all creatures great and small...

"The Lord, in His wisdom,

gave us three things to make life bearable;

humor, hope and dogs.

But the greatest was dogs."

-Robyn Davidson 

we almost lost our sweet lucy in the fall of 2021.  as i reread this post i realized that this miracle was too good to NOT share so i'm posting it years later.  

it happened as most emergencies do... at the worst possible time for an emergency to happen and as an accident.  but we also found that God works miracles, not just for us, but those furry companions He's gifted us with.  

one monday night in september of 2021 we had rolled into the 7:00 PM witching hour... in our household it means we've embarked on the final push with our kids for the night.  they are usually on each others last nerve or done listening to us.  our patience is on its last leg.  we work really hard to get through from 7:00-7:45... reminding henley a million times to put her pajamas on and brush her teeth, keeping ophelia moving along and from distracting henley, and keeping leif from making the girls mad so that it all doesn't come crumbling apart.  all of this while doing dinner dishes, cleaning the kitchen up and packing lunches for the next day.  i always feel the deep partnership with kjaer during this hour.  we are tired, we are weary... and yet he links arms with me and we encourage each other on to show up and remain calm for the last chaotic hour of the night.   

so it was during this nightly routine we were standing in the kitchen working, calling to the girls to get out of the bathtub and chatting with leif that we saw lucy run by the window with something weird sticking out of her mouth.  i figured she must've caught a squirrel or had a toy... i'm thankful kjaer was more attentive.  i heard him say, "what is in lucy's mouth?" and he went outside.

i knew something was dreadfully wrong when leif's face went pale and he said, "i was trying to catch a raccoon but i think i just caught a lucy."

have you met my little leif?  he is a budding outdoorsman.  he loves fishing and setting traps for crayfish.  a couple of afternoons a week that fall we would walk by the fields at school (henley would rollerskate and i would walk some laps to get some steps in) so that leif could dive through the tall grass and catch garter snakes.  he is always concocting clever traps to catch animals.  usually i know he's in a trap-making mood when i find my recycling bin tipped over and him sifting through containers and bottles to find the exact thing he needs.  

... or just the can tipped over, recycling scattered about and no sign of children anywhere.

the problem with this amazing, unbridled curiosity and passion is he doesn't often think of repercussions.  for example, this particular day he had snuck into his tackle box (which we've already talked to him many times about) and had found a small barbed fish hook.  he then shoved it into the center of a chomps beef stick he had leftover from his hike the day before.  this was attached to fishing line with a red bobber on the end and meticulously buried in sand so that only the beef stick was showing.  leif was thinking of his fish hook like he knows it works with fishing.  it snags the fish in the cheek... he catches it... unhooks it... and sets it free.  he wasn't thinking about how a mammal's body is designed differently than a fish, or what would happen if he actually caught a mean old rotten raccoon or the ramifications if our sweet dog swallowed the hook.  

kjaer came walking in with fishing line and a red bobber... i was still registering what was happening but kjaer knew.  he has spent countless times unhooking fishing hooks from tree limbs and putting tackle boxes in timeout because they were meant for only fishing trips.  

he knew what had happened before i did.  

initially there was that anger that parents have... the "HOW MANY TIMES HAVE WE TALKED ABOUT THIS?!?" anger.  it stems from fear... right?  like this time, someone might actually be hurt because of being disobedient.  it's not just about another broken fishing pole or snapped line.  lucy's life was at risk.  

we started looking for the hook outside... telling leif we needed to know every single detail.  that his honesty was important.  leif felt terrible... he knew this was due to his choices and you could tell he wished so badly he could take them back.  we slowly trudged through the backyard with flashlights in hand... and we couldn't find any trace of the bait... which meant we couldn't locate the hook.  

meanwhile, lucy, in her ever persistent drive to catch a beam of light, chased our flashlight rays as we scoured the backyard for that hook.  

that freaking, barbed hook.

she was acting totally normal.  i wanted to believe she had miraculously missed it.  but deep down i knew better... leif is REALLY good at baiting hooks.  

we finished putting the kids to bed while lucy did her normal lucy things... laying by our feet during our chapter book, hopping up on henleys bed while we said goodnight to the girls, trotting down to leif's room and sprawling herself across his floor while we said goodnight to him. 

usually when i walk out of leif's room, i always rub her belly... even though she's going to immediately follow me upstairs to continue her nighttime routine next to my feet.  this night was no different.  i stopped down to give her one of her many nightly belly rubs and heard leif say sheepishly, "i hope lucy doesn't die because of me."

all i could respond with was, "me too, buddy.  me too."  

we had prayed together in leif's room... that lucy would be ok.  but i felt an impending dread.  our night was just getting started.

kjaer and i did a second flashlight round in the backyard, lucy quick at our heals to catch the beams of light.  not a single trace.  

we sat on the couch as lucy plopped herself in her second to last spot before her bedtime.  she sprawled out across our area rug in front of our large glass doors and snoozed while we conversed over tea.  only this time it wasn't about the school day or our normal night time banter.  this time it was about what the right thing to do was.  

i texted my sister in law... a vet.  i was trying to play it cool... but she knew right away this wasn't some hum drum thing.  she called me immediately and gave me the wisest counsel i could have ever asked for.  

it's a terrible thing to say money was one of the first things that popped into my mind.  like... this is going to be an emergency visit to an emergency vet.  those vets are not cheap.  maybe we can try the ol' wait and see approach.  she snapped me out of that place when she said the best thing to do was get an xray... that it would cost around $400 but then we would know either way.  we'd either walk away knowing for sure she hadn't swallowed the hook (and not having to worry all week) or we'd learn how bad the damage was.  the good thing was, she reminded me, that fishhooks are metal... so it would definitely show up on an xray.

then we had a stare down.  kjaer and i.  who was going?   because, you know, it's never convenient on a work night to go to the emergency room.  

kjaer went... bless his sweet soul.  he takes such good care of us and i think he knew i was about to lose my ever loving mind.  during that time i was in such a fragile place anyway.  i was tackling working full time for the first time in eight years and a newly diagnosed autoimmune disease left me exhausted and he knew it.  i love that man.  

i also reminded him that i'm the spender in the relationship so i would probably spend our life savings to save our pooch.  he'd be more diplomatic and not put us in the poor house.  

he came home within a half an hour.  they had a two hour wait just to get an xray so he had to leave her there and was able to come home.  he stayed up and waited for the phone call while i slept.  we had already decided he shouldn't work the next morning... so he busied himself writing sub plans.  around midnight we got the call.  the fishhook was lodged deep down in her esophagus.  they'd have to do an endoscopy.  kjaer gave them the go ahead and crawled into bed with me, whispering that she was going under anesthesia and hopefully they'd scope it out.  there was also some sleepy conversation about what it was going to cost us... and it was NOT cheap.  but it was still under our threshhold.  

around 3 AM the phone rang.  

the doctor doing the endoscopy called to say she had been trying for 3 hours and it hadn't budged.  she began asking us if we would consider surgery...  an endeavor that would cost over $10,000.  i sat on the other side of the the conversation, trying to pick up scraps from kjaer's steady voice.  my heart fell when he repeated that number back... "$10,000?"  i knew... we were going to have to put her down because that number on top of what we were already paying was astronomical.  had i been working full time for the past 8 years maybe we wouldn't have blinked... but i had just started the month prior, and we had just started to have some considerable breathing room financially.  but not enough to make that an easy check to write.   he hung up the phone and told me that the dr. was going to try for a couple more hours, but that we needed to start thinking of other options... like surgery or putting her down.  i began to weep over our dog.  

there comes a moment where you face how much you love something.  no one is immune to this... at some point you will be forced to reckon with losing someone you love and you will find that your love runs for them deeper than you anticipated.  

lucy had quietly wriggled her way into my heart.  sadly, it took me a little longer to connect to lucy than the rest of the family members because she was the dog we got to replace trooper... my original amazing fur baby.  but i sat there grieved.  i realized that she has become my companion and friend... that she dances happily when she sees me, gets up early in the morning during my quiet time for her neck scratches, lays precisely under or next to wherever i'm seated so that the tops of my feet rest on her strong and sturdy back.  she guards our house, loves our kids, heckles our chickens and has never done anything to warrant an early death over something so ridiculous.  

and then the realization came crashing down on me.  if this dr. couldn't get the hook out, we would have to put her down... and leif would forever carry the weight of lucy dying because of his poor choice.  this thought was to great to bear.  i sat in the dark and clasped hands with kjaer and we prayed outloud while i wept.  i can't remember what exactly we said... but the gist was "we know you love animals too because you made them.  please let her miraculously cough this hook like the big fish coughed up jonah.  she doesn't deserve this, Lord.  we need a miracle.  please don't let leif have to carry this burden for the rest of his life."  we pleaded.  i knew the odds were against lucy and us.... but i know too that God has shown up for me in the darkest pits of my life.  so if He could meet me there... He could meet us here too.  even if she was just a dog.  

i couldn't go back to sleep now.  my heart was full of worry.  this is how a mama gets when one of her tribe goes down.  the worry is greater than the need to sleep.  i immediately called in for work and began emailing my teachers i support.  my world was stopping for the day as we held our breath.  

by 6 am kjaer got the call that the doctor had still been unsuccessful.  they were going to wake lucy up and have another dr. try again later in the day.  she promised that they wouldn't charge us for two endoscopies but asked us again to consider the surgery.  

it felt a little like living in a nightmare.

i busied myself until it was time to wake the kids up.  i broke the news to them.  lucy wasn't here because we had decided to take her to the hospital to see if she had swallowed the hook.  leif maintained his composure but his questions told me he was full of guilt and shame.  he knew it was on him and it broke my ever loving heart every time he said it.  i didn't want it to be because of him.  i wanted desperately to rescue him from the pain, to make it not hurt, to erase the shame and the guilt.  henley's eyes welled with tears as she sobbed i don't want another dog mom.  apparently she takes after her mama and jumps to the worst case scenario.  we told them the best thing to do that day was go to school... that if something terrible was going to happen we would come and get them.  and we reminded them to pray and give their fear to God... He loves Lucy too.  He handcrafted that beautiful, brindle coat, her cold black nose and her crookity ear everyone adores. 

kjaer and i drove the kids to school and dodi (bless her) took ophelia to pre-k.   we came back home and settled in for the phone call from the next doctor.  we drank coffee, made banana pancakes and bacon and sat on our patio.  we kept praying and noticing how much we missed our lucy-lou rolling around in the grass and basking in the sun.  i kept thinking about how i just couldn't picture life without her... everything felt so bleak.   my heart didn't know how it could suffer the loss of her and the grief of our children.

around 9 AM the second dr. called.  again... i pieced things together while kjaer talked with her.  she had previously practiced in galveston, tx...  where she had removed tons of fish hooks.  in fact, she had never NOT gotten a fish hook out of a dog.  

(MIRACULOUS!!!)

my heart started jumping.  it couldn't be!

she warned kjaer, this fish hook was different and more difficult than ones she had seen before.  so she didn't want to get our hopes up.  she asked again about surgery.  kjaer told her we wouldn't be doing the surgery.  she asked, "because of the money?"  he answered back yes... and also that we were worried if the recovery would be brutal.  i connected it to my dad's almost-surgery back while he was fighting for his life from cancer.  doctors had often talked about doing an esophageal surgery with him, boasting promises of extended life/normal life.  my mother, being a nurse with over 40 years of experience (at the time... she just retired 52 years to the day of her first day!), said this was often not the case.  the quality of life would have been terrible if he had done it and most patients suffered for the rest of their lives.  i equated lucy's surgery to this... would we be doing something that would possibly just make her life worse to be selfish and keep her with us?  the doctor assured us that, no, she would have a 2 week recovery but they anticipated a full return to normal life.  but we knew it would still be foolish to spend $10000 on a surgery.  

she replied back, "we have a private donation that we think you qualify for that would cover all of the costs of surgery."

(SAY WHAT?!?)

she said they had a private donor who had given a lump sum of money under the strict guidelines that it must be for a family who couldn't spend the money on the surgery, with a healthy dog who had a good prognosis.

you guys... i know it isn't like lucy spit the hook up... but THAT was pretty miraculous.  God had covered ALL of the bases.  He had sent a doctor who has removed fish hooks regularly... she JUST HAPPENED to be the doctor on duty that day.  and then a private donor who would pay for the surgery if she couldn't. 

i wept again.

when prayers are answered so blatantly, you just can't help yourself.  

she hung up after clarifying with kjaer that she would confirm with the donor we were the right fit and that lucy's 2nd endoscopy would begin at 2:00PM.  

we were both so relieved we could hardly see straight.  we went to bed exhausted but hopeful and slept the day away. 

when we woke up, we went to pick the kids up from their various places.  kjaer went to get leif and henley and i went to get ophelia.  kjaer had called to tell me that they were putting lucy under while we were driving.  the slow motion minutes ticked by as we tried to do our 'normal" routine.  twenty minutes later kjaer called, with cheers and shouts of leif and henley in the background, because the doctor had successfully removed the hook with the endoscopy.

bringing lucy home was epically wonderful and miraculous... and we all knew it.  we buried our faces in her fur, scratched her belly and gave her, what leif calls, too many extra kisses.  she was home... she'd still be here with us.

you guys... i have experienced grace and peace on the deepest pits of my life because of God. time and time again i've cried out in fear, in pain, or just out of sheer exhaustion and He has showed up.  sometimes like a lover's whisper in my ear, like the bible describes in the original Hebrew when elijah was in a cave (I Kings 19:9).  sometimes louder than the roar of the fire i'm standing in (daniel 3:21-27). He is a God full of grace because He is the author of grace Himself. 

as Anne LaMott once said, "God: what a nut!"

so the next time you find yourself desperate and weeping... whether over a family member with cancer, the loss of a job, a marriage that's falling apart, or even a pet who might not make it...  whatever it might be.  "Cast all of your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you." (I Peter 5:7). He may be a nut for giving us His recklessly beautiful grace... but only because He's a nut about you.  He made you, you are His and what you think and feel matters to Him.  

The verse that we have walked by
daily for the last year on our way
out the door.

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.

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!)

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.

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.