Twins, really?!

Ever since AD was born, people have been telling us that she and G are practically twins. I have to admit, they look A LOT alike. At first, it was funny. Now? I'm not laughing anymore. The similarities are not only uncanny, they're making me nervous. I've already posted about AD's heart murmur; she has an echo-cardiogram scheduled for Monday, November 25. We're still hopeful that what the nurse has told us is true and that AD's murmur is benign. TDH Man and I are trying to ignore the repeated phrases that we heard when G had his evaluations: "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing... it sounds benign!" Instead, we're trying to focus on the odds: a congenital heart defect is pretty rare and to have TWO kids with it? Well, that would just be downright crazy. Right?

And then this past Monday, I took G and AD for kidney ultrasounds. We already knew that G has a duplex collection system on his right kidney, probably related to his microtia and atresia, since the kidneys and ears develop at the same time in utero. A few weeks ago, AD had a terribly high fever, spiking at 105 for a time. The pediatrician's office did a catheterized urine catch and the results came back as having a mild UTI. I have my doubts about that because her fever broke without ever taking any antibiotics and the fever resolved itself. Still, it was scary and because she's so young, the doctor wanted her kidneys evaluated to rule out any physical anomaly. Wouldn't you know it, they found that the tubes in her right kidney are split, so she has two where only one should be. We aren't sure what this means for her yet, but the next round of tests will be on Friday morning. They'll inject her bladder with contrasting dye to see if she has a reflux issue in her kidneys and once we know that result, we'll figure out the next step.

But, of course, that's not all. Here we were, worrying about our AD when G decided he didn't want to be left out of the testing-fun. You know it's never a good sign when, after the ultrasound tech leaves to check to see if she 'got enough good pictures', she brings the doctor on-duty back into the room with her. I have to say, my heart sunk a bit when she walked into the room. She gave me a brief run-down of both results, but I guess I was focused so much on AD that I didn't really understand what she was saying about G. Turns out his kidney is swelling and it's probably caused by a blockage somewhere. So now he has to go for more tests and yet another doctor.  Are you keeping track of how many specialists see G now?  Here!  Let me list them for you!

Maxillofacial surgeon - for Hemifacial microsomia
Facial Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeon - for Microtia
Cardiac Surgeon - for an Atrioventricular Septal Defect and cleft valve
Otologist - for Atresia and hearing loss
Audiologist - for hearing loss
Physical therapist - for gross motor delays
Occupational therapist - for fine motor delays
Hearing therapist - for severe deafness in right ear
Urologist - for Hydronephrosis

No wonder I'm dizzy...

Perspective

I have a day to myself, oh, yes I do. E had a dental cleaning this morning, so I took the opportunity to take a day off and sit at home. Normally, I'd use the time to catch up on housecleaning and call it a day. But I promised myself that I'd do some things for ME this time around. And so, here I am, writing a long-due blog post. What else have I done today for me? Yes, laundry and dishes, but I also cut my nails. That sounds like such a silly, small thing, doesn't it? It's all about perspective.

I've realized more and more lately that everything in my world is about perspective. There are some times when I'm really proud to be able to say I have a decent perspective on a situation and sometimes, I miss the mark completely. TDH Man almost always has a perspective that I envy. He's a person that's open to what life throws at him; I can only think of one time when something threw him for a real loop and it's not something I'd care to have happen again. I struggle with keeping things in perspective, especially when it comes to the kids. G just turned three and he is quite the handful. I was blessed to have my first boy be relatively easy. Perhaps God made him that way because everything else in my life at the time he was born was complete chaos. G, on the other hand, has been a handful since the second he was conceived. I'm trying to learn to embrace that, to watch him as he grows and to revel in the gifts that God has given him even when they don't jive with what I'd like them to be. He's strong-willed? Perhaps that's God's gift to him to be able to persevere through the medical issues that are ahead of him (or even those that are already behind him). He's not affectionate? Perhaps that's God's gift to him so that he won't get his feelings hurt by others when they realize he has physical differences and when he does get to be close to someone, he's certain they love him for him. I don't know, but it's got to be in the perspective.

AD had her nine-month appointment yesterday and the pediatrician found a heart murmur. I smiled. Yes, you read that right: I smiled. Not because I'm happy that he found something that could potentially cause us to have to walk the same path we've walked with G, but because I know that this is part of God's plan. Perhaps AD has holes in her heart, just as G did and God put her in our family because her parents and brother have already gone down that path in life. Perspective.

So now, while I pray that our little girl doesn't have to go through open-heart surgery, I am grateful that we've done it before and we know what's ahead if that's what it comes to for her.

Opening more doors, faithfully

This speech was originally given at the Portsmouth United Methodist Church by me on May 29, 2011 as part of our church's Faith in Action series. I give a speech every month about practical ways you can share your faith with others. If you ever have a suggestion, please let me know in the comments!


A few weeks ago I attended an event to listen to an author talk about his recent book.  During the question and answer period, someone asked the author how his faith had impacted his life thus far and I think that his answer really spoke volumes about the process of sharing faith.  He said, and excuse me for paraphrasing, that as you grow in your own faith, you transform from a person who is concerned with your own world to a person who is concerned with the world around you. If you follow the author's way of thinking, then the first step in the faith-sharing process is a personal one.  By examining your own faith, you start on the path from inward to outward-thinking and over time, I believe that this causes you to grow in faith.  I never thought about the progression of faith in that way before, but I think it's very true.  If I think about how my own faith has grown, I certainly see the parallel to what the author was talking about.  As I understood more about my faith in God and what it meant to follow His word, I inevitably changed my way of thinking.  I became a person who wanted to be more Christ-like, and when that happened, I found that I became a more outward-focused person in my actions as well as my thoughts.  That's what I want to talk about today.  

I whole-heartedly believe that God gave us His Word, He gave us the gift to read and hear and learn his Word to help us grow in faith.  Once you have that faith, that gift of belief, the only thing you CAN do is share it.  But how?  Although there are many ways of sharing your faith, it all starts with YOU.  See, when you allow yourself to grow in your own faith, it's almost impossible to keep it to yourself; you want to SHARE it. And that's the point, isn't it?  Sometimes the specifics of sharing faith are difficult.  People become afraid of evangelizing and pushing their beliefs on others and in that fear, they keep their faith to themselves.  I will say that for me, the easiest way to share my faith has to been to surround myself with God, to allow Him into all parts of my life whenever possible.  I frequently tell people I'm praying for them, and then I do.  I share with others what I'm doing here at our church.  I talk with my Christian friends and my non-Christian friends about what it means to have faith.  I talk and I talk and I talk.  But above all else, I listen.  You've heard me talk about how faith can open doors, and about how when you least expect it, God will make Himself known and shine His light into your world.  When you take the time to examine your own faith and allow yourself to grow in your belief, in your faith, you'll start to see opportunities that you didn't realize where there.  You will start to see those doors opening for you.

Happy, happy number three, G.

Our boy, G, our middle child, turned three today. I wrote this about the day he was born a few years ago. It's only proper to share it today.

After 42 weeks of waiting, TDH Man and I were more than ready on Friday morning to meet our baby.  We woke up just like any other morning, had breakfast and got Evan off to the bus.  Once we got home, we sat and waited for the midwife to call and tell us to come to the hospital.  I did a last load of laundry while TDH Man read the paper and at around 9:30am, Maureen, the midwife on call, phoned to tell us that they were very busy on the labor and delivery floor of the hospital so she was going to have to wait to see what time we could come in.  "Don't worry, it WILL be today though", she told us.  Finally at 10:30am, the nurse on the L&D floor called and asked us to get there as soon as possible. I told her we lived about 40 minutes from the hospital and she said "OK.  Don't speed, but we need you to get here as soon as possible."  So, we were off!

We quickly packed the last few things for the hospital, I put the laundry in the dryer and we headed out the door.  On the way to the hospital, we stopped at CVS so that I could get some Lansinoh and some more wipes.  Sadly, they were out of the Lansinoh, so we just headed to the hospital. TDH Man and I arrived at the triage area and checked in with registration.  Once we were done with the paperwork, they brought us upstairs and showed us to our room.  A few minutes after arriving, Maureen peeked into the room and we went over the plan for the afternoon.  The first step was to check to see if she could break my water and if so, we'd see if that would kickstart my labor.  The Alternative Birthing Center was taken with another woman in labor, so that was no longer an option for us.  I was a bit disappointed, but we'd try to replicate the experience as much as possible, Maureen told us.  Around 11:30am, Maureen decided it was time to get started so she did an internal exam and saw that I was still only about 3-4 cm dilated.  She said it was going to be a bit tricky, but she would try to break my water anyway.  She did it and then told us to walk around to see if my labor would start on it's own.  They hooked me up to the telemetry monitors and TDH Man and I proceeded to walk the hallways for the next few hours.  Maureen would come to check on me periodically and she told me that I was having contractions about 3-4 minutes apart, but I couldn't feel any of them.  She said that since I wasn't feeling them, they weren't the kind of contractions that were productive and she was willing to let me go for another 30 minutes or so before making the call about the pitocin.  TDH Man and I agreed, so we just continued to walk in the hopes that labor would start.

Around 2:30pm, Maureen reviewed the contraction and baby monitor and decided to start the pitocin.  Because I was already having contractions regularly and baby was still doing well, she started me off on the lowest dose possible.  TDH Man and I walked more laps.  About 30 minutes later, I still couldn't feel any contractions, so they doubled the dose and we walked some more.  Thirty minutes later, Maureen checked on me again and I was still not feeling any contractions.  We laughed and said that if this kept up I was going to have the easiest labor in the world since I was actually having contractions (according to the monitors) but I still couldn't feel them.  Finally at 4:30pm or so they increased the dose again and TDH Man and I walked some more.  Around 4:45pm, I finally started to feel some cramping and decided that I couldn't sit any longer and needed to walk around.  When the contractions were strong enough to get my attention, I told TDH Man to go down to the cafeteria to get some dinner because I knew that this was the beginning and I needed to make sure he was well fed and not starving the whole night.  He ran downstairs and when he got back at 5:00pm, I started having to breathe through the contractions.  They were definitely getting stronger as the time went by.  TDH Man ate quickly and we walked the hallways again to keep labor going.  Finally around 6:00pm, the pain was getting intense, so Maureen checked me and I was 6cm dilated.  Maureen suggested that I go and sit on the toilet to help with the pain.  I did so and when the pain of sitting got to be too much, I asked if I could get into the shower and Maureen told the nurse that we could stop the pitocin and let me labor on my own now.  I got into the shower and I have to say it felt SO good!  TDH Man was able to stand outside the shower and hold the sprayer on my back to help relax me and I was able to just stand there for the next hour or so.  I have to say, this was the best part of labor!  I can remember joking around with him and Maureen would come in and check on my progress now and then.  It was just relaxing and so easy-going at this point.

When I started to feel more pressure with the contractions, Maureen suggested that I get out of the shower and she would check me to see if it was time to push yet.  I was finally at 9cm dilated and feeling tons of pressure in my belly and backside but she said that she couldn't let me push quite yet.  By this time, I was already more than half way through transition, so she kept suggesting different ways to help me get over that final centimeter. I changed positions a few time, first trying to lean over the bed, then trying to be on my knees on the bed.  Squatting by the side of the bed helped, but I couldn't get that last centimeter out of my head.  I remember telling baby to move down, move down, move down over and over.  Finally, when the pressure became too much, I told Maureen that I really wanted to push now and she said she'd check me again.  Just as before, she said I was still at 9cm and she didn't want me to push yet.  She suggested I try to empty my bladder because sometimes that will slow baby from moving down enough.  I tried, but nothing happened and the pain of sitting during the contractions was too much to bear.  At this point, she told me to try laying on the bed and she would see if I could push that last centimeter out of the way.  I laid on my back but it was so painful to lay down that I kept saying "I don't want to lay down... I don't like this position!"  At this point, my blood pressure had started to rise a bit and so Maureen asked me to lay on my side to try to get that last centimeter out of the way.  The nurse gave me some oxygen because the baby's heartrate dipped a little bit.

Maureen decided that it would be best to try to push through that last centimeter because we needed to get the baby out as soon as possible.  I remember her saying "This is a much more difficult second labor than I thought it would be for you.  I'm sorry!"  Because I was still so uncomfortable on my back, she suggested that I try to push while lying on my side, but no matter how I tried, I couldn't get enough leverage to push effectively.  After a few tries, Maureen told me that as much as I hated it, I pushed so much better while being on my back.  I agreed to stay on my back and around 8:00pm, we started pushing.  At first the pushes weren't moving baby down very quickly.  Maureen kept encouraging me to push harder and she kept trying to loosen my cervix around baby's head to help the descent.  TDH Man kept whispering in my ear, telling me that he could see baby's head and that I was doing really well.  He helped hold my legs up and was cheering me on with every push.  I remember a few minutes of just staring in his eyes, gathering my strength when I thought I wasn't going to be able to do it any longer.  I don't remember Maureen telling me that I was fully dilated at anytime, but I remember thinking she was going to stop me from pushing at any moment and tell me that I was still only 9cm.  The thought scared the daylights out of me!

Finally, something happened and baby shifted just a bit and at 8:45pm, my pushes became much more effective and I remember Maureen telling the nurse to call the doctor because the baby was going to come soon.  I remember crying and saying that I was never going to be able to get the baby out and that I just couldn't do it anymore.  TDH Man, Maureen and the nurses kept encouraging me, saying that the could see the baby and that I was so close!  Maureen had me reach down and feel the baby's head and that was all that I needed to keep going.  I gathered my strength and pushed 4 or 5 more times.  I could feel an intense pressure, but I never had that 'ring of fire' feeling that women talk about.  Suddenly, I felt more pressure and Maureen told me to push hard and suddenly the pressure was gone.  The baby was born at 9:05pm after about an hour of pushing.  I saw Maureen pull the baby away from my body and all I could see was it's arm and it was so, so blue.  I started panicking and kept saying "Is the baby alright?  Is it alright?"  Maureen held the baby low and clamped the cord.  I could see TDH Man standing near the baby and Maureen told him to go with the baby to the warmer.  I kept saying "Is it alright?!" And Maureen said "Tell them what they have!  They don't even know what they have yet!"  TDH Man came back over to me and said "It's a boy!  We have a boy!".  I was still in panic mode and I kept saying "Is he ok?  Is he alright?  I can't hear him crying!"  TDH Man said "He's fine, baby, he's crying!  Do you hear him?  He's fine!"  The nurses worked on him for a bit and my husband asked if he should stay with me or with the baby.  I told him to stay with the baby and watch him.  The nurses were so amazed at how big he was that they wanted to get him on the scale fast.  When they were ready, they called TDH Man over to take pictures of our boy on the scale:  10 pounds, 14 ounces!

Now that the baby was out, Maureen worked on getting me to deliver the placenta.  After 30 minutes, it still wasn't delivered and so Maureen told the nurse to restart the pitocin to get the placenta delivered.  Because I had already had the IV started, she started the medication, but after a few minutes, my hand started to burn terribly.  Somehow I had moved the IV while pushing and the fluid was backing up into my arm.  They had to start another IV line in my other arm because the swelling was so bad in my left arm.  Finally, about 45 minutes later, I delivered the placenta and Maureen said "Wow, even the placenta is huge!"

The nurses cleaned G up and handed him over to his dad.  By this time, I remember being freezing and shaking uncontrollably. I had gotten a second-degree tear from pushing so Maureen worked on stitching me up while TDH Man brought the baby over to me.  I was so uncomfortable being on my back that Maureen promised to work quickly to repair the tear and get me comfortable again.  I was still shaking so bad that the nurse finally brought some warmed blankets over to me and after Maureen was done, I could finally sit back and TDH Man brought G over so I could see him.  The pediatrician on call came over to talk to us about G because they had discovered his right ear was folded over and he had a skin tag on his cheek.  She explained that the two things can be indicative of other problems, but that right now she didn't see anything wrong with him that would require a stay in the NICU for now.  She said that they would watch him over the next few days, but she was releasing him to us for the night.

Once we were all cleaned up and situated, TDH Man and I sat and just looked at our new baby.  It was just amazing to think the he was actually here, safe and sound.  I have so many great memories of the labor and I can't rave enough about how great my husband was throughout the entire labor.  He was nervous that he wasn't going to be able to help me, but it was so wonderful to have him there and he was such a big help.  I remember just staring in his eyes a few times when it got to be rough and it helped to center me and made me remember how much he loved me and was there helping me.  I'm so proud that I got to have the labor that I was hoping for and that even though he was two weeks late, G made his way into this world peacefully and relatively easily.  I'm so blessed to have my three boys in my life.  And now, we start our journey as a family of four!

It hurts no less.

Three years ago, this happened:

Woman killed in wreck on Tarpon Springs Road

And three years later, it still hurts. She wasn't just a woman, she was my blood-mother. No matter what our relationship was, she was the woman who gave birth to me. And it hurts like nothing else to know that she is gone from this world.

My mother in an undated photo.

So today, no matter how crappy your day seems, remember that someone else is hurting too and try to be kind. Please.

Sharing your faith, through doors and windows

This speech was originally given at the Portsmouth United Methodist Church by me on April 22, 2011 as part of our church's Faith in Action series. I give a speech every month about practical ways you can share your faith with others. If you ever have a suggestion, please let me know in the comments!

I learned this week of the Pascal Greeting tradition. I wondered out loud to my husband when the tradition fell out of favor, if it indeed had.  I haven't heard of it and don't think anyone has ever greeted me with "He is risen!" to which I should have replied "Truly, He is risen!"  This greeting is a wonderful reminder of the joy that Jesus brings and personally, it makes my heart sing to say it.  He is risen, he is risen indeed!

Today I wanted to talk to you about doors, specifically opening doors.  The process of sharing your faith is a lot like learning to open doors.  When you start to open those doors, you start on a path that leads you and others around you, to God.  But even getting that door open can seem like a daunting task sometimes.  I'm not always good at opening doors.  I tend to stay in my own little room, oblivious to those around me, to their joy, their pain, their questions. 

A few years ago, I found myself in a situation I never thought I would be in: sitting in a courthouse, waiting for my divorce attorney to meet me.  It was not a high-point in my life.  My world had been disrupted in a way I couldn't imagine and yet, here I sat in this cold, hard building with a bunch of strangers bustling about all probably feeling the same thing.  Maybe it's my heightened sense of literary drama, but it always seems to me you can feel the pain in those places.  Courthouses usually mean nothing but pain and anger and distrust. There are so many emotions on display, right out there, raw and uncensored.  Being the closed-door kind of person I am, that makes it all the more uncomfortable to me.  But, there I sat, by myself, watching so many dramas unfold and feeling utterly alone.  I had brought a book to read, knowing that I would probably have some time to kill, but I couldn't read it.  Nerves, anxiety, whatever it was, I couldn't concentrate so I just sat there. Close by, there was a women sitting on a bench, intently staring at an index card.  Now, as I said before, I'm a closed-door person; I have a very hard time talking to strangers (I think my parents were probably a little too successful with that whole stranger-danger lesson), but something moved in me to speak to this woman. So, I asked her what was on her card.  I can't remember if she read it aloud or just handed it to me, but this is what it said "Are not five sparrows sold for just 2 pennies?  And yet, not one of them is forgotten or uncared for in the presence of God.  But the very hairs of your head are all numbered... Do not be struck with fear or seized with alarm; you are of greater worth than many flocks of sparrows." 

That verse from Luke spoke to me.  In a time of my life where I felt alone, that I had made some terrible mistakes and had no worth in God's eyes, a stranger shared God's word with me, she shared her faith. She didn't know that some stranger was going to ask her about the card in her hand when she wrote it; she carried it for herself, for her own comfort.  But her faith came through on that card and in the end, she passed it onto me.  We talked for a while and I learned that she too, was in the middle of a terrible divorce.  She too was worried about the impact on her family, she too was worried about what people would think of her.  But that card, that verse from Luke, reminded her that we are never forgotten.  I never asked her name and I probably will never see her again in this life, but the gift of faith that she gave me that day won't ever leave me.  I cherish that card and it's message.

Sharing your faith is like opening a door.  And sometimes, a stranger will see that open door and walk through it.

In my skin.

Have you ever had one of those experiences where you feel like you're reading something and YOU could have written it? TDH Man sent me a link yesterday and honestly, it made me teary-eyed. I swear, it's like this blogger was channeling me; I could have written this.  Change her hair color to my blonde-red-auburn-whatever and it's me, even down to the height. It was eerie and foreign and sad all at once.  Why?  Well, because it mirrors an issue that I've been dealing with lately and I've been ashamed to admit for a while: I'm uncomfortable in my own skin. There, said it.

When I was younger, I never had issues with my body image. And if I did, I either ignored them or just got through them without a problem. I'm lucky enough that the majority of the women in my life weren't self-conscious about their bodies and I can't recall my blood-mother ever, ever saying a single thing about her body other than complaining about the large scar on her knee. My father, who was the one major constant presence in my under-ten years, tried to instill an equal-opportunity atmosphere into his daughters without being overbearing about it. One of the first pieces of clothing that I can remember owning was a shirt that said "Anything boys can do, girls can do better" and my Dad lived by that mantra. I once asked him if he would have preferred to have a son and he looked at me as if I had three heads and answered blandly "Why? There isn't anything that a son can do that you couldn't."

Me, days before G made his very late arrival

So imagine my surprise when, three kids later, I can't stand to be naked in front of a mirror. I loved being pregnant with my children. I love breastfeeding my youngest child right now. I love knowing that my body was, and is still, sustaining a life outside my own. Yet... I don't feel like me. It's taken me a long time to admit that it's because my body has changed and now, my mind has yet to catch up with it which is causing all sorts of havoc internally.

It seems that TDH Man and I have been talking about this issue a lot lately. We've made a pact to ditch the sweets in an effort to get our eating more in line with what we believe is healthy. We've tried the Paleo style of eating and while it 'worked' for us in the beginning, I disliked the fad of it all and became rather disillusioned about what was 'right' to eat and what wasn't. I realized that I don't like strict rules about my food and I needed to find peace with eating how I wanted to eat without feeling like an entire community was staring over my shoulder, tsking me to death when I let a piece of pasta or rice pass my lips. Do I eat that 'stuff' now? Mostly not. I aim as much as possible for WHOLE FOODS, foods in their original form, cooked how I like them, skipping overly processed things when I can. No raw-only diets, no grain-free diets, no eat-this-and-never-that diets. No diets in general. Just eating. So that's step one, I'm guessing, in my effort to move towards something new.

But will it be enough? I've changed. My body has changed. The years, gasp, are catching up to me. And yes, I'm only in my mid-30's. Laugh if you want, at my naivete, but if you have one iota of sensitivity in you, you won't. You'll understand that every person is dealing with their own demons and struggling with what they want versus what they have. I know that God has given me this body to care for while I am on His earth, but I'm struggling. I'm struggling to find peace with what I've transformed into and to find a way to be me in this skin again.

So it begins.

As a Mom, I know that there are going to be many, many times in my children's lives that I'm going to want to protect them from a broken heart. Sometime that'll be possible, most times it won't and when it's not possible, I know my heart is going to break for and with them. Last week, I got the first taste of heartbreak for G, our middle child.

Little ear and all

See, not only was our precious boy born with three holes in his heart, but he was also born with two other congenital defects called microtia and atresia. It came as a complete surprise to my husband and me and wasn't discovered until G was born, (more on that journey later). The long and the short of it is that G doesn't have more than a little earlobe on his right side and no ear canal. He's been found to have about 10% of the hearing he should have on the right side, but believe me when I tell you that he's got perfect hearing on the left. As a result of this difference, TDH Man and I  have discussed many, many times the things G is going to have to experience on his own. Since he was three weeks old, he's undergone therapies for hearing, speech and other issues to prepare him for the day when he turns three and they set him free into the preschool world.

I'm not going to lie: when G was first born, his 'little ear' (as we learned to call it) was all I saw. But gradually, I stopped seeing it and just saw my child, different and beautiful. And now, three years later, it seems that others are seeing it too.

TDH Man has had the week off because our daycare is on vacation, so he's been Mr. Mom. One of the difference between when I stay home with the three young'uns and he stays home is that I tend to stay home. TDH Man, on the other hand, is a bit of a wanderlust and tends to find an adventure for the kids and barrels forth. Last week, he took G and AD to the park. While he was sitting with AD on the blanket, letting her practice her belly-rolls, TDH Man watched G playing in the sand with two little girls whom he'd never met. Later, when TDH Man was relating the story, he tells me that he couldn't be sure, but he was pretty certain that he heard one of the girls point and laugh, saying "Look at his ear!".

Despite three years of waiting for it, it still broke my heart to hear it.

I've had people tell me they didn't even notice G's difference at all. I'm never sure if they're saying that because they're being nice, or if they really didn't see it. As a parent of a child with a facial difference, I'm telling you right now, be honest. Don't make stuff up, just to be nice. I would rather you just didn't say anything at all if it freaks you out that my son has no ear than to give me a white lie and say you didn't notice because I wonder. I wonder so much that it keeps me up some nights. Yes, I understand that you don't want to be uncomfortable around my boy, and that he's got something different in his bag of tricks, but he's still my boy. He's still funny, smart, sweet, feisty and a toddler. But still, I wonder what people think some times. And that's my hang-up, not G's.

See, that little girl pointed and laughed, but G didn't hear her.  And not because he's partially deaf, but because it's the first time that someone has pointed it out and laughed at it and because it was the first time, he didn't realize it was directed at him. I know there will be a day when he'll realize it, but for now, I'm glad he's oblivious because right now, I needed it. I need to watch him and learn from his reaction and remember that no matter what, he's my boy, little ear and all.

Some things you don't want to know.

I got WD-40 up my nose.

Don't ask.

Sharing your faith, one life at a time

This speech was originally given at the Portsmouth United Methodist Church by me on July 31, 2011 as part of our church's Faith in Action series. I give a speech every month about practical ways you can share your faith with others. If you ever have a suggestion, please let me know in the comments!

Do any of us really know what a hug is worth?  I'm not sure you can assign a monetary value to it, but have you ever thought about it?  What does it cost to give one?  What does it cost to receive just a hug?  I know it seems like a silly question, but if you ever find yourself wondering what it costs you or what one hug is worth, I'd like you to think of the story I'm about to tell you.

Before our son G was born, my husband Michael and I were pregnant with our first child.  After having been told that I would have a 1% chance of conceiving a child naturally, this baby was truly our little miracle.  Sadly, 10 weeks into our pregnancy, God called our baby home.  We never got to meet that child and as you can imagine, we were crushed by the loss.  At the time, Michael and I were living in separate cities, so we didn't have the ability to comfort each other and the only consolation to offer each other was through long-distance phone calls.  I can't tell you how many tears we cried to each other on the phone.  It was a terribly lonely time for both of us.  A few days after our baby had passed, I was in a local drug store.  I'm sure I looked a wreck after not having slept well for days, weeping an endless river of tears and barely able to speak without crying.  While in line to purchase whatever it was I was at the drugstore for, the cashier looked up from her register and gasped when she saw me.  She was a young woman, probably not older than 20 and although I had lived in the neighborhood for 10 years, I had never seen her there before.  I was at the point where I didn't care what I looked like or what a stranger thought of me.  I wanted nothing more than to get back to my house and drown in my tears.  Yet, this cashier, seeing me in this state, gasped and said "Oh, honey, are you ok?"  I looked up and couldn't say a word to her; it took all my strength just to nod my head.  Seeing the tears in my eyes, she came out from behind the counter and she said "Can I give you a hug?"  She wrapped her arms around me and the tears started again.  While she held me I sobbed, saying that we had just lost our baby.  She said "Oh dear Jesus.  Let me pray for you" and right there, in that line with probably ten other people looking on, she prayed to Jesus, asking him to take my pain away and to watch over our little one in heaven.

When asked the question "Do you share your faith with others?" most people have said to me that they try, but that it's uncomfortable or that they're afraid of being rejected. I can completely understand that.  It's not fun to be rejected and I'll admit that I worry about talking about my faith sometimes too. But what if you don't have to talk much at all?  What if the cost of sharing your faith is one hug?  Could you afford that?  That cashier's hug meant more to me than I can tell you.  Michael was 1,000 miles away from me and having someone physically console me and even more, to pray over me in my time of need truly made me feel like Jesus was by my side.  Even in that terrible time, in my grief, I knew that God had sent that stranger to give me one hug, to let me know that He was there.  One hug.  It really doesn't cost that much.

I should be put in librarian time out.

There are way too many awesome things about being a librarian to list here. You know that joy you feel when you see your kid falling in love with a book you had as a kid? Or when you see him lugging a huge pile of books up to his bedroom so that he can spend hours lolling on his bed, surrounded by his newest treasures? Yeah, well I get to experience that all the time. I'm sure I'd get it even more if I worked in a library that had books that I could half-way understand, but that's another story. The short version is that I really, really love being a librarian. But last night, I broke all the unspoken librarian rules and morphed into a parent. I'm thinking of calling that ALA on myself...

E, our nine year old, has always been a precocious reader, but he's also a timid reader in the sense that certain themes scare the daylights out of him. He tends to choose books that are WAY below his reading level because the subject matter is safer. Let's just say he's a sensitive reader. Heck, he's sensitive about everything; he couldn't watch the Fox and the Hound because there was too much yelling. Seriously. So it baffles me just a bit that he loves books about wars and battles, but being the supportive librarian that I am, I encourage his love of reading and ignore the topic. But last night was different. TDH Man, also a librarian, knows E's love of history and these particular topics so he picked out seven or eight new books for him. He picked them up from our local library the other night and E sat on the couch, engrossed for an hour before coming up for a breath. Last night, before bed, E asked me if he could take a book about the Vietnam War to day camp today.  And I did the unthinkable: I told him no.

Even worse, I told him "I think that some people wouldn't be pleased to see a young boy reading a book about war."

Gracious.

Sometimes I'm clueless. I fully admit that. Sometimes I don't even realize what I've done until it's over and this was one of those times. I mentioned to TDH Man that E had asked me about taking the book to camp and he said "Why not?" and I realized what I had done. I'd censored my own child. For shame, really, for shame.

So, this morning, I atoned for my mistake. As he was walking downstairs, the challenged book in hand to pore over while eating breakfast, I called him over to me. And I told him that it was wrong of me to tell him he couldn't take that book. I told him that it shouldn't matter to anyone else what he wants to read and that if he really wanted to read it, he could take it with him.

He tried to suppress a smile, but I could see he was pleased. Whether or not it was because he was able to take the book or because he caught his mom apologizing, I don't know. My hope is that it's a lesson he'll remember.

Oh, so close... our boy the hospital yo-yo

Saturday morning, August 4, I woke up around 5:00am to G making some strained crying noises. I rushed into his room and could see straight away that something was just not right with him. I felt his head and realized that he was just burning up. I took his temperature and it was 103.2 degrees. For the fourth time in one week, my heart plummeted to my stomach.

The nurses had drilled into our heads that any fever was extremely dangerous for G and could signal an infection in his heart. I rushed to the phone to call the nurse line at Children's Hospital Boston and after a few phone calls back and forth, we were told to head to the local Children's Hospital and have him evaluated immediately. TDH Man and I packed up our feverish, lethargic little man and headed back to the hospital.

Our house is oddly enough about equidistant from two children's hospitals and so when the nurse told us to get to the ER, I asked her which one we should go to. She said "whichever is closest", and so we headed to that one, which wasn't Children's Hospital Boston. Let me just say that was a mistake on our part. We get to the hospital and because G is a post-surgical cardiac patient, they triage him fairly quickly and get us settled in a room. Because he's burning up, they start an IV line again and I can tell he's not feeling well because he basically just lets them set him up. They brace his arm and he lies on my lap, alternatively sweating, napping and cuddling with me. This is not our boy at all.

They call the cardiologist on duty who evaluates him, asks us a bunch of questions and bascially tells us that they think he's caught a virus. Right away, something doesn't sit well with me and I'm not comfortable being there. G has had no other symptoms, he's just gone through major surgery and we've been educated on the dangers of a fever and all they can say is that he's gotten a virus? No, not flying. The doctor then tells us that it's probably best to admit him for observation and as soon as he leaves the room, I turn to TDH Man and say "If they want to admit G, can we refuse and head back to Children's Hospital Boston?" Without blinking an eye, my wonderful husband says "Of course" even though it means that he's going to have to drive 40 minutes back to our house to get clothes for all three of us and then another hour to get to the hospital, he doesn't blink an eye. You may not know this, but I am in love with my husband and this is just one more reason why.

After discussing it with the Boston Pedi Cardio unit, the cardiologist on-duty comes back to tell us that they will indeed need to admit G overnight at the very least. That's when I tell them that we want him moved to Boston and not admitted to that hospital. I don't tell them that it's partially because I'm grossed out by the peeling paint in the exam room we're sitting in, or that it's because of the rather large, possibly moving hairballs under the guerney that G and I are lying on, or that it's because of the three empty hand-sanitizing stations (seriously, people, you work in a hospital and you can't fill them?!), but instead I tell them that I want a continuity of care that I don't think they can accomplish for a cardiac patient.  Yes, I put on my 'if you can't say something nice' face even when my post-operative child is burning up with a fever and I'm panicking every which way to Sunday.

So, because they're already given G and IV and fluids, they aren't allowed to simply discharge him and let us drive him back to CH Boston. Oh, no.  We get to now take a ride in an ambulance!  Fast forward a few hours later, and I'm sitting in the front seat of an ambulance while TDH Man is driving home in the opposite direction to repack bags for all of us and poor G is screaming "Momma!" as every single bump jars the ambulance and jostles the two EMTs and the cardiac doctor who's been charged to watch over all the machines to which G is now reattached. At least now I can look back and say this was the peak of our entire ordeal.

We finally get back to CH Boston and lo-and-behold, we get checked back into the same exact room that G just left less than 24 hours before. They hook him up to some antibiotics, more fluids and retape his IV. Then we wait while they draw more blood, run more tests and basically try to ensure that he doesn't have a pericardial infection brewing. TDH Man finally meets up with us in the hospital room and tells me that he happened to just run into Dr. Emani, G's heart surgeon, on the street and he says that he's heard G is back in the hospital. He then tells my husband his theory of why G has the fever and it turns out that he's probably had a reaction to the heart-lung machine and he's suffering from atelectasis. Lucky for us, G's fever breaks and just 24 hours later, he's feeling much, much better.


Just keeping him busy until discharge, again.

In the end, we have no real idea of what caused his fever, but I'm happy to report, it's been a year and our boy is happy, healthy, crazy and amazing. He's overcome obstacles we had no idea were ahead of him and we've been so unbelieveably blessed to be this boy's parents.

I joke with TDH Man that God put three holes in G's heart because he didn't have the one hole in his ear and his holey-heart was one way to prepare us for the surgeries ahead. We don't know His plan, but I like to think that it was all preparation for something amazing for our boy.

Phew! It's time to go home!

 And don't worry. I'll keep y'all posted.

A hole in the heart, healed.

The final post in our journey to have G's heart and his AVSD and valve repaired.  I'll prewarn you, there are photos involved, so if you're squeamish about seeing medical photos, avert your eyes.

Around 11:30am, literally just as we're done praying, our surgical coordinator comes in to tell us that G is out of surgery and the doctor will be down to give us the update. My heart leaps; our boy made it.  He really made it. And now the recovery began...

The surgeon told us that they found not only one hole, but three holes in G's heart. Dr. Emani was able to repair all three holes, patching the largest hole (which was bigger than they expected at about 22mm) with tissue from G's pericardial sac, and stitching the other two holes closed. The surgeon also repaired the cleft valve and was optimistic that G wouldn't need surgery again for any of these issues. Once they had him cleaned up, we were brought to his room and I about cried with joy to see our boy.


Our first view of our little man, in the CICU recovery unit

Believe it or not, my first reaction was that he looked so GOOD!  They had prepared us for the worst, but when we saw him, I was amazed that other than looking swollen, he looked as normal as could be. Well, normal with tons of wires, tubes, meds, beeping and all that. Honestly, the CICU staff had done an amazing job of cleaning him up and getting him comfortable. I was able to kiss his little head and rub his little leg to let him know we were there.



He was so tall that they had to put him in a regular bed instead of a crib!

We left to tell our family the great news and let my sister and my Dad in to see G before they left for the night. He was still sedated at this point, but we were estatic and just praised God for His work.



Wires, tubes and all, he looked so GOOD to us!

So, after a few hours, the nurses decided that he was doing well enough to start removing some of the tubes and to encourage him to breath on his own. At this point, his heart was beating on it's own, but they needed to make sure that everything was going to progress according to their plan, so they administered some drugs to start bringing him out of sedation. Normally, the nurses said, the meds take about an hour to really kick in. G, on the other hand, had his own time table. About 20 minutes after the meds were administered, he started to pull at his breathing tube and had to be restrained. The nurses kicked into high gear and TDH Man and I just stood back, watching five nurses hold our little boy down while he struggled and tried to scream. And this is the second time my heart wanted to leap from my chest. The CICU Resident held G's head and looked at TDH Man and me and repeated "He's not going to remember any of this... this is all normal. He's doing great." Meanwhile, the other four nurses ran around G's bed, performing an obviously well-coordinated ballet of procedures to get our boy breathing on his own. TDH Man and I just stood there, at a complete loss, praying with each second that he would breathe, just breathe. After what seemed an eternity, they were able to stablize him and he opened his eyes and this time it was obvious that he was seeing us and was out of the sedation. His oxygen levels weren't great and so they kept him on oxygen for a while, so he wasn't able to talk fully. He kept crying through the mask and sometimes, I'll admit that I am still haunted by the sound of his muffled voice screaming for me.

So close to breathing on his own

When they finally were able to get him stable and his oxygen levels at a decent rate, the mask came off. At this point, TDH Man and I were working shifts to combat the exhaustion of being up 24 hours. Did I forget to mention that I was also 14 weeks pregnant with our third child?  Oh yeah, there was that too. TDH Man was there when they finally took his mask off and were able to remove one of his central lines. His first words?

"I watch Elmo now?"

Hanging with Hopper, loving the fact that he has a TV in bed all to himself

We spent the next 24 hours keeping him comfortable, getting him to sleep as much as possible and trying to get him to drink a bit of water. With every passing hour, he looked a little better and some new wire or tube was removed.

Hopper keeping watch over G

 A little over one day later, our little man, 22 months old, was able to move out of the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit and onto the recovery floor. And here we took turns watching Elmo, Elmo and more Elmo.

One day after open-heart surgery.





Swollen face, but drinking water and feeling much better

The next two days went by slowly and we made about a million laps around the hospital, keeping our healing boy entertained however possible. More tests were run to make sure that the surgery had fixed G's AVSD and valve and make sure that he was drinking and eating as he should be. TDH Man and I slept when possible, including a night where TDH man slept in the playroom on the recovery floor while the creepy dolls watched over him. I slept by G's side because the fold-out bed wasn't long enough for my 6' 9" husband. 

 



When the nurses started talking about letting G go home only 48 hours after surgery, we were eager to get him off all his meds and prepped to go home. His surgery had been on Tuesday morning and by Friday morning, the attending doctors gave us the go ahead to have him discharged. We were so happy and so ready to leave. He had one stitch and surgical glue to close the wound. Everything looked great (literally!) and we spend the next few hours getting discharge instructions and signing more paperwork to get our boy released. By 2:00pm on Friday, August 3, G was discharged from Children's Hospital and we were on our way home, healed heart and all... well, almost.




His new badge of courage
 

We arrived at home late Friday afternoon. I can't even describe how relieved I felt to just have our little boy in his own bed. We had been told that the next week was crucial to his recovery and that if he got even the slightest fever, we were to call the hospital immediately. G was acting completely normal and you honestly wouldn't ever realized that just three days before, he's been in the intensive care unit, recovering from open-heart surgery. He even ate chicken nuggets for dinner on the way home! That night, we gave him his pain medications and put him to bed, safe and sound.

 

But G's body had other plans...

No matter how many ways you prep, you're never ready.

Today is the day: one year.  It's been one year since they repaired G's heart and closed the hole. I'm sort of in shock, but I am so, so thankful for all that's happened and so I want to make sure I document what I can remember of what happened. So here's G's story, part two (with pictures!).

Once we had heard that G was going to have surgery, we spent the next few months planning, researching and basically trying not to worry. His surgery was originally scheduled for June 29, so in the meantime, he went to quite a few doctor's appointments to prepare for the surgery. This included a sedated echocardiogram on June 7, 2012 so that they could get a very good idea of exactly what they were looking for and repairing and a variety of other tests. The sedated ECG was quite a feat in itself, but we had an amazing nurse taking care of us at the Cardiology Unit at Children's Hospital Boston. She let us know everything that could possibly happen, including the fact that he may or may not spit up right after they administered the meds to sedate him. Sure enough, he passes out in my arms and as we're walking to the exam room, he starts choking and I panic. We rushed him to the exam room and the nurse adeptly rolls him onto his side and clears out his airway. This is only the first of many times in the next few months that my heart skips a beat.

Once all the tests are completed, we just sit and wait for the date of his surgery to arrive. And, wouldn't you know it, the time turns out to be crazy, crazy, crazy. Just a few days before he's supposed to be admitted, G comes down with a mysterious rash and fever. I spend the next few days talking to the cardiology nurses in Boston, debating on whether or not it's safe for him to undergo surgery and in the end, they decide to push him off until the end of July. To add to the chaos, we had put out a call for people to donate blood for G's surgery. Because he was going to need to use a heart-lung machine, we requested donations to prime the machine with known blood instead of blood from the general public. People were gracious enough to line up, some even driving an HOUR just to donate, only to end up not being able to use the blood because his surgery was delayed. At this point, I just sit and cry. I want this over and done, with our little boy safe and sound on the other side. I pray that God knows what He's doing and to just keep our boy safe.

When July 30 finally rolls around, we spend the day at the hospital undergoing pre-op surgery tests. It's a crazy, hectic day but G does great. We're put into the Cardio surgery rotation which means we end up seeing the same two other children and their parents all day. There is one couple, a young husband and wife, with a baby girl younger than G and another couple with a boy who we later find out is just over six years old. There is some solace in the fact that we're not alone and I find that I want to talk to these people, ask them their story and compare notes to assure each other that we're all going to have healthy, happy kids after this. At the end of the day, we take G back to my Gram's house and prepare for the next day.

The night before surgery, all smiles!

On the morning of July 31, 2012, we quickly dress and get to the hospital before G can realize he's hungry. He hasn't been allowed any food or liquid since midnight and luckily, he's not a big breakfast eater so we're able to put him off eating. TDH Man and I check G into the surgical unit and the waiting begins. Elmo is on...

Elmo likes music, G likes Elmo...

Once we fill out all the paperwork, they call his name and we're escorted to the surgical unit with the two other couples that attended the pre-op round with us and their kids. We get G settled in his bed and he's quickly turning around and showing his 22-month old opinions. Numerous doctors stop by and introduce themselves, ask questions and start to administer the sedation meds to get him to relax before they put in his IV. I start to shake. I realize that they're going to open my little boy's chest and I can't stop the tears. He takes his meds and they try to get him to lie down, but all he wants to do is play with the heart monitor and soon he's sliding into a giddy state. He still won't lie down, so the anesthesiologist picks him up and carries him into the surgery area, but as soon as he can't see us, he starts to cry and I lose it. TDH Man hugs me and reminds me that God is watching over our boy and he'll be safe. I repeat it to myself until I'm able to calm down and we're escorted to the parent waiting area.

At this point, I'm just going through the motions.  We're paired up with a sort of surgical informant, someone on the hospital staff that periodically checks into the surgery room to find out how things are going. She tells us the surgeon is on his way down to give us a briefing on what's going to happen. The surgeon, Dr. Emani, is young, confident and takes the time to explain every piece of the surgery. It's obvious to us that Children's Hosptial Boston knows what they're doing and although it's also obvious that they do this every day, they never once make us feel like our boy is just another cog in their daily machine. After he explains everything, we head back to the waiting area and my Dad arrives to sit with us. While we're waiting, I notice the father of the boy that was with us on our pre-op rounds and I realize his wife isn't with him. Turns out she caught some terrible stomach flu, so while her little boy is getting his heart repaired, she's alone in a hotel room, sick as a dog and her husband is here with us at the hospital. I invite him to have lunch with us because honestly, I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to have to go through the same thing alone.

As we're sitting and having lunch, our Pastor comes to the hospital to sit and pray with us. Never mind that he's only been at our church for less than a month, never mind that he's never been to Children's Hospital Boston, never mind that he's met G maybe three times.  He's there, completely and fully there for us. We eat our lunch and pray for our boys, Pastor, parents, strangers. We pray that God's hand will guide the surgeons, we pray that He will heal our boys, we pray that He will watch over them and that His will be done. We pray.

That moment when a parent's heart stops

Being a parent is often a crazy ride where you hold on for dear life and hope that somehow, some way you and your kids make it out safe on the other side. There are moments when your heart stops and you realize the enormity of what it means to have someone else depend on you for their very existence.

I have a knack for remembering obscure numbers and dates, but there are instances when something happens in your life and the date will remain etched in your memory forever. I've been going through a lot of those this year, hence the constant 'let's reexamine the past!' posts. The problem is that because it's been such a busy, crazy year, I haven't had the chance to sit down and document what's been going on in our lives and now that I'm starting to see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, it's time to spit it all out.

On April 2, 2012 TDH Man and I took GFord to a routine 18-month checkup at his pediatrician. He was just getting over a cold, but during the exam, the doctor looks at us and says "Have I ever heard a heart murmur on him before?" We said no, not that we could remember (and I doubt that we'd forget something like that!). Dr. D said "I'm sure it's nothing, but let's follow up, just in case". So, we leave that appointment and make a follow-up visit at the local Children's Hospital Pediatric Heart center.

April 24, 2012 rolls around and we drag GFord to yet another doctor's appointment. At this point, our boy is a pro at doctor's appointments (I'll post about that journey another time), but let's just say he's really well-behaved for the most part, especially considering he's a very active 18 month old. The cardiology nurse looks him over, asks us a bunch of questions and spends quite a while listening to G's heart. After a bit, she says "Well, I might hear just a little bit of a murmur, but it's barely there. It's really up to you; we can take a look by doing an echocardiogram or we can wait and see if it gets any louder." TDH Man and I decide that since we've already taken the day off work, it's better to just get it all done now while G is still being semi-cooperative. Looking back, I realize time and time again that this one decision pretty much saved our son's life.

The echocardiogram takes about 45 minutes and TDH Man spends most of the time distracting G with snacks and pointing out silly things on the walls or on the TV screen that's set up playing a DVD for him. I spend most of the time staring at the screen, watching the tech review the same spots over and over, turning the display into a million colors and shapes and holding my breath. He's so calm that I'm pretty much convinced that all is well and start to feel that this is just another instance of over-cautiousness on everyone's part.  Once the ECG is over, we sit and wait until the cardiology nurse comes in to discuss the results. TDH Man and I take turns entertaining a now tired and hungry 18 month old who is dying to get out of this tiny exam room. The nurse comes in smiling and pulls up a chair and I'm thinking "Finally, we can go home!", except the next words out of her mouth aren't what we thought we'd hear.

"Your son has a rather large hole in his heart and he needs open-heart surgery right away".

My first instinct is to laugh, so I just smile really big and say "Really?!" like it's a joke and it's actually funny, except that it's not. It's really, really not. He's 18 months old. He's in the 99th percentile for height and weight; he hardly ever gets sick and both doctors BARELY heard any murmur. How can he possibly need open-heart surgery?

TDH Man and I sit there and absorb as much information as we can. We're told that he'll have the surgery at Children's Hospital Boston because they are the best in the country and the local Children's Hospital doesn't even bother performing this type of surgery anymore because Boston is so good at it. We're told that it's an 'elective surgery', which makes me laugh again because it doesn't mean what we think it means and we try every which way we can to weasel him out of open-heart surgery. "Elective, so like, we can choose to just NOT have it?" Um, no, we're told, elective like we're not rushing him to the hospital right this minute, but if he doesn't have it, he will most likely die before he's 18.  That kind of elective.

TDH Man and I are librarians through and through and so, the second we leave that office, the research begins. GFord was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect called an Atrioventricular septal defect (AVSD) in the primum location. Basically, the hole that should have closed the second he took his first breath never closed. In fact, it was so big that it caused his valve to cleft and now his heart was swelling and was working too hard to get the blood where it needed to be. The murmur was so quiet because the hole was so big that there was very little tissue moving around to cause the usual noise. This defect is the kind most commonly found in Down Syndrome children and in those terrible stories you hear of teen athletes dying on the playing field with an undetected heart defect. And now it was in our baby boy.

So, a year has passed. Tomorrow is the anniversary of his surgery. I'll post more about it later, but for now, I just want to remember how thankful I am that we've all made it through with just this one thin silver scar.

First world problem...

You want to know what's worse than getting an awesome haircut on a Friday night? Having to wait until Monday morning to show it off at work.

And what's worse than having to wait until Monday morning to show it off? The fact that no one notices.

And what's worse than no one noticing? The realization that people DID notice, but didn't say anything.

I'm crawling back into my 'I-have-no-style' hole now, thank you, complete with sad face and all. (I'm taking some solace in the fact that my sad face is surrounded by awesome hair though...)

A smile for a baby

All Hail! The Royal Baby has arrived!

Normally, I don't get swept up in this sort of thing, so imagine my surprise when I found myself scouring my news feed hourly on Monday, July 22. Like the rest of the Internet world, I anxiously awaited news of the newest addition to the English Royal lineage. And when it came, I smiled for them. I was actually happy for them.  Why, might you ask, is this blog-worthy?

See, for years, I hid from other people's babies. Pregnancies were way too difficult for me to deal with and so my protective defense was to ignore them. But that didn't mean I didn't feel a stab of pain every time I saw someone pregnant, had a friend tell me they were expecting or saw someone holding a newborn. Infertility did that to me and man, it hurt. Since traveling that road years ago, I've given birth to two more wonderful, beautiful, special children, but the pain of infertility never, ever leaves you. It's like a death in your life: You may move on, but it doesn't go away and the scar that it leaves behind can sometimes be raw for years. I've learned so many things about what I went through. I know that God had a plan for all of it, but I can say that now because I'm through it. Through that journey, He taught me humility, patience, grace, humanity and showed me His power to rule over my life. I won't say I was always at peace with His hand, but I lived through it and I'm a better, stronger person because of it.

Infertility gave me a unique ability to see both sides of the coin. I was one of those people who was lost in the infertility shuffle; I had already had one child naturally, but yet I was unable to get pregnant again and suffered the pain, humiliation and agony of wanting another baby yet unable to get my body to work with me. In the end, it took a terrible toll on me and I will admit I was in complete shock when we had our One-Percent Baby, not once but twice. Even when I was pregnant with my third child, my long-awaited for daughter, I had a friend email me to say she was expecting her third child and for a brief second, I was distraught. The pang of sadness hit me hard and I remember knowing that it was completely irrational, but it was still there. And that's where the Royal Baby comes in...

I didn't feel that sadness at all when I heard the news.  In fact, I actually felt joy for them.

And that's when I realized my scar is finally healing.

Head-over-heels, five years and counting.

I swear, I'm not getting lost in nostalgia. But it was five years ago today that my TDH Man called me on the phone during my lunch and said these magic words:

I am head-over-heels in love with you.

It was the first time he had professed his feelings for me and he didn't just say "I love you", it was more than that. He gave himself to me that day, head, heels, soul and everything he had with that one phrase.

I am one lucky, lucky girl.

A Greek Tavern story...

Five years ago, in a Greek Tavern, my life took the most unexpected turn. I've never really written it all out, so it's high time I have a place to go back and read and dote upon those days. Five years ago tonight, at about this time, I met my soulmate. It took a plane ride across the country, a librarian conference and a step outside my comfort zone to make it all happen, but sometimes those are the things that God pushes into your path to make all the pieces come together.

I had spent most of the day tooling around Portland, Oregon, at a work-related conference. It was the first time that I'd been this far from home in umpteen years and I was super excited because, honestly, life was sucking at home. I was in the midst of horrid infertility treatments and my world was slowly, quietly closing in around me. (If you're really interested in seeing my terrible state of mind, you can read more about it. I'll prewarn you, it's not pretty...). I was also going out there to meet up with my bestest bestest friend, L9, whom I hadn't seen in a few years since she moved away from our tiny world. On the plane ride there, I prayed to God to open a door for me, to give me strength to walk through that door and to guide me in whatever direction He was leading. I had no idea what he had in store for me.

Anyway, the second day of the conference was spent walking around Portland, visiting Powell's and then heading off to a gathering of fellow librarians. Exciting stuff, I know! While there, I talked to a few colleagues and was doing my best to step away from my severe social anxiety and self-medicate with a few beers to prevent me from bolting and hiding in my hotel room until the next day. When most of the colleagues had left, I was feeling a little bold and noticed that some of the younger librarians that I had met at a pre-conference meeting that morning were there playing pool. I somehow bucked up the courage (read: drank more beer) and walked over to chat. They were funny, smart and gladly tried to include me in their conversations which I appreciated. About an hour later, they decided that they were going to head over to an event at a local Portland landmark, Greek Cusina (which I just found out has closed *sob, sob*). We grab a few taxis and I head over with my new stranger-friends.

When we walk into the restaurant, I immediately notice a tall, dark and handsome man standing near the door to the upstairs dining room. I don't even look at him head-on because, honestly, he's like the sun and I'm afraid that if I look directly at him, the image of his face will burn into my memory and looming-divorce-be-damned, I'm still legally a married person at this point. So I head up the stairs into the upstairs bar and linger by the doorway trying to find a seat. When I get upstairs, I realize the place is packed and I stand there, cursing my stupidity for even coming to this place. This isn't like me, and now I remember why I hate crowded rooms and strangers and stepping out of my comfort zone. I notice the tall, dark and handsome man again and realize that somehow, we're both standing in the same group of misfits and the four of us, thrown together because we were all too slow to find another table, sit down at a booth together. It's apparent from the get-go that none of us really know each other, so we just sit there for a few seconds.  And that's when I realize that TDH Man is staring at me. And not just the look-at-her-in-polite-conversation looking, I mean leaning-on-his-hands-full-on-staring-without-blinking staring. I do my best to not look at him again and instead answer someone's question of 'Where are you from?'. And then TDH Man opens his mouth and the most sweet, strong Southern lilt comes from his mouth and I'm lost.

By God's hand, we were thrown together, two complete strangers in a town across the country and we end up spending the night drinking beer that tastes like rotten popcorn and laughing and swapping stories about our worlds. At the end of the night, after closing two different bars, we say goodnight and I climb into a cab fairly certain that I'm never going to see this guy again. He's sweet, smart, funny as all get out, and I feel incredibly blessed to have met him. Despite thinking that I'd never see him again, just the act of meeting him opened a door in my life and I knew that God had a plan for me. I knew that no matter what heartache was on the horizon at home, I knew that I would get through it. Little did I know that M, that tall, dark and handsome man, would be the one to help me through the next five years and that this night would be the beginning of our lives together.

My darling M, you are the most amazing person I have ever known. You, my sunshine, are the reason I get up every day and praise God for His gifts. I love you more every day and yes, even though you've put up with me for the past 1,825 days (give or take a few), you have at least 16,425 days to go.  At least. So don't go gettin' any crazy ideas, OK?

Once upon a year (or three) ago...

Wow.

That's about all I can say about life since the last time I posted. Wow. Have almost three years really gone by already? There's just so much to flesh out, I'm not sure where to start, so I'll start with the basic stuff. I'll fill in more details later when I have it all sorted out in my head. But hang onto your hats, people, because it's been quite a ride.

1. GFord is now almost three and E is almost ten. That sorta happens when you're not paying attention to the past three years. It  goes by fast and your kids get older and bigger and smarter and crazier.
2. GFord, our strong-willed, strong-bodied little man underwent open heart surgery on July 31, 2012. I'll be posting more about the journey we underwent in a few weeks, to mark the one-year anniversary of the ordeal.
3. On January 30, 2013, we welcomed Adella Deane into this side of the world! Being pregnant with her was amazing and was so much like my pregnancy with E that it was wonderful. Her post-partum, however, sucked. Oh gracious Lord, it sucked. But more on that later...
4. I'm back to being a full-time working mother. Enough said.
5. I thank God every.single.day for keeping M in my life as the most amazing husband. I could brag on him all-the-live-long day, but I'll spare you the gushing for now (there'll be more of that tomorrow, trust me.).

There, that should be enough for now... Just wait, it's going to get interesting, I promise...