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.

here's the deal... lucille...

well, i'm sure you were all just sitting at your computers with bated breath since my post that i was off to find a doula and a new doctor... right?

no??

well, for those of you who were... or those of you who might be the least bit interested... 

here's the new gig.  

we interviewed doulas through the end of december, early january.  actually, we only met a couple face to face and had several phone and email conversations with other doulas.  but, after i met Whitney, i was sold.  i felt like meeting the other ones face to face would be a waste of both of our time.  

the whole process was rather educational (doulas are wise, wise women... i highly recommend using one if you'd like to deliver vaginally... even if you think you'd want pain meds) and i've learned so much in the past 8 weeks that i never knew before.  i was still rather hesitant about changing doctors because i was so close to the end of my pregnancy.  but every doula i met with either recommended it or told me rather frankly that the VBAC clients who stayed with their dr.'s almost always wished after the delivery that they had switched because they had to fight for what they wanted.  

one dr. i met with in december that had been recommended didn't really help either.  you could tell he was really good at what he did... but he wasn't very touchy feely.  ummm... hello.  this is monica we're talking about.  the girl who still tries to hold her husbands hand every two minutes after 9 years of being together.  so when i left his office i felt like he'd be a good dr., but he hadn't convinced me to switch.  i liked my gregarious dr. way more than him... even if i knew deep down she was going to c-section me.  

in the process of meeting and talking over email and the phone with all of these doulas... two places kept coming up.  because all of these women, who don't really work with each other, kept mentioning these two places, i decided to check them out.  one was dr. breeden... a doctor at St. Lukes who is well known for successful VBACS.  (by the way... i'm including links because perhaps someone out there might want to try for a VBAC in the Denver area and i think providing this information is helpful).  The other place was the Midwifery at Denver Health.  

so january was spent awaiting the arrival of these appointments and making a decision.  Dr. Breeden and his personality just blew us out of the water.  he was so warm and caring.  i could easily see him as my dr.  when i asked him what his success rate was... he thought about 50% of the women who attempted a VBAC were successful with him.  Those are pretty good odds compared to most dr.'s.  

i still had the midwifery to look at later that week, so we didn't commit.  

however, for the first time in 9 months, i felt HOPE.  

dr. breeden made me feel like the ideal candidate and he had so much faith in VBACs and the way a woman's body is designed to birth the baby she grew.  kjaer and i left in a state of euphoria.  in fact, we were so thrilled that we'd have a chance to actually labor with this baby, we stopped at a taphouse and each got a celebratory beer.  (don't worry some of you ladies out there, it's safe to have a beer at this point in my pregnancy... and man, was it good!)

the midwifery at denver health was great.  i'd have to say that i was a little jaded because i had a heck-of-a time getting down there (that will be saved for another blog because now it's just a hilarious story).  i was 1/2 an hour late and they waited to close their office for me.  so i didn't get to spend as much time with them as i wanted.  HOWEVER... their stats were even better than dr. breedens.  their c-section rate has never gone higher than 6% over the years (unheard of in the states... our national average is currently at 30% and climbing) and they are consistently 1st, 2nd or 3rd in the nation for successful VBACS.  no matter how warm and fuzzy dr. Breeden was... i just couldn't beat those numbers.  

i guess i'm a numbers gal.

so i've officially switched... 2 1/2 weeks away and i'm switched.

i kind of half expected a disappointed phone call from my OB who i was just so sad to leave, begging me to come back.  but it seems no one over there really cares... apparently this kind of thing happens all of the time.  and apparently i was the only one who was sad to say goodbye.  

now i'm sure a few of you are clutching your chests because you're picturing my hippie-midwife on a stool out in a field catching my baby while i sway with flowers woven through my hair.  but rest easy, i actually will labor at denver health in the labor unit with dr's and an operating room down the hall... literally.  so in the very unlikely event that something should go wrong, i'm in a hospital that is set up to work with emergency surgeries.  the midwife would simply transfer my care to a dr. and i'd get a c-section.  

but let me say this... if i DO get a c-section... i will know at the bottom of my heart that i did EVERYTHING i could to deliver vaginally and that will be that.  no more wondering (like i have so many times with leif) if the dr. had just let me go another couple of days, would i have gone into labor on my own.... or feeling backed into a corner by a conservative dr. who didn't trust my body to do what it was made to do.  this time if i get a c-section, it will be because i absolutely needed one for my safety or the baby's and not for any other reason.  

so that's the plan, stan.  i'm going for it.  i'm going to try to bring this baby into this world the way i feel God intended for me to.  and beside me i'll have a midwife, an amazing doula and most importantly... my champion of a husband.  i'm up for the challenge (i always did like to set big goals for myself... like half marathons, losing 60 pounds... and then meeting those goals).  

so now that the clock is winding down (a little over two weeks until my due date) we'll all just have to sit back, relax and wait for baby K2 to make his or her grand appearance... whatever way God has planned for them to enter this world.  

we're here, we're ready and we can't wait to meet you!

it's leif's birthday... three months early...

the other day i believe the good Lord himself tried to give me a glimpse of how hard this whole having-two-kids-less-than-two-years-apart-gig is going to be. 

i was making leif breakfast and unloading the dishwasher at the same time (don't worry, i'm aware i'll have to let go of this multi-tasking i've just managed to get back when K2 arrives) when leif decided to "help" me with the dishes.  he started grabbing plates and glasses, rather unsteadily, and trying to hand them to me.  

not wanting to discourage such a helpful heart and attitude, i did my best to adjust and keep up with his pace.  but alas, i could not.  because after rescuing a plate from certain doom and stacking it on the shelf, i heard a crash behind me and turned around to see leif with shattered glass all around his little footie pajamas.  he looked up, quite innocently, and asked broken?

yes, baby, broken.  it's OK.  you're a great little helper.  

but let's go sit in our high chair because breakfast is ready 

(and your mama wants to clean up all of this glass without you under her feet).

later that morning, my little independent boy decided he needed wheat thins and he just couldn't wait for his mama to get them for him.  i had just answered a phone call from a prospective doula and so when he grabbed the box from the pantry i thought, no harm in that, he'll stay busy snacking for a few minutes while i wrap this up.  i swear he was out of sight for less than 2 minutes when i went searching for him.  i found him reading in his room, blankets tucked around him, in my glider.  the crackers, on the other hand, had been turned up-side-down on his bed and the dog was dutifully vacuuming them up with his mouth.  after i shoed trooper away, i salvaged the untouched crackers and put them back in the bag, threw away troopers half eaten ones and started to head to the kitchen to get the dust buster for the crumbs.  leif followed me, because he remembered at that moment that he absolutely had to have crackers for snack.  he was quite annoyed that i was going to put them away.  as i rounded the corner to the kitchen, there was my dog, throwing up piles of wheat thins everywhere.  leif curiously watched trooper for a minute, out of genuine concern, asking trooper OK?  

no baby, trooper is sick.

finally trooper was done and i started cleaning up the mess.  by now leif demanded to have the bag of crackers back.  FINE!  i thought... eat them while i work on this.  i handed him the bag, which had just a few crackers and the crumbs left.  well, leif got a little frustrated that the crackers were all of the way at the bottom of the bag, so he decided to problem solve (so intelligent that little man of mine) and get them out of the bag... by dumping them all over the living room floor.  

keeping trooper at bay, i made leif help me pick them up (which goes a little something like, one for leif, one for mama until it's all cleaned up... it also makes it something like twice the clean up time).  then i put leif in his high chair with two crayons and a piece of paper so that i could finish cleaning up dog puke and dust bust the two piles of crumbs in two different rooms of my house.

these jobs took a few minutes.  as in, leif was hardly out of my site and he was contained.  when i got back to his high chair, i found his paper on the floor and his entire tray (and upper lip) colored red.  

it might have been about then that i looked into the heavens and said, 

Lord have mercy on us... 

we're going to have two of them in a few weeks!

i mean, i knew going into this that leif would be almost two when our next one was born... but i guess i also thought his "terrible twos" would hit when he was like, 2 years and 2 months... enough time for me to figure out and learn our next child... not 5 weeks before our next child joined us when leif was still 3 months away from turning 2.  

but i should have known... because for the last couple of weeks, kjaer and i had been commenting to each other about how leif seemed to be picking up some "two year old-ish" traits.  we speculated that maybe it came from the little 2 year old at daycare... who is very much in the throws of his "terrible twos".  we know this because at the daycare's secret santa exchange, he marched over to leif and ripped his new toy out of his hands, screaming "MINE!!!"

kjaer would probably tell you this story a little less dramatically... like, oh... he was just confused.  he thought it was his toy.  he took it from leif, but he eventually gave it back!

(after MUCH persuasion by his parents i might add.)

the whole time this happened, leif stood there a little shell shocked and then said very matter-of-factly, "my tractor!" (which it was).  eventually the issue was resolved and all was well.  and truth be told, i probably wouldn't be so hard on the kid if i hadn't witnessed him do the same thing a few weeks earlier when picking leif up from daycare one afternoon.  

so over christmas break, when leif starting claiming territory all over the house as MINE, it was easy to point fingers at his cute little daycare friend since i had witnessed this behavior before.  

but then leif started something else during break... which may or may not be from this little boy.  when he's mad and doesn't get his way, he commands you to perform with the word NOW.  and, i must say, it's like my little dude's head starts to spin and his voice drops an octave lower when he pulls out this freshly learned word.  

not happy with mommy?  want daddy NOW.

not happy with daddy?  want mommy NOW.

cold?  want blankie NOW.

the other night at dinner, leif was feeling particularly feisty... trying to boss kjaer and i around.  we'd done a pretty good job of dealing with his grumpiness and overall terrible two-ness.  he had thrown his chocolate milk cup on the floor for the umpteenth time and kjaer and i had removed it from his tray.  i had started cleaning up dishes and leif looked at kjaer with the cutest and yet scariest scowl i have ever seen and demanded... want chocolate milk NOW.  

kjaer, tired of being pushed around by middle and high schoolers all day long, wasn't going to stand for it.  he gently explained that leif needed to ask nicely by saying want chocolate milk please.  you might be thinking that this is absurd to ask a 1 year old.  but we have worked really hard with leif on him asking with please and receiving with thank you.  and to be honest, for a 21 month old... he does pretty darn good at saying please and thank you on his own... when he's in the right mood.  so it's not like kjaer was asking him for the moon.  he wanted to hear four simple words: want chocolate milk PLEASE.

well, leif looked at him like, not on your life buddy, and very loudly proclaimed, NO! want chocolate milk NOW.    

and i'm telling you... kjaer stood his ground for a solid 5 or 10 minutes while they went back and forth like this.  there was this little wimpy shadow inside of me that was about to beg kjaer to just hand him the milk so we could be done with this stupid argument.  but in the end, after lots of NOWs and gentle reminders to say please, leif twiddled his thumbs, protested with a few cries and said, more milk please, whilst staring angrily at his tray.

and that was that. 

his mama was standing there thinking... oh lord, have we got it coming or what?!?!  

because let me tell you something about my little dude... that child has an iron will.  he is fiercely independent and very stubborn.  i've known this about him since i was pregnant with him... go ahead and roll your eyes, but it's true.  he would be kick, kick, kicking away and the instant i would take his daddy's hand (or anyone else's for that matter) and lay it on my tummy, i could literally feel him turn and give them the cold shoulder.  he's so strong willed, he wouldn't evict from my womb!!!  i never did go into labor after going to the acupuncturist 4 times and chiropractor 3 times, walking many rounds (albeit slow and breathless) around the blocks and doing every-god-forsaken-thing doctors and friends tell you to do to go into labor several times a day.  when he was born, the doctor had to pull him from behind part of my hip bone because he had wedged himself up there in an effort to keep from dropping (remember, he had dropped and moved back up?)  when he was an infant, i knew he was strong willed... i learned this while trying to learn how to breastfeed.  when i told others this, i think they thought i was complaining about him... and maybe in a way i was.  but i think i was more shocked because i didn't know this little 8 pound cutie patootie could have so much spunk from day one.  

but to be honest, i LOVE that he's so spunky.  i LOVE that one of his first and favorite words was NO (even though that was quite shocking to hear from a wee little one who couldn't even walk yet).  because i think it means that later in life, others won't be able to push him around.  he has the cojones to stick up for himself and what is right and say NO while meaning it.  and i hope he says NO to all sorts of things, especially as he gets into high school and college.  i hope he sticks to his guns, like he did with his chocolate milk showdown with his daddy.  

there's a part of me that is beginning to see the awesome privilege of taking my child's hand and teaching him about choices, respect and boundaries.  and then there's a part of me that's scared to death of failing... especially when leif is turning the corner into a pivotal stage of development and my hands are going to suddenly be full with a brand new baby.  

but it's then that i remember a promise from Jeremiah 29:11 "I know the plans I have for you, " declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." and i know that not only is this promise for kjaer and i... but for our beautifully, wonderfully created masterpiece of a son.  

it's comforting to know that in spite of our successes and failures, because i'm sure there will be plenty of both, the Lord has plans to prosper each of us.  no matter what kjaer and i do, ultimately, the Lord has my little leif in the palms of his hands... shaping him to become the man he has created him to be... a man who will stick to his guns, be fiercely loyal, independent and yet sensitive and caring towards others.  so no matter what happens over the next few months... because i'm sure there will be plenty of chaos (and probably a sobbing mama every so often) we will all come through refined and stronger... including our little man whom we love to pieces and wouldn't trade for any other two year old in the world.   

let's just hope that over the next couple of months,

our house doesn't fall apart in the process!

i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours...

i was inspired by another blog to do this... i thought it was so perfectly funny and refreshing to read another woman airing out her "top 5 quirks" of the year.  immediately i thought, i should do that.  and although i have many... oh-so-many things that make me quirky... i will name the top 5 i've noticed in myself this year.  in other words, they've probably existed in me for a long time... but i'm only now beginning to dust off the surface of my very crazy self.

i hope you feel inspired to do so as well.

1.) i'm sure every mother has their thing that they obsess over with their child.  for some it's body temperature... which i don't really care about, as my mother likes to point out every time she sees her grandson and thinks he's freezing to death (even though he's just fine to me).  for others it's a sleep schedule... and leif has forced me to throw my hands up in the air on this one.  i've spent the last 20 months of his life trying to figure him out and finally gave in because he is not like all of your perfectly sleep trained children (read... he is STUBBORN)  he fights sleep and i'm tired of fighting him to conform so i gave up.  as long as he takes a nap at some point and goes to bed before 9 (but preferably 8) i'm happy.  tonight i had him in bed by 8... he finally went to sleep at 9:30.

see?

i. give. up.

nope.  for me it's something else... choking... on food more specifically.

the child will be starving to death and i'm over at his plate sawing his food into tiny pieces because lord help us all if i have to perform the heimlich on him.  if he were to choke, i'd probably run around in circles asking myself if he qualifies for the infant method or the adult method.  it's so bad, that when others give him chunks of food, i break them into smaller pieces when they're not looking because i'm just sure they are the obstruction his little throat has been waiting for.

it doesn't help that a couple of times, when i've tried to relax about it, he's choked.  for instance, the other night he was in the bathtub and i was chewing on crushed ice from a cup (a pregnancy craving, i guess).  he likes ice too.  this evening in particular he was asking for pieces of ice and then watching what happened when they hit the water.  at first i was giving him tiny pieces, in case he stuck them in his mouth.  but after several pieces going straight into the bathwater i loosened the reigns.

bad move.

when he asked for another piece i gave him a larger piece so that it would last longer in the bathtub.  what did that child do, you ask?  plopped it straight into his mouth.

breath monica, i told myself, he's almost 2 years old, he chews on ice all the time.  

he's fine.  

you. need. to. chill.  

so i sat back and pseudo-relaxed while my little man sat there happily bathing and sucking on ice.  and then he gagged on it... the dirty rat.  just when i start to let go of my obsession he sucked me back in.

of course, he cleared it himself just fine and didn't even hardly wince.  i, on the other hand, was getting ready to pull out my iPhone and start searching for how-to videos on clearing ice from your toddlers throat.

he'll probably be the only kid in elementary school whose sandwich will fit in a tiny container instead of a ziplock bag because i will have cut it for him into small, bite size pieces.  not really... i mean, i actually let him eat a 1/2 of a sandwich this week without cutting it up.  i stood their in the kitchen admiring the mastery of his whole sandwich-eating-ability and patting myself on the back for being such a great mother.  he's so brilliant, i thought to myself.

but i'll still probably puree his raw vegetables.

just kidding... or am i?  :)

2.) my kitchen has to be clean when i go to bed.  i repeat... i can not go to sleep unless the kitchen is immaculate... well, that may be too strong of a word now that i have a child.  but even still, the dishes must be loaded (the correct way) into the dishwasher, hand washed items must be cleaned and on the drying rack, crumbs wiped off of the counters and tables and i would prefer that all of the days work, receipts, papers, etc. are tucked away.  i don't care whether you tuck them down your pants or put them where they belong... i just don't want to see them. (although this is why i have so many little baskets all over the place because my husband is the king of receipts and papers that i cannot get rid of).  i want the illusion of cleanliness.  it helps me to feel in control and able to handle what you throw at me.

the minute my kitchen gets "undone" i feel my soul start to itch and scratch.  i'm pretty sure my left eye twitches and i probably start giving the look to kjaer when i see him set things on the counter.  in fact, my high-metabolism man often eats an evening snack before going to bed and i just cannot understand how that certain dish can't make it into the dishwasher.  he sets it on the counter above the dishwasher... not in it.  when i see this, nearly every night, my blood boileth over.  i've tried to just quietly put it away or mention it in passing... but it's clearly not a quirk of his that he sees as very important because he just handsomely smiles at me and shrugs while he says i was going to take care of it later.  (i hate that word... later... blech).  and he probably has every intention of doing it later... but later has a different meaning to kjaer than it does to me.  later might mean tomorrow morning or three days from now.  but me... i want it done NOW (another quirk that will probably not make the top 5 cut).  

the kitchen is my domain. i am its ruler.  and it must be respected by all who enter.

3.)  number two reminds me of another thing that is quirky.  my house could have dust an inch thick on its furniture, floors that haven't been vacuumed in 2 weeks, laundry piles the size of everest... but if my kitchen and living room floors are swept i feel so. much. better.

i remember after i had leif one of my biggest frustrations was my house felt like it was falling apart.  i felt totally responsible for keeping it clean to my old standards (i think because i was home and not working).  these standards have sooo-ho-ho changed since b.b. (before baby) but i could not figure out how to balance cleaning with a brand new baby (and the increase leif brought in laundry, changing the sheets nearly every day because of my crazy milk supply, and just functioning in general!)  

one time, my mother in law had taken me to a doctors appointment (because i still couldn't drive).  when i got home i was a wreck.  i went to the bathroom and bled on our white bathroom rug and then i had to nurse leif, which at the time was like asking me to lead the entire nation in a prayer meeting.  i was very stressed out, sitting in the nursery trying to figure out how i could accomplish one thing that would make me feel better since everything else was a fiery disaster.   my mother in law had been kind enough to clean the blood off of the rug for me and she came in and asked if there was anything else she could do for me before she left. 

i couldn't help myself.  deep down i heard all of the wisdom of new-mothers-past whispering in my ears; when people ask what they can do for you, be honest and tell them what would help.

and yes, you guessed it...  i asked her to sweep my floors. 

i just knew if they were cleaner, i would feel better. 

and seriously, i could have kissed her feet for sweeping them. (still could)

she turned my whole day around with a broom and a dust pan.

i'm still so grateful for that kind gesture of hers.  she'll probably never understand what that meant to my fragile little self on that day.  

4.) strangely, in spite of kind gestures like that... i have a very hard time accepting help in any form from people.  some of this has to do with my control issues.  when leif was born people were helping by folding my towels and putting them away, folding his diapers and putting them away... just little jobs they thought i would appreciate.

and i really tried to appreciate them.

really... i did.

but nobody folds my towels and puts them away the way i do.  and only a handful of people know how to fold the diapers and stack them the way i like.  so, if you are kind enough to do these things for me, i'll appreciate your gesture... but i can only live a day or two before refolding and restacking these two items.  but don't worry too much, because i'll feel guilty the whole time.  i can feel my husband's eyes boring into the back of my neck as i busily refold things and i can hear him thinking they are just towels and diapers, woman!  let it go.  but i know he is very particular about other things like the exact cup he drinks from for each beverage he consumes, water spots on the bathroom sink and how to hang his clothes... so he can't be too hard on me.

the other reason i can't accept help is because i feel like i need to be independent all of the time.  i think this is a trait i've picked up on from my mom, because my dad travelled for work most of my life so she was responsible for everything.  just the other day i was getting stuff ready for my thirty-one mailing, working on washing and drying diapers, cleaning the kitchen (duh) and getting ready to leave for a lunch date with a dear friend of mine.  i already felt like a champ because i had asked for help (gasp) by seeing if kjaer could return something to costco he was unhappy with and pick up a few items there.  but i wanted to handle the rest... i was going to go to kinkos to run copies for my mailing, pick up more laundry soap (we have to buy a special kind for our diapers) and go to lunch.  kjaer very kindly took my copy and asked me how many copies he could make for me while i was out to lunch and i practically snatched it from his hands exclaiming i can do it, you don't have to. kjaer kind of stood there shell-shocked because he was just trying to be nice, after all, and here i was not letting him be nice to me.  i could tell from the look on his handsome brow that he couldn't understand why i wouldn't just accept his kind gesture and just let him help me out.

and then i found myself back peddling... copies are no big deal, i'll be going right by the kinkos store on the way home, blah, blah, blah.  but the whole time i was b.s.-ing i was thinking, what the heck is wrong with you?  you always complain how overwhelmed you are and here this man is trying to let you have an enjoyable afternoon with your friend while he shows his love for you by doing errands for you and watching leif.  

it's a sickness, i suppose.  very unhealthy.  

i definitely need to improve upon this before baby k2 arrives, because i'll need more help than ever and kjaer is my teammate.  

when i asked kjaer the other night about my quirks (because i was thinking about this blog) and i mentioned this one... he whole-heartedly agreed.  the speed in which his agreement came almost validated how bad i really must be.  

i'm working on it, people... really.

5) i'm terrified of antiperspirant and microwaves.  this has only developed in the last couple of years, i'm pretty sure because i witnessed the horrific cancer death of my father.  as i've walked away from that experience, much stronger and wiser in many ways... i've also walked away with several fears.  the biggest one being that i will get... or someone i love will (again) get... cancer.  if somebody i love has a weird sore or something weird going on (like when trooper was sick this summer) i go into crazy-cancer mode.  (just ask kjaer about the time he found me laying on troopers dog bed with him crying because i was sure he was dying of cancer... maybe i'll save that for another blog).

of course, i do the only logical thing... i blame it on antiperspirants and microwaves... even though there are sooooo many factors at stake (and clearly trooper doesn't wear deodorant... although his food IS by the microwave).  actually, i have to say i've always been a little teensy bit jumpy around microwaves.  that probably started back in the day of disney afternoons with my brothers after school.  we'd make snacks and watch tailspin and gummy bears while waiting for my aunt to come home to watch us.  one day i got the bright idea to microwave chocolate chips on a mound of peanut butter covered in tin foil.  apparently no one informed me about metal in microwaves.  well, a spark was thrown and i turned off the microwave faster than... well, i don't know... but fast enough that everyone and everything was ok.  when i called my mom at work to tell her of said spark, she quickly schooled me on microwave safety and probably breathed an audible sigh of relief that her daughter didn't burn down her house with her other more well behaved children inside.  

so ever since then i haven't trusted those things.  

when leif was born, my microwave conspiracy theory heightened.  every morning when i made my oatmeal before work, i would press start and take leif into another room... or at least scooch his high chair AWAY from that side of the room.  i'm particularly scared of kjaer's microwave i inherited through marriage, as it has the tendency to scorch something if you cook it the recommended way.  i have to cook it at reduced power (80%) for everything.  

i knew my aversion to microwaves had gone too far when i casually brought up said fear to my dear martha after dragging leif's high chair across the floor to nuke my coffee before leaving for work.  (see? we even say "nuke"... shouldn't that tell us all something?)  she kind of giggled at me.  then i proceeded to tell her i never prepared any of leif's food in the microwave.  i could tell she knew i was on board the crazy train when she asked if i prepared food for myself in the microwave and i responded... "well... yes..."  we both sort of laughed and i told her that in THIS particular case, it was better off left as "if i don't know about it, i won't care."  thereby giving her full reign of the microwave.  as long as we both understood that i didn't want to know because i knew i'd go a little crazy thinking about my little dudes brains getting "nuked".  

this is around the same time my armpits began to get sore in the lymph node region.  i'd sigh and toss and turn at night worrying that i had cancer of the armpits because of my deodorant. i'd google cancer findings on antiperspirant and scare the crap out of myself every time i'd read something else about it.  i'd rub my armpits and exclaim i had cancer to kjaer every day.  i couldn't understand why, when i went to buy kjaer's deodorant, HE could get it without antiperspirant and still smell like a dream by the end of the day... but the ENTIRE aisle of women's deodorant was antiperspirant ONLY.  i mean... i guess that just lends itself to the whole pressure of society on how perfect women have to be because they AREN'T EVEN ALLOWED TO PERSPIRE!  we started shopping for deodorant's without aluminum at health food stores, trying to find one that left me feeling as fresh as possible.  all i have to say about this endeavor is although my friends and family never said anything about my smell... i still felt not-so-fresh.  so i'd cheat and use my secret lavender which was chock full of aluminum and then spend all day worrying that i'd have cancer.  it was and is a vicious cycle.  

now that i work part time i wear my antiperspirant on days that i work and on days that i don't i use the crappy deodorant that doesn't work nearly as good as my husbands (don't ask me why) because usually on those days it's just him, leif and the people i run into at the grocery store who have to see me... and i don't know about you but they don't hug me when i pay for my groceries, so i'm ok with not smelling like a goddess on those days.  i still worry about my three days of using (sometimes 4), but figure that less exposure is better than 24/7 exposure.  

6.)  i have a terrible aversion to any sort of light after i've gone to bed.  i learned this after living with my dear husband... who wakes up in the middle of the night, goes out to the kitchen, turns on a light,  eats a bowl of cereal, comes back to bed and is back asleep in no time.  he does the same thing when he goes to the bathroom.  i mean, we're talking direct exposure to light, people!!  

i just can't even make sense of him!

i'd be laying in our dark room and the light in the kitchen would go on... i'd practically arch my back like a pissed off cat and hiss.  if light even touches my irises, i'm doomed.  i'm awake.  

for this reason alone, i mentally map out every environment i sleep in so that i can find my way to the bathroom, use said bathroom, and return back to bed without touching a single switch.  in some places (like my home) i've even done part of my bathroom trek with my eyes closed because of a nightlight or kitchen light that i thought was too offensive.  when leif was a newborn i could change his diaper in the dark or by light of a cell phone.  only on very rare occasions would i reach around the doorway into another room to turn that light on and close the door almost all of the way so that i could have a sliver of light to see with...  although, i would have fallen asleep standing up in broad daylight during those days as i was so exhausted.  don't know what i was so worried about.  it must be that it isn't even the falling back asleep factor, which sometimes plays a big part.  it's also just the sight of light when it's SUPPOSED to be dark.  it's just bad for business.  

i'm so bad that before leif was born, when kjaer would be going into our closet to get clothes early in the morning for himself he'd have to say "LIGHTS" and i would cover my head with a pillow until i heard the switch go off.  (he's up about an hour before me).  even now that kjaer and i have been living together for several years, he's so good at getting up and getting what he needs in the dark, shutting the door behind him and then turning the bathroom light on.  i still can manage to lay there, bothered by the light coming from under the doorway.  

the weirdest part about this is that i was terrified of the dark as a little girl.  in fact, i had to sleep with the hall light on until i was in the 8th grade.  is that even normal?  i always figured that most kids got over that fear earlier than i did.  

7.)  sometimes, when i run by myself... i count.  it's hard to explain and it's been such a long while since i've actually been able to run long enough to get into a rhythm (sigh)... but it's like i count my steps and breathing and how they synch up together.  it sounds, if i remember correctly, a little like one-un-un, two-oo-oo, three-ee-ee, one-un-un, two-oo-oo, three-ee-ee.  don't ask me to explain anymore... it gives me a rhythm, keeps my feet moving and my mind off of the work i'm doing.

well... there you have it.  my quirks.  those things you probably wouldn't know unless you were a fly on the wall. and yes, i realize that i originally wanted to tell you 5 but then the 6th and 7th ones sort of just jumped onto the page.  i can count, i just can't stop blabbering on about myself!   

but now i'm curious.

 i know we all have these little things others might find odd... so let me hear yours... if you dare.