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. 

lets doula this...

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

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

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

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

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

i don't remember, actually.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

and waited...

and waited.

until my doctor threatened to fire me.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(!!!!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    

dear kim kardashian...

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

and the media was so cruel...

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

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

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

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

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

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

quick to speak...

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

ummmm... thank you?

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

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

because WHO SAYS THAT STUFF?!?!?

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

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

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

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

not.

on.

purpose.

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

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

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

but it did.

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

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

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

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

because this to shall pass...

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

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

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

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

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

i promise.

baby k1 and baby k2

up high, down low...

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

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

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

it involves him.

and usually, i do this kind of embarrassing stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

the beauty of this is two fold.

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

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

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

leif's badge of honor...

my dear baby boy,

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

you are going to love being a big brother.  

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

big brother.

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

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

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

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

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

perhaps it comes with the territory...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

love,
mama