mommy-who-wants-to-be-on-time words which might have included something about not being able to watch curious george later that evening since he was throwing a tantrum.  gnashing of teeth ensued.

(so there, young dawdling child!)

and, as if it were airborne, henley started crying and i can't even remember why.

so i was in the throws of trying to survive a double whammy tantrum.  but i could not be swayed.  i was going to get us to preschool on time by golly.  a freight train wasn't going to stop this expedition.  so i gave hugs and kisses and bribed henley with bringing toys like elmo and baby doll and "packpacks" out to the car.  i held hands, carried and gently rounded up my offspring in the general direction of the car. they moved like bellowing cattle, and i was their patient, punctual cowgirl.  

once leif was out front in the fresh air, his tantrum cleared up as quickly as it had surged, and he stood upon his picnic table in the front yard and surveyed the land. he does this from time to time, like Simba on pride rock.  who knows, he could also be checking the weather and listening for prey as well, but i usually take it as my moment to buckle henley in... which turned into another fit because she is now undeniably two.

t.w.o.

... and she likes to punctuate her thoughts with "I DO IT" while she feebly plays with her buckles for an eternity.  should you even to attempt to help her do anything without her consent, be ready for the toddler assaults and screams to fly.  this takes a very fine act of trying to offer my help but making her think it's her idea.  i have not quite perfected my strategy with her yet... as being fiercely independent has just recently reared it's ugly head.  so it takes us a while.  

but i'm not shaken.  

i've got this. 

i am a punctual goddess.

meanwhile, leif has started walking his domain and i remember a spray of diarrhea from our fossil of a dog that had been lain earlier that morning.  I leave henley's side, and show leif where it is like an air traffic controller, motioning my arms this way and that,  with a gentle reminder to watch where he's walking.  he looks at me like, oh my!  where did that come from?!?

(you know where i'm headed... don't you?)

i head back around to henley and check my phone.  we're doing good.  i can see the finish line.  my angelic son is calmly waiting for me and  i'm nearly done with his adorable, yet fiesty sister.  i cue leif to enter the car and get started on his seat belt when finally, henley gets the brilliant idea that we should work together on this tricky thing called a car seat buckle... to which i happily oblige, give high fives, load her dolls and books in and shut her door.  

success!!!

meanwhile, leif hops in the car, his little blue eyes sparkling as he starts to ask me his usual round of curious questions while climbing into his car seat.  

and i see it.  

i see it before i smell it.

a little bit of grass and.... something... on the end of his boot.  

FREEZE! i say... a bit loudly perhaps.

leif... did you... step in poop?

he looks at me, confused.

DON'T MOVE, i say firmly, running around the car to lift him out.  

and there it was... all over his little boots.  

NO, I REFUSE!!! I WILL NOT FALL TO THIS ATROCITY!!!!

i have him go sit on the stoop and remove his boots.  he's very sweet and apologetic.  i knew it wasn't on purpose of course... though it sort of feels like it.  i dash back into the house to grab another set of shoes.  i toss them on leif and have him run to the car while i put trooper's diaper back on and get him into the house.  i see the clock... 9:02.  

i can't believe this... i might be OK... i might only be a couple minutes late.  

i start tearing out of our house like i'm on a Wipe Out obstacle course when i hear leif call to me... "mom?  i think i got poop on your seat."

no!  it can't be!  i think.  it's mud from the other day.  don't panic.

i get to him to adjust his seat belt and there it is... smudged on my back seat.  for a second i entertain the thought of leaving it there until after preschool drop off.  but i couldn't.  i just couldn't.  living with a 105 year old dog makes you feel pretty sick and tired of smelling excrement from ancient bowels.  

so i get henley's diaper wipes out and clean off my seat, find all of the blankets and objects that leif had inadvertently stepped on when entering the car, toss them into the back of my car and jump into the drivers seat.  i turn the key... the clock reads 9:07.  

DAMN IT!!!

i drive to preschool like a defeated soul who just can't go on.  i can already picture pulling into the parking lot with all of the other mom's exiting the school (in their designer outfits and flawless makeup, of course) staring at me in slow-motion as i lull by them... top knot in my hair and the same sweatshirt and ripped up jeans i wear every week.  they chant "tar-dy, tar-dy, tar-dy!" pumping their fists high into the morning sky, while i unload my littles (and toys and packpacks) and mosey into the building.  one lady leans over and whispers to another, "how can someone be late at nine.fifteen.in.the.morning?" and the other responds, "What will she do when kindergarten begins and he has to be at school by 7:45?"   i do my best to shake this vision from my head as i pull into an empty space and unload.  

there are no more excuses.  we have an old, sick dog has been used many times.  i'm in the middle of helping my mom move has been an excuse.  it doesn't matter.  there's always an excuse.  always.  my son accidentally walked through poop or we got stuck behind a giant tractor on a one lane road just doesn't seem to suffice.  i want to weep at the feet of his sweet preschool teacher and beg for forgiveness.  i want to explain that i'm a teacher and deal with tardiness all of the time from other parents and students.  i used to (pre-children, of course) shake my head at that one mom who just couldn't get her shit together and i'd think, "just leave 5 minutes earlier! it's not that hard."

yes, judgy monica of yesteryear.  it IS hard.  it is SO freaking hard.  it's hard to stay calm while moving your little brood out the car every morning.  it's hard to make sure everyone has brushed teeth, that 50% of your children have combed hair on most days and everything they need to successfully move throughout the day.  it's hard to do all of that, plus care for a house,  your husband, yourself, and your senile, dying dog.  it's hard to do this amazingly wonderful job of being a parent.

so that does it.  i'm declaring my life in a perpetual five minute delay.  you want me somewhere?  lie and tell me it's starting 10 minutes earlier than it really is.  who knows, maybe i'd walk in on time.  as for me, i'm going to try giving myself a little more grace.  

my children are kind and sweet. 

i'm madly in love with their dad,

who's madly in love with us.

we all love each other to the marrow.  

my babes are well-fed.  
they are happy.

they are amazing.  

but, i'm sorry, they have one flaw.  
they will be five minutes late to whatever they're supposed to be doing from now on.

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.

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.

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.