RenovationGirl

A Year Ago Today

It is now past midnight.  The date has turned to April 9th.  Upstairs, asleep, are my two children.  Two. It is only in the past month or so that I can say "children," plural, and not feel awkard or uncomfortable.  I have multiple children.  Not one. Two.  It's crazy. Not a day has gone by during this past year where I haven't marveled at this fact.  Not a day has gone by during this past year where I haven't thanked God for these amazing gifts.  It has been an amazing and joyous year.

Dear Baby,

It is 12:34 AM on April 9th, 2014.  It's your first birthday!  A year ago today, we were all wondering when you'd make your big entrance.  I was four days late, bigger than a house, and so very ready to meet you.  I went to bed the night before anticipating meeting you.  Somewhere in the middle of the night, mild contractions started.  Enough to disturb my sleep, but not enough to wake Daddy.  (Really, does anything wake Daddy?)  My contractions were getting stronger and by 5 AM, I couldn't stay in bed anymore.  I took a careful and quick shower and then got back to bed.  I started timing things and realized that this was probably game time.  I had one goal in that morning-get your brother to school without knowing we were headed to the hospital.

You see, after almost nine whole years of being an only child, your brother wasn't so thrilled by the idea of you. He was confused and worried about how life would change for him, for us, once you arrived.  He's a worrier, that brother of yours!  So, we just wanted him to go to school and not worry all day.  Somehow, through the onslaught of intensifying contractions, we got your brother to school and he had no idea!

Once brother was at school, mommy called your yaya  to let her know we'd need her to pick up your brother.  Being the worrier she is (see, your brother comes by it honestly), she left the house immediately, even though she wasn't needed for 6 more hours!  In the meantime, we called the doctor who let the hospital know we'd be on our way.

At this point, mommy's contractions became more sporadic, so daddy and I took our time getting things ready and leaving for the hospital.  Even though we had done this before, we were still scared and worried and nervous.  Our lives were about to change yet again and we didn't know what was in store for us.  When we got to the hospital, instead of mommy getting a wheelchair to go up to the labor and delivery floor, mommy decided to have daddy park in the regular parking lot and walk the whole way.  I can remember the looooooong hospital hallways and having to stop regularly to breathe through a contraction.  I remember a hospital volunteer offering to get us a wheelchair.  But then the contraction would pass and off we'd go again.  

As we headed into the last stretch, the nurses saw me coming and called out my name.  They didn't know me, but they heard I was coming-and I was to get special treatment.  The head daytime nurse was the mother of one of my friend's and she had told everyone to treat me well.  It felt special and comforting and welcoming.  They marveled at the fact that I had walked the entire way and this felt very affirming to me.  This was around 11:00 AM.  They got me into a room and began to get me hooked up to monitors to see what you were up to.  

Not much.  You had decided to take a break.  I was not having regular contractions, although the monitors showed they were pretty intense when they happened.  I was working through them well, so it appeared that they might be sending us home.  The doctor ordered that I walk for awhile and then see if things progressed.  If not, home we would go.  We walked and looked at all the construction (the maternity wing was being remodeled) and once back on the monitors, things were still status quo.  They consulted Dr. L. about me and she asked me if I'd like her to break my water.  I was four days late, I was 40 years old, I said yes!  So, although I'm not sure of the order now, they started the epidural, hooked up just a little bit of pitocin, and broke my water.  At this point, it was now around 1:45.   I asked the nurse about how long they thought everything would take (I was worried about your brother) and they assured me it would probably take about an hour per cm and I was only 3-4 cm (and that was being generous).  So we settled in to wait.

About 40 minutes later, I felt some serious pressure.  I mentioned it to daddy who kind of shrugged it off.  With the next contraction, I felt that serious pressure again.  Again, I mentioned it to daddy.  Again he kind of shrugged it off.  On the next and third contraction, I knew this wasn't normal pressure-this was getting urgent.  I knew I was going to need to push very, very soon.  I asked daddy to get a nurse, and warned him that she would probably poo-poo him, but to tell them I still wanted them to check me.  They came in to check with an air of appeasement and a look of surprise crossed the face of the nurse.  In that short time, I went from 3 cm to 10 cm.  It was go time!

They called Dr. L, who had left to go run errands (she was at the post office when they called her)-after all, we all thought it would be hours!!!!-who gave one instruction-Don't push!  The nurses set the process into motion-transforming by room into a delivery room-as we waited for the dr to get there.  I was worried my friend's mom wouldn't make it, but she arrived shortly before the doctor did and her presence was calming and comforting.  Dr. L swooped in and quickly checked me.  She was surprised, but pleased.  Without even putting on a surgical gown, she began to give me instructions.  First push.  I could tell I was pushing wrong.  It had been awhile since I'd done this and we hadn't taken a refresher class.  Next push came along, I worked hard at pushing correctly and out slipped your hand over your head.  Daddy loved that!!  One more push, and out you came.  Boom.  Three pushes, less than 40 minutes of tough labor, and there you were.  

to be continued...

In the Quiet

It's quiet right now...save for the hum of the baby monitor...and the occasional banging of wood from the workshop below as Remodel Man crafts posts for our front porch...and the soft laughter of Builder Boy and his friend playing Legos two rooms away.  It's nice...

I've been dwelling on the idea of quiet a lot during the past six and a half weeks since my daughter was born.  It started out when I realized that when she and I are home alone, there is often a lot of quiet during her awake times.  When Builder Boy was an infant, I talked to him nonstop.  I was nervous and worried that I was doing everything wrong, so I read parenting books and heeded their advice to just talk as you go about your daily routine.  So talk I did.  Constantly.  (At nine years old now, guess what Builder Boy does?  Yep, talks. Constantly!) This time around, I'm okay to let their be silence in our days.  She actually seems to relish this quiet time.  She kicks her legs and checks out her surroundings.  Often I find her smiling.

This quiet started at the hospital.  I was tired of having been pregnant and tired from delivery.  We were often alone (Did this happen with everyone's second child?  No one really came to visit in the hospital...it was weird and I tried not to be offended by it.)  and during this alone time, we would sit quietly, gazing on one another.  When I took my first shower post-delivery, I remember what a friend said about how lonely she felt in that first shower.  All of a sudden, after nine months of always having "someone" with you, here you are, alone. I felt that loneliness, although I willed myself to not dwell on it.  Hyper-aware of postpartum depression, I didn't want to think about such a sad thought,  yet it would creep in during other showers. 

Once home, pensive quiet would continue.  I would find the slippers I took to the hospital, the booties she wore, or event he spritz bottle for my sore girl parts-and in those moments, I was intensely aware of the silence.  I was watching to see if I was slipping into a depression, once again willing myself not to feel the intense sadness I encountered the first time around.  Thankfully, almost seven weeks later, I have not sunk into that horrible pit of postpartum depression and I thank the Lord daily for this.  

This time around, when I find myself pensive, thinking on the moments that can cause intense sadness, the falling off of the umbilical cord, the packing away already of newborn clothes, the awareness of how fast she is already growing and how much better she fits into her car seat, instead of reprimanding myself how I am wasting valuable time, missing precious moments, this time, I just enjoy.  I enjoy the momentary wistfulness of the passage of time.  I allow myself to experience the bittersweet.  This time around, I know that even with the passing of time, from newborn to toddler to preschooler to grade schooler, new and exciting experiences await her-and I get to watch.

The quiet has taught me so much this time.  So has experience.  So has the fact that she is a content baby.  Or maybe the fact that she is so content stems from my peacefulness.  Who knows?  All I know is this...I am enjoying the quiet.  

 

 

It Was a Long Time Coming

I have numerous drafted posts that continue to sit in my drafts folder. It seemed that every single one was filled with bitterness, negativity, and cynicism. They are downright pathetic and depressing. They were also raw and honest. I wanted to post them because of that-their honesty-but during the Christmas season, they didn't seem to have a place. The blogosphere was filled with joyous posts filled with all a litany of how every feels so blessed and hopeful and peaceful-and I just wasn't feeling it. Until Christmas Day. There on Christmas Day full of the stress of hosting my first Christmas dinner in a house that continues to be messy, cluttered and dirty, this feeling washed over me. Of relief. Of joy. Of contentment. Of hope.

Life continues to throw what feels like a constant curve ball at me. The bills continue to pile up. I am still confronted with my body's failure to reproduce again successfully. The clutter that envelops my home has a strangling hold on me. Yet, at a particularly stressful moment on Christmas Day (you know that moment when your home is filled with guests and the meal is just about to be served and every.single.food item.needs to be hot ten minutes ago!!), I felt washed over with peace because...

There sat my aunt who just finished her chemo treatments, whose hair is starting to grow back, who delighted in the presence of all of us...

There sat my dad whom we almost lost three years ago on Christmas Day. He sat contentedly with Deconstructor cat #1 filling his lap in all his big-boned sweetness, watching my son explore the new toys and Lego sets and books he had just received...

There played my son, revelling in the most exciting of days as Santa brought him two of the three Lego sets he wanted (yea, Santa couldn't afford the $400 Death Star Lego set!) loving on all of us there...

There sat my mother, who has had a tough year, yet never complained, who finally allowed herself to relax and let me and my sister handle the meal...who adores her grandson more than anything in the world...

There sat my newly engaged cousin with her about to deploy fiancee, happy and full of excitement about their future life together.

All this unbridled joy in my home, under my roof, not marred by the clutter or dirt or disorganization. Just there, filling my home. And for the first time in a long time, I felt lighter and happy and content.

I hope this same feeling reached you and yours this Christmas season. I am hopeful it will stick around in the new year...for me and for you.

While Everyone's Asleep

Everyone is asleep in the house.  The cool, night air, a welcome relief from the glaringly hot day, laps into the house.  I sit, in the kitchen.  The place where I spend most of my days at home.  It is a mess and I should be cleaning.  But it can wait.

For now, I focus on the positive.  The fun summer times we are having as a family.  How our summer focus is on family and not the house.  Bike rides and trips to the zoo and a visit (twice) to a historic village in town and lots of days and nights at the pool. Play dates with friends and long conversations with kindred spirits who are too far away.  Breathing in the clear nights and allowing the sun to soak into the skin.  A birthday celebration and time with family and a trip to the sandy beach soon.  A mother who gives her everything and more for her family and a grandfather who loves spending time with his grandson at a coffeehouse under a shady tree.  Watching the Stars Wars movies, starting with 1 and working our way to "our" Star Wars movies.  Ice cream and homemade popsicles and eating dinner on the patio.  Veggies and  potato packs on the grill and fresh cherries we could eat by the poundful.  Reconnecting with close friends and making new ones. 

What I will not focus on is my mammogram tomorrow or my aunt's fatigue after her first round of chemo.  Builder Boy's breakdown earlier today or Remodel Man's stress.  My sister's loneliness or my mother's concern for her family.  Our financial stresses or the overwhelming work schedule this week.  A school year that has already started with drama and stress and a little bit of comedy.  Buying school supplies in mid-July.

No, for tonight, I will focus on the quiet of the night.  I will focus on the life we live now.  I will focus on the family I have been blessed with and the friends who support us.  Because while everyone's asleep, the mind can take me to the bad places, but there is time for those places...or not.  I'll focus on the not...

The Girly-Girl With The Muddy Toes

We've been trying to get together for months now, PorscheNut and me.  Our kids enjoy playing together and we need the friend time.  So a couple of days ago, our schedules aligned and we set about making plans for the day.  Since it's summer, I'm all about outdoor, summer activities,  but neither one of us is very outdoorsy.  We're suburban girls who believe that "roughing it" means a three-star hotel, so an outdoor activity usually involves a park, playground, or swimming pool.  Until a couple of days ago when I happened to check a local farm's website and found that they had extended their strawberry-picking to, what's that-yes, just until that day we were looking for something to do.  It must be fate!

 

So we packed up and headed out, meeting for a should've-been-quick-but-ended-up-being-a-looooong-lunch before heading out to the farm.  That's when I realized...I had left my sneakers at home.  Here I was, sporting my usual summer footwear-flip-flops. I have spent a bit of time on farms and know that flip-flops aren't exactly proper footwear attire for farm life.  Oh well, what can you do.  So off we went to the farm. 

As we piled out of our cars into the blazing hot sun, PorscheNut commented that she had forgotten the sunscreen.  Uh, yes, well...so had I.  But what could we do?   Here we were, at the farm, ready to pick some yummy strawberries.  So off we went. 

 We picked our baskets and into the fields we went. 

 
It truly was a glorious day...warm and humid the way a good summer day should be.  But we've had lots of rain over the past few months and the ditches in between the mounds of strawberry plants were wet.  Okay, they weren't just wet...they were a soupy, muddy mess.  Soon, we were cackling as we slipped in the mud, arms flailing, trying to keep our strawberries in our baskets, but not falling on our butts into the mud. 

 
As we stooped and slipped, trying to find perfect strawberries, shouts of "I'll never complain about the prices of strawberries again," or "I never would have made it as a pioneer wife!" could be heard over the field.  And PorscheNut said not just once, "Whose idea was this, anyways?!"  But we looked out over the fields,

 
at the beauty of the day, and place, and the relationships joined there, and all of a sudden the mud and the burning sun and blown-out flip-flops and muddy sneakers just didn't seem to matter anymore.  

 
Because there were smiles at funny strawberries...

 
and friends helping friends carry heavy baskets laden with red wonders. And then, of course, there was the reason we came:

 
 which turned into this:

 
and this:

 
(my Portmeirion plates, although lovely, do not photograph well!)

As we were packing up to head home, I told PorscheNut how honest this all seemed.  How true.  That this type of work, this type of labor felt so real.  Not that teaching isn't a noble career, and certainly not that I wanted to begin a life of farming, but even just the short time we spent in the fields, with the strawberry plants and mud and the lake just beyond, I felt lighter and freer and more connected.

Girly-girl from the suburbs or not, I think I'd do okay with a house surrounded by a lot of land to gaze upon.  Even if it means wading through muddy fields with my flip-flops on.

 

Abundance

I sat amidst the boxes of Christmas decorations filled with holiday memories, of those who have gone, and those who are still with us.  I looked around at the counters cluttered with dirty dishes and mail and toys and card-making supplies and I felt that same overwhelming stress that often comes with the holidays. I looked at the bill pile and fought the wave of panic at the state of our finances.  And for the first time in a very long time, it passed...the wave of panic, the overwhelming stress. And I realized...I am surrounded by abundance. 

Yes, I have been marred by my loss and despair.  I have many prayers that remain unanswered.  My belly aches when I look at newborn babies and my heart hurts when I see the silly antics of a toddler.  But I am surrounded by abundance. 

My abundance may not be in the form of dollar bills, but I am surrounded my material things.  I stopped myself on Saturday from saying, "We're so poor," because in reality, we're so not poor.  We live in an amazing old home that we are lovingly restoring.  Each room is filled (literally) with stuff.  Too much stuff.  Stuff that could be sold if the situation was dire.  We have a basement and third floor filled as well.  We have jobs, four, actually, that we work hard at each and every day to provide for our family.  I sat for a few hours yesterday and wrapped lots of presents for Christmas and grocery shopped for our holiday meals.    We are loved.  We are full.  Abundance surrounds us.

It is so incredibly easy for me (and I suppose many others) to slip into the "woe is me" frame of mind.  And there are many people this holiday season that are justified in going "there."  But not me.  I have a good life and have been given so much that others have not.  My son is healthy (minus the croup and chest cold) and flourishes at school.  My sister made a surprise visit with donuts yesterday.  My mom came down and distracted Builder Boy while I sorted and wrapped his gifts.  Dad "gave me a little extra" on top of the money he owed me for some shopping I did for him "for my efforts."  My work friends lift me up spiritually on a daily basis.  Remodel Man stood outside for hours in the 20 degree weather yesterday making the outside of our home amazingly beautiful because Builder Boy is "only little once."  (We'll ignore the fact that I currently have a lighted buck and doe in my living room right now because it just got too cold after the sun went done to continue...)  It is overwhelming...but in a good way.

Perhaps my New Year's resolution should be to view the glass as half-full instead of half-empty because bottom-line is this...I am surrounded by abundance and I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Merry Christmas to all of you!

A Prize For My Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday.  I turned 38.  I've never been a "look at me" kind of girl on my birthday.  Because of that, my birthdays have been rather tame in that lame kind of way and that was okay with me. This year, though, it was totally different.

While I have no idea why the difference occurred, it turned out to be a good thing.  It seems that turning 38 was a little bit harder than I thought.  37 is your mid-30’s; 38 begins the slow march to 40: I am officially in my late 30’s.  I’ve always said that age is just a number and I still believe that.  I also believe that you can’t spend the time given to you depressed about your age.  As my husband alway says, “the alternative isn’t much better.”  So I have always embraced my age and never shied away from it.  This year, I do that, too, but’ it’s been a bit more dificult to swallow than usual. 

Being shy, attention has never been something I have sought out.  If anything, I have always run in the opposite direction. This year for my birthday proved to be a time of attention and celebration.  The birthday part of my day began with a giant hug from a great friend at work and a package of chocolate-covered pretzels. 
Twenty minutes later, I received a serenade from 20 underclassmen in the middle of the hallway, loudly and full of hugs and high-fives.  Shortly after that, during the change of classes, a group of seniors came in to wish me (again, very loudly!) a happy birthday and improvised a shortened Happy Birthday song.  During my lunch duty, a group of senior boys who looked like they were up to something (and they usually are!) started the entire cafeteria of 90+ kids singing Happy Birthday to me and presented me with two cookies, one with an "H" and the other with a "B" for Happy Birthday because they couldn't find a candles (we're good at our school about not allowing the students to play with fire...).  I turned every shade of red imaginable to the delight of the entire lunch.  After my face turned to its normal and lovely shade of pale white, I went to eat my own lunch with friends to find a yummy chocolate fudge cake and a bouquet of flowers waiting for me with lots of hugs and song.  Text messages had my phone bleeping all day and my email inbox was filled with Fa.cebook well wishes.

Upon arriving to pick up Builder Boy at school, his first words to me were, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAMA! I love you!!" and I was given a huge bear hug and sloppy kisses.  He talked all the way home about my presents he couldn't wait to give me and promptly made me a beautiful card to go with the store-bought one he already had.  He waited patiently (not really) for Remodel Man to come home so he could give me his presents-a Sock Monkey and Sock Monkey slippers (I love Sock Monkeys!!!) in a Sock Monkey bag.  He told me about my present from Remodel Man (an iPhone!!!) and we headed to a wonderful dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. We finished the evening by stopping at nearby bakery  for some amazing sweets.

It was an abundant day.  I felt celebrated. I felt joy-filled.  I felt loved. I felt full.  THIS is what birthdays should feel like.  THIS is why people dread birthdays, because they don't get treated like this on their special day.  People went out of their ways to make me feel so appreciated and it affirmed to me the importance of going out of MY way to make people feel the same way. No more late gifts in the mail-I will get to the post office in time (I huge issue of mine!).  No more fast texts and Fac.ebook posts because the card I bought (or didn't) wasn't going to get to the person in time.  No more excuses.  People deserve to be celebrated! 

Right before going to sleep, I listened to a voice mail message from my goddaughter and her mom, PorscheNut, singing Happy Birthday to me.  "Happy Birthday, Aunt RenovationGirl!" said PorschePeanut,"This is a prize for your birthday!"  You bet it is, baby girl!  I went to sleep with a smiling heart. 

Little Pink Booties

I finally hooked up with my RE today.  All looks good post D&C.  We're all set to have the surgery as soon as I figure out the best time to have it.  I didn't want to miss days of work, but it's looking like that's what going to happen. 

Our baby was a girl.  I knew it was in my heart, but they confirmed this today.  It made it all very real again. We move along, we're fine, we go through the day to day, and then we get this news, and all of a sudden, there it is again.  I mean, we're fine and all, but this just kind of hit us hard.

You see, we want another child, but I think we both would love to have a little girl.  Remodel Man especially wants that father/daughter relationship...a little girl to look up to her daddy...to be her protector...to have her dance on his feet...to have a father/daughter dance at her wedding.  Telling him today was incredibly difficult.  And he took it very hard.

For me, well, I have goddaughters and I have made their mothers, my two closest friends, swear that I can come prom and wedding dress shopping! :)  But still, I'm very close to my mother and would love to have a relationship like that with my own daughter. 

Regardless, now we know.  We can move on and see what happens after surgery.  I am still eternally grateful for this little boy who has been entrusted to us. 

Thank you all for your amazingly supportive comments...it is good to know I am not alone. 

A Lego Birthday Celebration

I've been meaning to post about Builder Boy's 6th birthday, which was almost a month ago.  He wanted a party at the house, which although is a lot of work and expense, I have to confess I enjoy.  It allows me to be creative and I don't have to leave the house to do it! 

It had been threatening to rain all day, but about the time the guests started to arrive, the skies cleared. We were able to have the entire party outside.  All of those organized games I created?  Yea, totally didn't do those-the kids were having too much fun just playing.  Builder Boy's preschool class this year is a delightfully kind and close group of kids.  They love one another and just love to be together. So, together they were.  It was a lovely day.  Builder Boy had a blast and was spoiled rotten.  It couldn't have been a better 6th Birthday!

The favors: homemade Lego brick crayons and minifigures, Lego Blox candy, and a bag of Legos all in a "Lego box."

The favor boxes, pinata and cake:

The Pinata: 

Fixing the homemade pinata...clearly I didn't make it strong enough.  (Sorry you have to tilt your head.) 

Cake close-up...Remodel Man iced the cake!!  He did an awesome job!

Candy candy candy!!!! 

 

What a great day and what a great little boy.  Although it's late, Happy 6th Birthday to the best little boy in the  universe!  We love you more than anything, Builder Boy!
 
 
 

Random Thoughts After Loss

I'm home alone right now.  Not a good thing after pregnancy loss #3.  I'm still not feeling well.  I am extremely tired, very nauseated, a bit crampy, and naturally very sad.  This recovery has been much more difficult than the last time.  Perhaps it's the tearing that occurred during surgery or perhaps this body of "advanced maternal age" is just feeling it all more deeply.  Nonetheless, it's been rough. 

Laying around gives you time to think...this is also not a good thing.  But it does call to mind some random thoughts that I've been having. 

1.  I feel blessed.  I watch Builder Boy and know that no matter how bad things get, he is here.  He is our miracle.  He is our "meant to be."  He is an amazing, creative, funny, clever, challenging, loving, crabby, silly, dancing boy.  He is.

2. I will be 38 this fall.  Yes, this is five months away, but it feels like it's now.  I am not one who usually is bothered by her age, but as I close in on the end of my fertile years (yea, go ahead and laugh...fertile?! HA!), I am feeling a bit leary of each new birthday.

3. I am terrified that this pregnancy was a molar.  Complete, partial-it doesn't matter.  The long wait, the weekly blood draws, the constant reminder of what isn't happening-I just can't do it again.  And if it is that, I think that will be the end of our "trying."  And I have very mixed feelings on this.

4.  It makes me crazy when I acknowledge that my file is now marked, "recurrent pregnancy losses."  This happens to other people.  Not me.  Yet, here I am.  And it is me.

5.  I have a pregnant colleague and when I was walking down the hall on my way to my last ultrasound, I thought to myself, "I cannot stand her pregnant face."  This is not a nice thing and it is not me.  She is delightful and glowing and I am happy for her.  But I will live the next 6 months that my belly should be growing watching hers grow.  I will listen to all her happiness while still grieving my own losses.  I am not looking forward to this. 

6.  People keep asking me what they can do for me.  I don't know what to say.  I am not talkative about this.  I don't know what to say.  It sucks.  I'm sad.  I wish I could give someone something to do for me, but I just don't know what that is.

7.  Builder Boy finishes preschool this week.  I was already incredibly sad about yet another milestone, but now it will be much worse.  He is very excited about his new school and for this I am glad.  But it is sad to leave a place you've grown accustomed to.  And I am sad.

Lots of sad...