tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38799323681937807102023-11-16T08:39:46.470-08:00The HarrisonsMeghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.comBlogger223125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-60721374678698682452014-10-05T17:45:00.003-07:002014-10-05T18:13:23.116-07:00Emerging from the postpartum shadowsI'm starting to see the light and feel the warmth of the sun. I'm starting to enjoy the cool breeze, and smile easy and laugh easier.<br />
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I'm starting to breathe again.<br />
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Because for awhile there, I wasn't. It was all choked up in my throat and my heart kept pounding but....as Jordan Sparks would say, <i>no air. </i><br />
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Rhenner is a few days shy of being 4 months old. And now I can look at him and say <i>I'm so glad you're here. I'm so happy you're in our family and that you have cute, fluffy hair that sticks straight up and a big nose and an even bigger smile. </i><br />
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I'm going to be honest. Rhenner? Well, he broke me. He shattered every ounce of confidence I had as a mother and he threw the broken pieces in the air for the wind to catch and carry away. And just like that, I was a mess. I thought I knew what I was doing. And therein lied the problem: When it comes to kids, I should remember that I never know what I'm doing.<br />
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I thought he would be just. like. his. brother. And funny thing! He wasn't. He was hard. He was really hard and I dreaded every day. I would lie down at night and think, I have to do that all over again tomorrow. How am I going to survive this?<br />
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A friend of mine told me that it really looked like I had my shit together (her words, not mine, but I'm keeping them nonetheless). The fact was, only my instagram feed and facebook status updates had their shit together. But not me. Definitely not real-life-Meghan.<br />
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Rhenner didn't take a pacifier like his brother did. And it wasn't just that he didn't take a pacifier - he didn't take <i>comfort. </i>Like, at all. People suggested putting him in a carrier. He screamed louder when he was facing in towards me. People suggested I swaddle him. He fought harder against the fabric, against himself. People suggested putting him in the carseat and taking him for a ride - Bad. Bad, bad, bad idea. Rhenner detests the carseat and screamed everytime I would put him in it. It didn't matter how long the drive was, he would scream the whole time. I hated driving him anywhere, because it just made me feel awful listening to him. I tried nursing him to sleep - he would nurse, and then just as he was getting tired, he would get mad again and attempt to rip my nipple off my breast. When he was tired, he didn't want to be held. He didn't want to nurse. He didn't want to rock. He just wanted to sleep, and he didn't know how. It tortured me. I would shut myself in his room for 45 minutes at a time, all the while he is screaming and clawing at my shirt and just begging for sleep. I would get him -finally!- asleep, only to have him wake up within minutes, starting the entire process all over again. Even Grandma, when she came to visit, knew he was a mystery. "Hmph." She said. "He is one tough customer, isn't he? You really got your hands full."<br />
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I took him and Axton to a park play group one day. Just to try it. Just to prove all those depressing thought in my head wrong - thoughts that told me I would never again get to go out or take Axton places or have other people watch my kids. Well, while we were there, Rhenner got tired as one-month-olds tend to do, and he was crying and I was nursing on a park bench and Axton is pouting next to me, saying Mommy please come play with me? And nursing isn't helping and walking or swaying isn't helping. So, a friend offers to try....She asks, "Does he take a pacifier?" Good grief, if he did, don't you think I would have tried that by now? I watched him pound his fists against her chest, clawing at her shirt, his face getting redder and his screams getting louder. I watched her face as she handed him back to me. It was a look of relief. A look that said to me <i>Boy I'm glad he's not my kid. </i>And again, I was defeated.<br />
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We had friends over for dinner another night, and I couldn't enjoy a single minute with them because Rhenner wouldn't go to sleep. I walked up and down our driveway, up and down, up and down. I walked slow, I did lunges, I bounced and jiggled and really the only way he would ever fall asleep was after just giving up. But I couldn't put him down in his bassinet because then he would wake up, and I couldn't go back and enjoy my friends because our talking would wake him up. So, once again, I had to seclude myself in his room and just wait. It was such a lonely time.<br />
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On top of his crankiness, he was also extremely congested. There were countless nights I had to sleep sitting up, holding him at an incline, so he could breathe while he slept at night. Below is a video I took of him around 4 weeks old. I took the video because everytime I tried talking to someone about it, it was like they didn't believe me or thought I was making a bigger deal out of it than I needed to. So I wanted to prove to them that this is what he sounded like all the time, and that this wasn't normal.<br />
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I talked to several different people - is it a cold turned something serious? Is it allergies? Milk sensitivity? His primary care physician thought it could be reflux, but didn't think it was serious enough for a prescription. Another doctor I took him to thought it was just a lingering cold and he would get over it. Another one didn't know what was causing it, and could only suggest taking him to an ENT. When I went in for my 6 week check up with my midwife she asked, "Does he always sound like this?" and I said, "Yes. Always. Thank you for noticing." She suggested some natural remedies for the congestion and for reflux. I didn't know what was causing it, but it was incredibly frustrating to not have answers. It was also guilt-inducing to think that if it was milk allergies, <i>I </i>was the one causing it. So I cut out all dairy products, feeling a little bit better that at least I was trying to find a solution.<br />
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I welcomed the night. Night time was the only time I could catch a break. Rhenner would, after several, clustered feedings, sleep in bed next to me. He would generally go right back to sleep after nursing. So, we co-slept. Because, like I said, it was the only break I got. I woke up in the morning only to look forward to going back to bed at night. That, my friends, does nothing for a person's happiness.<br />
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I felt guilty about Axton, too. Rhenner sucked so much energy out of me and Axton was dealing with so many changes at once - I was not patient. I didn't have enough time in the day to be the kind of mother I wanted - and used to be! - to him. I constantly thought, "What was I thinking? I was a great mother to just one boy, and now I am simply a mediocre mom to two boys! Was it worth that? I will never have another kid, because then I will just be a sucky mom to three kids and that's not fair to anyone involved." I felt guilty that I wasn't enjoying Rhenner the way I had hoped to. That I was telling myself this was just something I <i>had to get through, </i>rather than moments to embrace. I was simply just....living. Just going through the motions. I felt guilty that I was constantly comparing Rhenner to Axton, thinking how easy Axton was! When really, I probably just forgot the hard stuff with him.<br />
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So, as I'm sure you can tell now, when it came time to fly to Idaho with both boys by myself, I had <i>extreme </i>anxiety. I got so worked up and so nervous, I made myself sick the morning before the flight. I spent most of that morning in the bathroom. Going through security, Rhenner was in the carrier - which, of course, he hates but I don't have enough hands for anything else. Axton was screaming for Daddy when he saw him not go through the security with us, and I am - what else? - crying. Finally, Rhenner is exhausted and he allows me to put the pacifier in his mouth - he doesn't even suck before he is asleep. The plane ride itself isn't bad; Axton watches Curious George and the humming of the plane helps Rhenner sleep. But getting off the plane? Everything is chaos! More crying and screaming and everyone is staring and I make eye contact with <i>no one. Just keep looking forward. Just keep moving. </i>Axton is running away from me and I choose to save him over my camera equipment and when I get back to my stuff, someone had been waiting by my bags to make sure no one stole anything. <i>Thank you. </i><br />
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And then we have the most hellish drive of my life - 4 hours from Salt Lake City up to Idaho with the child that can't stand to be in his carseat. I literally had to turn myself off. I had to block it all out. I had to be emotionless. I will say it again: I was <i>broken. </i><br />
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Being with my mom was good for me, but it also made me rely on her. She didn't leave me alone too often while we were there, but the few times she did have to work, I would get panic attacks when I would find out I would have to be alone with the boys. I dreaded being alone with them. Do you know how that feels? How awful it is to know that you dread being alone with your own children? My mom kept encouraging the pacifier and I just...everything felt wrong and out of place and again, I felt guilty that I was forcing something on him that he clearly didn't like.<br />
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We visited my sister in law, whose baby was only 5 weeks younger than Rhenner. We were there for 3 hours and I had to feed Rhenner twice while Landon slept the entire time. I looked enviously at him, swaddled and sleeping through the noise and movement and thought, "Rhenner never did that."<br />
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Going to church was embarrassing and felt completely like a waste of time. There were two other moms who had babies within 5 days of Rhenner, so we all returned to church around the same time. My first week back to church with Rhenner was miserable. Rhenner, as per usual, was not going to sleep. I walked into Relief Society, sat down, and he immediately started crying. So I carried everything back out with me, mumbling to someone, "Nope, <i>that's </i>not happening." There was way too much going on for him. It was too hot outside for me to take him out, someone had <i>locked </i>the Mother's nursing lounge (say what? That is NOT okay. It's not even about nursing in front of other people, I just needed a quiet room that loud kids wouldn't come barging into so he could fall asleep). So the only room I could find was the one right next to the Relief Society room. I knew every woman in there could hear his every wailing, his constant screaming. I knew what they all were thinking - about me, about Rhenner, about my mothering abilities - or at least, I thought I did. And I hated it, so much. The two other moms with babies the same age would look at me with their pity-eyes, and ask, "How is he doing?" I know now it was out of love, but in the moment it felt like they were rubbing it in. Rubbing in their perfect easy babies ("Oh man, this baby is SO much easier than my first. How about for you?!?") that magically fell asleep during the Sunday school lesson as they gently swayed them back and forth.<br />
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In the midst of all this, Axton stopped napping. And my already train-wreck of a life dissolved into nothing but tears and sadness. Once I realized he was done with his nap, I had a week where I just moped around the house, calling it a "quarter-life crisis." I told Adam I no longer knew what I was supposed to do with my life - especially when it came to the one thing I spent time on outside of the home: photography. "What am I even doing? I have to quit photography. I will never again have time for it. Besides, who am I to capture someone's <i>wedding </i>day? I am not that good. Nobody should ever trust me with capturing the most important day of their life. I am going to ruin someone's wedding. I've got to quit this. Axton is obviously having behavioral issues. It must be my fault. I need to focus more time on him. I should be doing more with him..." And I haven't even mentioned anything about dealing with a postpartum body, trying to get back in shape, my body not being my own, things hurting and aching still. It went on and on and Adam didn't know what to do with me and I didn't know what to do with myself.<br />
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<br />
.........<br />
<br />
I reread this post and I think that it does not do justice to what I was going through. It just makes me sound like a whiney person, with a slightly-above-average cranky baby, when really, I was depressed and it was really, really hard.<br />
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But then, slowly, things started getting a little easier. Rhenner started taking a pacifier occasionally, and then more and more often. Which meant he started to fall asleep peacefully. It was no longer a violent fight to get him to relax, he could peacefully sleep in my arms. I cried the first time it happend because I didn't realize how beautiful of a blessing it was, and what a difference it made, to not have him fight me so hard. His happy, awake moments started lasting longer, too. He would give me a smirk and my heart would leap for joy - a small reward for all my hard work that day. I am starting to read him easier, know his needs quicker, spread out his feedings longer. Axton is getting used to having him here, realizing he isn't a temporary inconvenience, but a permanent addition to our family. Of course it's still hard - but it's an I-can-handle-this hard. It's not a break-me-in-half hard.<br />
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I forgot how much I hated it when people asked if I had a "good baby." Somebody asked me that recently, "Has he been a good baby?" I honestly didn't know how to answer that. As hard as he was, he is still such an innocent little soul. He is still perfect and he is still mine and he is who he is for a reason, so how could I ever call him "bad"?<br />
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\Now that I am starting to be able to enjoy this stage with Rhenner, I've been reminded just how fast they really do grow. With Axton, I was so eager for him to reach the next milestone - eating solids, sleeping through the night, napping on a regular schedule, walking. Now, with Rhenner, I'm stretching everything out as long as I can. He is still sleeping with me most of the time, and I haven't even thought about introducing him to solids (even though, technically, he could start now).<br />
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I wanted to write about this as it was happening, I wanted to say, "Hey, I'm having a hard time," instead of writing about it after the fact. But really, I couldn't even wrap my head around it. I couldn't even see through the fog and the pain. It's been quite a journey, getting to this point. Motherhood is always a journey. It's true that every child really is his own person, and I will be fully prepared for the next one by....not being prepared at all. By being willing to take whoever comes to us and being patient. Until then, I'm learning who Rhenner is and how he fits into our family. Taking it one day at a time and finding joy in the journey.<br />
<br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-29370664947035129782014-07-30T22:12:00.001-07:002014-07-30T22:12:05.896-07:0050 Questions<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">I will be seeing my best friend tomorrow - the one who's been there for me since 7th grade. So, for the past decade. We used to do this thing where we would send each other the same questionnaire every few months, just to see if our answers would change and just to keep up to date with where each of us were in life. I couldn't, for the life of me, find the original questionnaire we used to pass back and forth but I found a similar one. And since I'm feeling nostalgic, I decided to fill it out. Just for kicks. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">1. What time did you get up this morning? 6:40 am</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">2. Diamonds or Pearls? Diamonds</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Arthur Christmas. It was the Summer Dollar Days and I took Axton while my in-laws watched Rhenner. He got scared at the very end, so we left 10 minutes before it was over.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">4. What is your favorite TV show? Friends. America's Got Talent. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">5. What did you have for breakfast? Homemade breakfast burrito (what I get for visiting Mom)</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">6. What is your middle name? Rose</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">7. What is your favorite cuisine? Italian</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">8. What foods do you dislike? Crunchy onions. Mushy tomatoes. Plain cauliflower. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">9. Your favorite Potato chips? I really don't eat potato chips that often, but I like Salt and Vinegar and Sour Cream and Onion</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">10. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Hehe. CD. Like we still listen to those! Um, how about my favorite Pandora station? I actually really like the Children's Lullaby station. It gets mixed up with some chill jams. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">11. What kind of car do you drive? MY car is a Honda Accord</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">12. Favorite sandwich? Chicken. As in Chick-Fil-A chicken. Or chicken salad.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">13. What characteristics do you despise? Er. Um, rudeness? Tactless-ness? This is a strange question. I would much rather tell you characteristics I admire in others. And that would be courage, kindness, and faith in the face of trials.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">14. What are your favorite clothes? Cute sweats and a V neck tee shirt</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">be? Probably back to Switzerland or Germany, but this time with my husband.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">16. What color are your eyes? Blue, blue blue</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">17. Favorite brand of clothing? The ones that fit and look good while making me feel comfortable</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">18. Where would you want to retire? Probably back in Hawaii</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">19. Favorite time of day? If I wasn't so darn tired when I woke up, it would be the mornings. My babies are happiest in the morning, so therefore I am too.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">20. Where were you born? Hastings, MN</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">21. What is your favorite sport to watch? Probably soccer, since I know the most about it</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">22. Who do you think will not send this back? Gag me.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">23. Person you expect to send it back first? Seriously.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">24. Pepsi or Coke? Pepsi. But only once in a blue moon, on a hot summer day. With ice.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">25. Beavers or Ducks? Another strange question! I honestly thought there was some sort of sexual innuendo associated with this question but I didn't want to think about it too hard so I will innocently answer ducks! Because I like feeding them bread. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">26. Are you a morning person or night owl? I'm a Life person.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">27. Pedicure or Manicure? Pedicure! I adore having my feet rubbed.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">28. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with everyone? Um...my 7 week old slept 7 hours last night! (Not that that means I got 7 hours of sleep, since I didn't go to bed right when he did...but still, exciting!)</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">29. What did you want to be when you were little? It depends on how "little" we're talking here, but generally speaking....a writer. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">30. What is your best childhood memory? Vacations with my family. Oh, and living on 14 acres of land and exploring it nonstop. With chickens and a dog and two barn cats. And fields and fields of strawberries. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">31. What are the different jobs you have had in your life? Police Cadet (yes, seriously), Coffeehouse Barista, Reading & Writing tutor, Newspaper photographer, Nanny, Freelance photographer</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">32. Ever been to Africa? No. And I used to want to volunteer there, really bad. But then I read this article floating around on Facebook about how skinny white girls volunteering overseas are generally more self-gratifying than actually being helpful to the locals. I figured they had a point - I could probably help orphans in Africa a lot better by donating my money to them instead of spending a week playing with the children. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">33. Ever been toilet papering? No. Not even a desire.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">34. Been in a car accident? Yes. It was the first and last time I ever needed stitches. Only a few, but right next to my eye. If the tree branch had been one centimeter further, I could very well be blind in that eye now.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">35. Favorite day of the week? Saturday. It means Daddy is home. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">36. Favorite restaurant? Squisitos has the best Italian pasta and Cannoli I have had so far.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">37. Favorite flower? I don't even know. I like flowers. Good enough for me.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">38. Favorite ice cream? Mint Oreo Blizzard. Or maybe MooseTracks.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">39. Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Bell. It's just a great fall-back. Even if I don't think it sounds good, the moment I put it in my mouth I'm doing alright, you know?</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">40. How many times did you fail your drivers test? None. And the only speeding ticket I've ever paid for was not even mine - the stupid cameras photographed another car, not mine, but I still got the ticket in the mail and I didn't feel like fighting it.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">41. From whom did you get your last e-mail? Heather</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">42. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? I would never max out my credit card -- unless I had the money in the bank to pay for it. So the question should really be, if you had an extra $5,000 where would you spend it? And the answer would probably be something like Lowe's or Home Depot so I could add some nice touches to our house.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">43. Bedtime? Just as soon as I put Axton down. And then Rhenner. And then edit some photos. And then pick up from dinner. And then hang out with Adam. And then write some emails. After that, then I go to bed.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">44. When was the last time you cried? Last night. Adam and I had ended our phone conversation on a bad note, and it made me sad. It's been a week since I've seen him so I am especially sensitive. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">45. Last person you went to dinner with? Like, an actual sit down restaurant? My grams, my mom, and my great Aunt Merlene. But it was lunch, not dinner. And we ate at Perkins. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: x-small;">46. What are you listening to right now? The occasional car passing by the house, windows open and breeze coming through</span></span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">47. What is your favorite color? I think it's pink. I think I like that it's soft and feminine. I find it comforting and familiar. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">48. How many tattoos do you have? I have scars all over my body that are permanent reminders of the 18+ months I have carried my two children in my belly. Does that count?</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">49. How many people are you sending this E-mail to? Um, the whole blogosphere.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">50. What time did you finish this e-mail? 11:08pm. Good grief. Go to bed, Woman.<br /><br /><br /></span>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-55354246553482648952014-07-17T12:03:00.000-07:002014-07-17T12:03:34.981-07:00If only I could TweetThat moment when you JUST get your newborn to sleep and then you take a big fat risk and fart....waking him up so you have to start the whole 40-minute process over again.<br />
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Axton was swimming in his kiddie pool - naked, because that's the only way he likes it. He looked down, pointed to his nipple and said, "Baby eat?" Not quite, kid. But pretty darn close.<br />
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I have always wanted to be one of those people at the gym who get shin-sweat. I feel like that is a really good indication that you're working hard, if your shins are actually sweating. What I have not always wanted to be is one of those people who get both shin-sweat <i>and </i>belly-sweat. Yep, that was me my first time at the gym in 6 weeks. Gotta love the post-pregnancy body.<br />
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Note to self: Rectal thermometer acts EXACTLY like an enema. WATCH OUT.<br /><br />
Axton just walked in on me changing - specifically, putting my bra on. He whispered a very breathy "Woooow."<br />
Um, awkward? And really, do you have to be just like your Dad with <i>everything</i>?<br />
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So glad my mom bought Axton a giant green tube that magnifies his voice by 10 so he can yell, "NO DIAPER CHANGE!" at an even louder volume.<br />
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Axton hugging the iPad while spinning in circles like he's on the Sound of Music and singing, "Dada Games! Dada Games!" doesn't make me feel like the worst parent ever. Nope, it doesn't.<br />
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I must have been feeling ambitious this morning. Just had to ask Adam to help me take a shirt off that, nope, still doesn't fit, because I got stuck in it. Not feeling so ambitious anymore.<br />
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My son hasn't taken a bath in 3 days. He does, however, swim in his rain-water-filled kiddie pool everyday. That counts, right? (PS let's be honest, he hasn't brushed his teeth since then either. Parenting win).<br />
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Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-40054045633951937972014-07-13T13:06:00.003-07:002014-07-13T13:10:01.028-07:00Late on SundayI was maybe, just a little bit, dreading going to church today. We had gone the previous Sunday for Rhenner's blessing when all the family was here. Even though Axton had been distracted with cousins, which meant I really only had to worry about Rhenner during sacrament meeting, it still was kind of a cringe-worthy Sunday (aside from the beautiful blessing Adam gave Rhenner, which deserves a post of its own because I have some feelings on that topic). Rhenner screamed all through Sunday school and Relief Society last Sunday and then promptly fell asleep in some old lady's arms at the end of it all. When she handed him back to me, he woke up and started screaming again. So, you can understand why I wasn't exactly looking forward to doing it all over again this week.<br />
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Regardless, this morning I thought I had given myself enough time to get ready. Apparently I hadn't. Minutes got away from me, and suddenly I had no where near enough time to do everything I had to: Get Axton's snack bag, get Axton's toy bag, get the diaper bag packed with extra clothes for everyone, eat breakfast, change Axton's clothes, change Rhenner's clothes, put on my own church clothes, try to do something with my bed-head hair, put make up on to cover up my bags under my eyes.....I was running around, stressed to the max. Rhenner was screaming - he was tired and he only sleeps under very carefully construed conditions. I was so frustrated with him being too picky about how and where and when he sleeps. I carried him in my arm, trying to multi-task, all the while getting deafer by the second with his wailing inches from my ear. Newborn cries have something terrible in them - black magic or something - that makes me ache, so I was getting all agitated. I told Rhenner, Fine, if you're not going to sleep you can just sit here and cry while I get all this done. I put him on the couch and ran off to do some seemingly-important task. His cries penetrated my every move, though and I couldn't focus on the tasks at hand. I kept glancing at the clock, and I was torn. I had this evil little voice in the back of my head saying, <i>You're going to be late. You're going to miss sacrament. It is a commandment to take the sacrament every week. If you miss the passing of the bread and water, what is the point? ....You made a covenant to attend all church meetings. You need to do better, Meghan. You should have had everyone's clothes lined up the night before. You should have woken up earlier. If the sacrament were important enough to you, you wouldn't be stumbling around trying to get there on time.</i><br />
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All I could feel was this pressure to not be late to church - more specifically, to not miss the sacrament. I even had thoughts like, "Well there goes the Celestial Kingdom. You are obviously not perfect enough." (I know - <i>that escalated quickly</i>!)<br />
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Anyway, these thoughts and the ticking of the clock and the wailing of the baby......<br />
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I paused.<br />
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I took a deep breath and I thought about what was really important in that moment.<br />
I picked up my baby. I didn't try to do other things while he bobbed around on my arm, still crying. I sat down on the couch. I patiently patted his back, and within seconds he was out. I closed my eyes and I let it go. And that, my dears, is when I felt the spirit re-enter my heart. Those thoughts were not from Him, they were from myself - an aching within me stirred by society and guilt and the need to be perfect.<br />
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<i>You are trying, and that's what matters. </i><br />
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We're going to be late.<br />
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<i>And that's okay. At least you're going. </i><br />
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And we were late, but not too late to take the sacrament.<br />
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Rhenner woke up halfway through the first meeting, and because his cry isn't a "Hey, I think I'm starting to get hungry, Mommy" kind of cry - it's a "FEED ME, WOMAN!" cry, I took him to the Mother's Lounge to get him calmed down. It was just me in there, and the speakers were on so I could still hear everything going on in the chapel. They were singing a song now, and I could very distinctly pick out a few voices.<br />
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I chuckled a little because man, those voices were terrible. Their words were a few beats behind and their pitches a few notes off. And then, for the second time that day, the spirit taught me the same lesson: <i>That's okay, at least they're singing. </i><br />
They were not perfect singers, but there they were, singing anyway. Singing because they love God and want to worship Him. Singing because they are trying to do what's right.<br />
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And here I am, coming into church late. <i>But I'm here. And I'm trying. </i></div>
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I am far from perfect -- but I <i>am </i>doing my best. And that's all He has ever asked from me.</div>
Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-90693430544961972082014-06-28T07:45:00.000-07:002014-06-28T07:45:02.956-07:00Second Time Around<span style="font-size: large;">Things I forgot about: </span><br />
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<b>Showers are a joke. </b>I would like to think I'm actually getting clean, but really I'm just fooling myself. For one thing, I'm still bleeding out the wazoo so, as gravity always does its job, blood is now dripping down my legs. Hot water on my breasts only makes them explode, so now sticky milk is dripping all over my belly. And since showers are the only chance I have to be alone, it's where I do my crying. So now I have snot and tears clogging everything on my face. But let's say that I somehow manage to clean off the blood, milk, tears, and snot while standing in the hot water, before it all starts up again. Even if that were the case (and it's not always), the second I shut off the water, I'm back to square one. The bathroom is all steamed up and I'm already sweating.<br /><br /><b>Wearing a pad for weeks on end = cruelest form of torture ever. </b>Most of us are used to wearing pads for a short period of time. But when you're having a period that makes up for going 9 months without one, and you aren't allowed to shove a tampon up there, pads become your best friend and your worst enemy. They rub you in all the wrong places, causing sores and itches and burns. Sometimes I wear my stupid huge adult diapers instead of a pad just because they are a different shape and size and therefore will rub my raw behind in different places. Poor Rhenner is getting fed up with me stealing all of his diaper rash cream (not really - he doesn't even need it.)<br /><br /><b>The stinkiest phase of my existence. </b>I have never sweat so much and smelled <i>so bad </i>as I do when I am breastfeeding every two hours in the dead heat of a Maryland summer. Sticky for days, I tell you. And it is <i>immediate. </i>Like I said above, the second I step out of the shower, it begins. If I don't put deodorant on my pits <i>while </i>I'm turning the hot water knob off, then it's too late. I might as well stay in the shower forever.<br /><br /><b>The two week turn around point. </b>Everything is shimmery and glorious and doe-eyed for the first two weeks. I'm all snuggles and sleepy and precious with Rhenner, and I can easily lay him down in bed if ever I need a break. Or I can hold onto him and fall asleep at awkward and uncomfortable angles and waking up with his cute little cheeks in my arms makes up for the creaks in my body. But then something happens at two weeks - and I knew it was coming because Axton did it to me, too. "It" being turning into a zombie baby - a zombie baby who never sleeps and only cries and wants to be nursed constantly and jolts awake the second I try to put him down (which I try to do often because sleeping with him in my arms is starting to lose its preciousness, and the creakiness in my bones is starting to wear on me). To top it all off, Rhenner is not taking a pacifier like Axton did. It is really hard for me to watch him have such a difficult time falling asleep - sometimes even when I am nursing him - because there really is nothing I can do. I just have to let him get frustrated and overtired and work himself into a tizzy.<br /><br /><b>The Guilty Whispers and Wise. </b>I told myself I wasn't going to read any "baby books" this time around. Well, I kind of listened. My mom bought me the Baby Whisperer DVD and I thought it wouldn't hurt to just get a review. Well instead of learning great tips and tricks on how to get my baby to sleep, it only made me feel guilty for already doing it all wrong. She told me (to my face!) that a baby is fully equipped to fall asleep on its own, but we as parents ruin those skills by rocking and holding them to sleep. I think that is the biggest load of bull I have ever heard. Saying that to new parents is in no way encouraging or helpful, and only guilts them into doing exactly as Tracy says. Well, I'm not falling for it this time, Miss Hogg. I don't believe that you know the <i>only </i>way for babies to fall asleep. I think you have some good ideas but I'm not going to beat myself up this time for not following your advice step by step. Same goes to you, Mr. Wise.<br /><br /><b>Being name shy. </b>I remember I was the same way with Axton for the first little bit (a couple weeks? A couple months? I can't remember for how long). It was weird for me to call him by his name. Instead of saying, "I need to feed Axton." I would say, "I need to feed baby." I don't know if it's because he was in me for so long without a name or what, but it took me a long time to get used to Baby's name being Axton. It also took me awhile to not be shy or embarrassed to tell people his name. I knew Axton was a pretty different name, and a lot of times whenever people would ask, I would have to repeat it for them or spell it for them. This made me shy about his name for a little bit. I am noticing I am doing the same thing with Rhenner, and I am trying to get over it quicker - especially when I talk to Axton. I want him to know that baby's name is Rhenner and <i>not </i>'Baby.'<br /><br /><b>Random bursts of milk. </b>All I have to do is <i>think </i>about Rhenner and the all-too-familiar tingling (tingling? Who am I kidding? This isn't a mere <i>tingle,</i> this is the weight of Niagra Falls pushing to spill out of my poor, mangled nipples) hits me. I have caught myself walking around the store or at a restaurant with one hand pressed against each of my breasts, trying to keep myself from leaking all down my front. I'm not sure which looks worse: two wet circles around each breast, or a hand pressed against each breast.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Things that are new:</span><br /><br /><b>The obvious. </b>Now I don't just have a baby to take care of. Now I have a baby <i>and </i>a two-year-old. A two-year-old who is currently testing my every last strand of patience. Whenever I ask him not to do something, he grins his devil grin and does it again. Or if I tell him not to go into the road, he runs off in exactly that direction, turning his head around to laugh at me while I try to chase him down with poor Rhenner bobbing off my boob. I have only had two days on my own, without help from either my mom or Adam's mom, but I already know this is going to be hard. H.A.R.D. H to the ard. Difficult. Trying. Challenging. Tough. A slap in the face. I have asked myself, on more than one occasion, "You were barely handling Axton on his own. What in the world made you believe you could add a NEWBORN to the mix?"<br /><br /><b>Our house. </b>As much as I love our little home and our big yard....it has added so much stress to our lives. Before baby came, we were stressed about getting the house "done enough" for us to move in. Now it's stressful trying to find time to continue to work on the house, and, in the meantime, live in the house in its current conditions. As of right now, we have no finished closets. There is no where to hang up anything. This means all of our clothes are shoved in awkward nooks and crannies, or else they are still in boxes, hiding in laundry baskets, wrinkling in the dryer, or strewn across some random piece of furniture like our bed or the couch. Clothes are my worst enemy right now as it is, what with me being several sizes larger than I normally am - it is so hard to piece together a decent-looking and decent-fitting outfit, and I tend to wear the same couple of shirts over and over again. I can't find the boxes that contain my post-pregnancy clothes so I am trying to make something work with what I have. And not having closets is just making it trickier. With everything else going on, can't I just have one thing that is simple? Like, what I wear for the day?<br /><br /><b>Quicker recovery. </b>What a difference it makes to not have stitches! What an absolute difference it makes to not have pushed for two hours!! No broken blood vessels in my eyes, no puffy cheeks, no extremely sore lower half (only minorly sore). I am definitely feeling so much more able and agile than I was with Axton. I am so grateful for this, it makes me feel like I will return to "normal" a little bit quicker this time around.<br /><br /><b>More help. </b>Last time, my mom's return flight left two days after Axton was born. This time, she didn't buy a return ticket until Rhenner was born and she was able to stay for 10 days after he arrived. It was such a blessing to have her help while I tried to get settled into a new routine. Then shortly after she left, Adam's mom came. I have been thinking that the older Rhenner gets, the easier it will be to take care of him and Axton (that's probably not true, but I like to tell myself it is) so the longer I have people around to help me, the better off I will be when they leave.<br /><br /><b>Coherent thoughts. </b>I had <i>terrible </i>writer's block when I first had Axton. I had so, so many thoughts swirling around in my brain and I just could not formulate the words to make them into sentences that made sense (<i>My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations). </i>I didn't even know if my thoughts <i>were </i>thoughts, that's how lost I was. It was just bits and pieces of a random puzzle, or several different puzzles. It was all so confusing. I have had so many people try to tell me that going from one kid to two kids is the "hardest" and just as many other people tell me, "No way, going from two kids to three kids is <i>definitely </i>the hardest." But to be honest, I think going from no kids to being a mother is <i>really </i>the hardest, and everything after that is just equal hard but never as hard as that transition from Not-Mother to Mother. So anyway, that was a a bit of a tangent. I'm just saying I'm glad I am not as <i>completely lost </i>as I was when I had my first baby. I at least know that my child <i>will </i>sleep eventually, he really doesn't stay this small forever, and I really should just listen to my gut and everything will turn out alright in the end.Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-55393255199309573852014-06-27T10:41:00.000-07:002014-06-27T10:41:07.336-07:00On why I quit blogging and maybe I will start againIf you haven't already noticed, I will confess that it is June and I have only blogged three times in the last 6 months. Before writing Rhenner's birth story, my last blog entries had both been in the month of January.<br />Maybe you're curious why I stopped writing? What happened after January that made me stop blogging - at least once in awhile?<br /><br />Well, a few things.<br />
1. My photography business got busy. I started focusing any extra time I had on blogging consistently on my photo blog. I also started my 365 project which took so much of my spare minutes than I ever thought it would.<br />
2. I was pregnant and had a toddler. "Extra time" was hard to come by in the first place.<br />
3. -- And I really feel this is the main reason, here. I went to Katelyn James' workshop (<a href="http://mrosephoto.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-workshop-experience-with-katelyn.html">remember</a>?) and I got scared.<br />
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There. I said it.<br /><br />Katelyn is a strong believer in driving her business forward with her blog. When I went to her workshop, she told us all that we <i>needed </i>a blog, like ASAP. If we didn't have one, we were already behind. She also strongly encouraged us to not just blog our photo sessions. She believed that she gained the thousands of followers she did because she let people in on her life. She blogged about starting a business from the ground up, she blogs about decorating her house, her dog, her family life, building a new home, answering questions, and her favorite products. When she blogs, she shares a piece of herself with the world of the internet. I knew where she was coming from and I could appreciate her advice: We have to be real with our clients. If they feel like they "know" us then they are going to be more comfortable hiring us as their photographer.<br /><br />But I was also worried. I knew there was no way I could ever keep up with two separate blogs and be consistent with them both. Plus, from Katelyn's point of view, it sounded like she was suggesting I combine my personal blog and my photography blog into one -- with a warning, though, of course. We mustn't <i>overshare. </i>She cautioned us about having a healthy balance between being real and authentic and sharing too much and scaring away a large majority of followers. This is the part I struggled with the most: I don't know how to <i>not </i>overshare. If I'm going to tell a story, I'm going to tell the whole thing. I'm going to tell you what I was feeling and thinking and how much sweat was under my pits and how bad my breath stunk and how my boobs were leaking (because they do that again now! Win!) and what idiotic thing I said next. I could probably learn to glaze over some of the details and offer my readers a simple post with a touch of humor and mostly class, like Katelyn does so well and so beautifully.....but it wouldn't feel <i>completely me. </i><br /><br />And so I froze. I didn't know what direction to go in - try to carry on with two separate blogs? Or combine my professional blog with my personal blog and change the way I tell stories? I did neither. I gave up on this blog and only updated my photo blog with photo sessions. That answer wasn't fulfilling, either, but I got busy and allowed myself to believe it was satisfying enough.<br />
<br />Then Rhenner was born, and I knew I had to share my birth story. Because I enjoy reading others' birth stories and I enjoy writing and sharing mine. Again, I debated for a short while - should I post my birth story on my photo blog, clean it up and make it less juicy and more appealing for a general audience? It would be a post that would have a lot of views and drive up my stats on my blog (not that I really understand that business). Or should I tell it like I would want it to be told and post it on my personal blog - since it is a personal event?<br /><br />Well, you know the answer I chose. And after writing and posting on here again, I realized I missed this outlet. I love and thoroughly enjoy my photography, but I am also a writer. I am a storyteller. I write <i>way </i>better than I speak, mostly because I can go back and reword and rephrase before I actual press that "publish" button, unlike in real life - but also because I am an introvert. I have a hard time telling these stories to people in person, but they are still stories that I want to tell. So this is how I do it.<br /><br />....So maybe I'll start blogging again.<br /><br /><br /><br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-26789306181094649732014-06-13T08:18:00.001-07:002014-06-13T10:45:17.150-07:00Welcoming Rhenner: A Birth Story<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At my 40 week appointment, the midwife offered to strip my membranes. I asked her about the pros and cons, and if it hurt. She told me some women hardly notice it being done, and others scream through the whole thing. The idea made me a bit nervous; more than that, though, I really didn't think I needed it. I thought for sure there was no way I could go past 41 weeks since I hadn't with Axton and 2nd babies, I was promised, “Usually come around the same time as the first, if not sooner!” So when the next week went by, and nothing was happening - no contractions, no inklings of impending labor, nothing - I was pretty disappointed. I also had to have an ultrasound done at 41 weeks to make sure my fluid levels were still okay. I was told they were happy with anything over a 5, and that my fluid levels were measuring at a 15. So, no need to worry there. They also told me he was measuring at over 9 pounds, but still had plenty of room to move and flip around. He had been flipping back and forth from face down (ideal birthing position) to face up (not as ideal, but still deliverable and tends to cause longer labors and pushing time). </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next day was my appointment with my midwife again. At this point I was 8 days overdue, one day past what I for sure thought would be the end. I was feeling quite discouraged, and I was also really starting to worry about going to 42 weeks and ending up with an induction. My midwife and I discussed things, and I told her I wanted her to sweep my membranes, and we made plans for me to receive a gel insert the following Monday if I still had not gone into labor on my own. I was dilated to a 4 and 90% effaced….how was I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in labor? By the time I got home that evening, I had already made up my mind: if sweeping membranes and the insert didn’t work, I was going to request an induction on the 42-week mark.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The night came and went with no contractions, just annoying cramps. I had heard stories of women going into labor hours after getting their membranes stripped, and was once again disappointed not much had happened. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next day was Friday. My mom and I went to the mall with Axton to walk - something we had been doing a lot of lately. When we came home and Axton was down for his nap, I told my mom I was going for another walk by myself. It was hot and sunny and I was tired and sore, but I needed to clear my head. This day was the first day I actually cried about the fact that I was still pregnant at 9 days past the due date. I cried mostly because I feared having to go to the hospital and things getting out of my control and me ending up with a c-section. It was probably a bit dramatic, but the scene was a very real and scary thought to me. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, I went walking. I walked without a destination or time of stopping in mind, and while I walked I prayed. My first instinct was, of course, to plead with God to make this baby come soon. But something stopped me and I instead found myself thanking God. I thanked Him for a body able to create and house healthy babies, for another spirit to raise on this earth, an uncomplicated pregnancy, a husband who loved being a father. I thanked Him for my mom and all her help, the support and love of other family and friends, for being sealed to my husband in the temple because this meant my children would be with me for eternity. I thanked Him for the opportunity He was giving me to practice patience and endurance during the last few weeks of pregnancy. I said all of this and more….and then I threw in a quick something or other about helping baby come so I didn’t have to be induced. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After my walk I came home and lay down on the couch. My best friend Heather called from England and while on the phone with her, I noticed that the cramping I had been feeling all morning and the day before had changed slightly - it was lasting a bit longer and coming consistently. During our 40 minute phone call, I had about 6 contractions. Every time one would come, I would check my phone - they were about 7 minutes apart. They obviously weren’t very intense as I could still talk through them fine, but I decided I wasn’t going to move from my position on the couch - I was just going to sit there and see what happened (two nights previously I had had contractions for an hour and I had gotten up to see if that would make them come closer together, but all it had done was make them stop altogether; I wasn’t doing that this time). So I lay on the couch for the next 2 ½ hours. I downloaded an App that tracked my contractions and they were consistently coming at 7 minutes apart and lasting for a minute each. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Adam came home, I finally decided to get up from the couch, and we did our usual routines for the evening - dinner, playing with Axton, and putting Axton to bed. At one point, Adam saw me stop what I was doing and lean my weight on the counter. I was closing my eyes and taking big deep breaths, my head hanging loosely and slowly swinging from side to side. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That’s what we like to see!” Adam told me when I was finished. And that’s when it hit me: I was actually in labor. And I was handling it. I was doing well and coping with contractions absolutely fine. Of course, I told myself, if I was still doing fine then that meant I still had a long way to go. I was trying to prepare myself for almost an infinite amount of pain, and what I was currently experiencing was far from that. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, I sent Adam to bed and told him to get some sleep because he was going to need it. Then I hopped in the shower and did exactly what I had imagined myself doing during labor for the previous 9 months: Leaning against the shower wall with my hands, the hot water running on my lower back. I stayed in the shower for a long time. Then I went to bed. I turned on a Hypnobirthing relaxation recording, but found myself falling asleep quicker than I had anticipated. The recording ended up just waking me up at random intervals, so I quickly shut it off. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I slept for about an hour through my contractions. I remember dreaming through them, telling myself to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Take one slow deep breath and then it will be over. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">one </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">deep breath wasn’t cutting it anymore, and in my dream I was complaining, “But it’s still hurting after my one deep breath!” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So take </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">two</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> deep breaths, then, Meghan! </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And that’s when I woke up. When I realized I wasn’t getting through them with just one deep breath anymore. It was about 12:30am at this point, and I decided to start tracking my contractions once again to see if they had started getting any closer together. I lay there for 30 more minutes, and they were coming about 4 ½ minutes apart. The midwife had told me we needed to come in when the contractions were 4 to 5 minutes apart, especially because I needed to get antibiotics as I had tested positive for Group B Strep. I didn’t believe that I had actually made it to that point, and thought to myself, “I will keep counting for another half hour to make sure they don’t slow down before I call the midwife.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With Axton, active labor lasted so long - and there had been so many long intervals where contractions had stalled and I felt like I was reverting in my progress. I didn’t want to show up to the birth center again this time only to have labor slow back down as soon as I got there. (To read Axton's birth story, <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2012/05/welcoming-axton-labor.html">go here</a>.)</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">However, it wasn’t long before, during the middle of a contraction, I felt a large amount of warm fluid on me. It hadn’t gushed, merely...leaked. So I thought that maybe my water was starting to leak. That was enough to make me move to action: If my water had broken, I definitely needed to get the antibiotics as soon as I could. I called the Birth Center Paging system and told them what had been going on. The midwife on call asked me a few questions, and then said, “I am already at the hospital with someone, so I will call Linda and she will meet you at the Center at 2am.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I knew it was going to be Linda. I had seen her every appointment for the previous 3 weeks - which is rare and accidental, because typically they rotate who you see every appointment. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was now 1am. Adam had woken up with me when I told him I thought my water might be leaking, and we already had packed everything we needed before going to bed. We decided to leave right then, and just be there a little early. I texted my doula and told her we were meeting the midwife at 2am. I also texted the birth photographer and told her I would let her know what I was dilated to when we got there. I had warned her earlier in the evening that my first labor was very slow so to be prepared for that and to make sure she wasn’t afraid to get some sleep. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well this car ride is quite a bit more uncomfortable than the last time I had ridden in the car during labor, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I thought. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some folksy-type song was on the radio and Adam asked me if I wanted him to shut it off. “No, actually, it’s totally fine,” I told him. “I kinda like this song.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So,” Adam said, “What do you want me to say to you during contractions?” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had warned Adam that I was going to need a lot more touching and talking than I had last time, that I wanted him present for every contraction. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Um...you know,” I said, trying to think of the phrases I had been telling myself for the past few hours. “Tell me take in slow deep breaths, and then to let it all out. Tell me that I’m doing good, and tell me that the contraction is almost over, that I am almost done with this one. Tell me to give in to the contraction, that it is helping baby come. Tell me to relax my face and my muscles.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We talked and held hands and laughed….and then a contraction would come and Adam would turn the radio down and I would lean my head against the headrest, rubbing my hands slowly up and down my thighs, rocking my head from side to side, and taking those deep breaths. And then it would be over and I would be able to say, “That one was a douzy!” and we’d continue on. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was none of that in-between gloriousness during labor with Axton. I had really wanted to remind myself this time that we are given breaks between each contraction, and that I had to take advantage of them. I hadn’t been in </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">constant </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">pain with Axton, even though I had remembered it that way. I could not do labor that way this time. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We got to the center a little bit before the midwife - it was 1:30am - so we walked down the driveway. When a contraction would come, we’d stop and I would sway on Adam and he would rub my lower back. Soon Linda was there, and she rolled down her window to say, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to meet you here until two! I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I finished the contraction I was on, looked up and gave her a big smile and a wave of my hand, “You’re fine! No rush. We just wanted to get here early.” We slowly followed behind her, and I made my first stop the bathroom. With Axton, I had forgotten to go to the bathroom early and eventually I couldn’t even do it on my own. I had completely lost the sense of how to work those muscles and ended up needing a catheter. I did not want to worry about that this time and had (again) warned Adam that that was another job of his: to keep me going to the bathroom often. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I got stuck on the toilet with a contraction and Adam peeked his head in on me, and then helped me up. I asked Linda for a birthing ball, but I didn’t last long on there. Linda moved me to the bed to check on things - she told me that my water had, in fact, not broken and that I was dilated to a 6 ½ or a 7. Now that I was on the bed, I didn’t want to get up. All I wanted to do was lay down and deal with contractions as I had been doing at home. I was on my left side, my head resting on my left arm. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Linda needed to start my IV because I needed two doses of antibiotics, and we needed 4 hours in between each dose. I have never been one that does well with needles, and I always request getting my blood drawn in the crook of my left arm because that’s the only place that’s ever had success. Well, I didn’t quite have the energy/state of mind to tell Linda this, so she started trying on a vein on the top of my wrist. I was closing my eyes, trying to continue to breathe through the contractions, and as soon as she first stuck me, I knew it wasn’t going to work. She started poking and prodding around, digging for a better place. I tried ignoring her and eventually she gave up and said, “Well I was just sending medicine into your arm, not your vein, so is it okay if I stick you in the crook of your arm? Will it bother you?” No, no it won’t bother me please put it there, it’s where I wanted it in the first place. She then stuck me in my upper arm and immediately I felt a warmth spread all down and over my arm - I knew I was bleeding but kept my eyes close. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sorry,” said Linda. “I should have warned you that I’m a messy IV starter.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yuck...not the words I wanted to hear. She tried to make a joke about “at least it was distracting from the contractions.” I muttered an unenthusiastic, “Yeah, I guess…” She told me that now we just needed four more hours for the second dose of antibiotics. In my head, I thought she was crazy. “</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Four </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">more hours of this kind of labor? Whew. I guess I better buckle down for the long haul. Maybe that whole time warp thing that some laboring women talk about will happen and four hours will go by really quick.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But now the contractions were coming closer together. It’s interesting to me the snippets of conversation that I caught in between them - Erin, my doula, who had shown up just before Linda had started the IV, telling Adam that he was going to have to train </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">her </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">husband on how to to be a good labor coach. Erin seeing my belly henna when Linda was checking on the baby’s heartbeat and saying, “Wow, I want that and I didn’t even know I wanted it. That is so cool.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I still didn’t want to move off the bed. Adam and Erin sat on the bed right behind me. Adam rubbed my upper back and Erin placed one warm hand on my lower back, applying some counterpressure. By this point, my long slow breaths had turned into quicker inhalations and a bit louder vocalizations. Mostly just long, drawn out “ooooohs” on my exhalations. They told me I was doing great but I had long since stopped responding. My inner thighs had been a little shaky for a long time, but now the shaking had dramatically increased and I felt like my legs were clashing together and my teeth were chattering like I was freezing. Intellectually, I knew this meant I was in transition. I was coherent enough to know that in my mind, and I guess I wanted to make sure Adam and Erin knew it too, so I told them, “I can’t stop my legs from shaking!” and that’s all I could get out. Then I started to feel a little bit of pressure and I said, “I feel like I need to poop.” Again, my </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">brain</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> knew that that kind of pressure meant I was getting ready and close to pushing time, but I also was wary of that because I remembered feeling that same pressure when I was only dilated to an 8 with Axton and they had told me I shouldn’t be pushing yet. So I tried to have a conversation with them and kind of started babbling about “Well, maybe I really </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>do</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> need to poop. I haven’t pooped in awhile. It could just be that.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Linda told me it was probably my bag of waters and that once my water broke it wouldn’t be long after that baby came. Erin said, “I bet if you went to the bathroom and pushed during a contraction, your water might break.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So after a couple attempts of trying to get up and having to wait for another contraction to pass, I finally made it to the bathroom. I was so happy I could pee this time!! Yay! I spent a few contractions there, and pushed like Erin had suggested but nothing happened. When I walked out of the bathroom, I asked if I could get in the pool now. Linda told me that it wasn’t done filling up, but that I was welcome to get in and have it fill up around me. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can hardly describe the relief the hot water brought to my body. It was hotter than I was expecting it to be. Everyone was asking if it was okay and I just wanted to shout, “Okay??! This is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">heavenly.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” I got in there and I just knew it wasn’t going to be long. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had asked Adam to text the birth photographer a few minutes (who really knows?) previously and now that I was in the pool I knew she needed to be there soon. I asked Adam if she had texted back yet and then I said, “Actually, you just need to call her. Tell her she should come.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he hung up with her, I already knew she wasn’t going to make it. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My body was already starting to push. “I can’t stop it, I want to push! Can I push?” I asked, almost frantic. Again, I had remembered feeling the need to push too early last time with Axton, and I wanted to make sure I had the “go-ahead” this time. I was also half-expecting the whole “push for 10 seconds, three pushes at a time” business they had had to instruct me on last time. But nope, they said, “Do what you feel you need to do” and receiving that “permission” was beautiful. I pushed and screamed when my water burst like a water balloon. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The pain. Oh, the blessed pain. I think Linda said that the baby was just behind the bag of waters and told Adam to feel for his head. I felt Adam fumbling around down there and then his fingers finding something. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A contraction.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">....And screaming. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">High-pitch, uncontrolled screaming. My brain knew I shouldn’t be screaming, so I tried to stop but instead of stopping, the screaming came out louder and harsher. I was manically scream at the very tip top of my lungs. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A contraction. Pushing.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So much more screaming, this time screaming “OW OW OW OW OW OW!!!” over and over again. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whenever the midwife or Erin talked to me, however, I listened. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Meghan, try using a low grunting sound instead of screaming.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tried. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A contraction. More screaming. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Meghan, he is almost here. You’re doing so good.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“He’s almost here? Really?”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“He’s almost here. I’m almost done. God…” I started to say, leaning my head back against the pool; then I got self-conscious about praying out loud, so I finished the prayer in my head. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Help me do this. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">SCREAMING.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A voice. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Meghan.” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was Linda.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I need you to stop screaming, and I need you to slow down. This is the part where I don’t want you to tear.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I felt my eyes grow as big as my face. Never before have I stared at someone the way I was staring at her. “Deer in headlights” is an extreme understatement. I don’t think there was any room left on my face but for my wide eyes. I was thinking </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You want me to do what? </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But somehow my brain listened. I slowed down for a second. I stopped screaming for a second. I locked on her eyes and I listened. For just a second, just long enough.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A contraction. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Screaming, and his head. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Months and months of pregnancy, and the last 10 days past my due date lasting for an eternity built up into one last raging scream:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"GET! HIM! OUUUUUUUUUTTTT!!!" </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And with that, he was out. At 3:17am. Not even two hours after arriving at the birth center. Adam and the midwife caught him together.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He was out and</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> his face was rising up out of the water towards me, and he was blinking back water and staring at me so calm and I was crying more and saying, “He’s so beautiful! I love him!” </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and “I did it. I’m done. He’s finally here.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.15; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And his little arm was tucked under his chin and he was peaceful and quiet and Adam was coming around, holding me and I was telling Erin to put the camera on Auto, the green icon, not the “A” icon, and then there was vernix and then I was out of the pool and back on the bed. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The rest of the story includes my Russian nurse Katia, grinding my uterus against my spine and me looking at Adam with eyes that say </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What the hell is she doing to me?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please kick her in the back of the head and we’ll run out of the door. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And Adam looking at Katia with eyes that made me worry he really was going to kick her in the back of the head.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The rest is the placenta delivery, the part where Linda tells me I have two paper cut tears, but she isn’t going to stitch me and I’m rejoicing for NO STITCHES.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The rest is my birth photographer arriving at the birth center, and being grateful I don’t have to worry about taking pictures while Rhenner is weighed and measured, and her capturing precious time with our just-minutes-old son. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The rest is him latching on and nursing so easily, and me saying, “I don’t remember Axton crying this much.” And Adam saying, “Oh he did. You were just too out of it.” I was up and moving around and showering and eating and taking pictures. I was a little slow, sure, and my lower half was quite tender, but I was far from immobile. In comparison to how I felt after having Axton, I could have ran a marathon (okay, maybe only a 5k). </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">4 hours later and we were on our way home. We left Rhenner in the car and walked into the house at 8am, just minutes after Axton had woken up. We had him come out to the car to “find his baby brother” and to open the gift that baby had brought him. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rhenner’s birth was everything I could have hoped for in a birth story. On the drive home, Adam kept saying, “I am just so impressed with you right now. I can’t believe how fast that was.” Truth be told, I was pretty dang impressed, too, though I feel like I can’t take the credit: It was all my body. I trusted my body this time. I gave in to everything it was doing and I didn’t fight against it and everything happened on its own. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rhenner is the sweetest thing and I had no idea (NO IDEA) how much I missed little baby snuggles until he came around. I am seriously obsessed with him and he makes me want to have a million babies (almost) just so I never have to be without these snuggles again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17.25px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The hardest part so far has been feeling like Axton feels betrayed. I have had to remind myself that Axton will love having a brother and won’t remember the hard time he is having right now. He is doing pretty well with the baby and gives him kisses and asks to hold him (though it usually only lasts for about a half a second), but when I ask him to help me with things for the baby (diaper changes, clothes, etc) like others have suggested I do, he is definitely not interested. I can tell I am not quite his favorite person right now and it’s been hard to not take it personally. I am probably being more sensitive to it than I need to be, but he is definitely taking a lot of his confusion out on me. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Otherwise, we are all doing wonderful and I’m so grateful for my mom’s hard work and help with everything. I am getting around well now but will still be so lost when she leaves! </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How do you wrap up the story of someone’s beginning? I guess you really can’t, except to give thanks where it is due: I am beyond blessed and know all I have comes from God. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span></div>
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<br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-9081925660098975922014-01-05T17:22:00.002-08:002014-01-05T19:21:24.946-08:002013 in reviewI was pretty much a slacker when it came to blogging this year, but here are some exciting (and not so exciting) things I did write about during the year of 2013:<br />
<br />
January was <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/01/choosing-voices.html">a rough month</a>. We had just returned from our Christmas vacation in Arizona visiting family and I was a zombie. Axton wasn't sleeping and that meant neither was I.<br />
<br />
In February we finally got Axton to <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/02/getting-axton-to-sleep.html">sleep through the night</a>! I also went <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/03/tried-it-sugar-free-for-month.html">sugar free this month</a>.<br />
<br />
In March I <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/03/that-time-i-cut-9-inches-off-my-hair.html">cut 9 inches off my hair</a>. My dad came out to visit us and we went down to <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/03/williamsburg-virginia.html">Williamsburg, VA</a> for my birthday.<br />
<br />
In April I <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/04/on-attending-my-first-birth-being-birth.html">photographed my first birth</a>.<br />
<br />
May brought me back to <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-difference-year-can-make.html">Special Beginnings</a>, and the night I delivered my son. I wrote a letter to him, to wish him<a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/05/a-letter-to-my-son-on-his-first-birthday.html"> happy birthday</a>.<br />
<br />
I ran my very first half-marathon in June. <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/06/my-half-marathon-running-playlist.html">Here</a> was my play list. We went to <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/08/nyc-with-one-year-old.html">NYC</a> and had a blast.<br />
<br />
The month of July I went completely vegan. I learned a lot and tried some new things, but never got around to blogging about it. Maybe I still will, because I have lots of thoughts on the topic.<br />
<br />
In August I co-hosted my very first Harry Potter party, and in celebration, dyed my hair black so I could dress up as none other than Severus Snape.<br />
<br />
September 5th we celebrated our 4th anniversary - oh! And also conceived our second son. So, there ya go. No post necessary.<br />
<br />
In October we were affected by the government shutdown/furloughs and we learned how to press forward <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/10/living-frugally.html">when things got tight</a>....and how to graciously accept gifts and the kindness of others. We also learned we <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2013/11/finding-out-i-was-pregnant.html">were pregnant </a>and I freaked out just a tiny bit, even though it was all done on purpose.<br />
<br />
In November, my dad and wife visited us for Thanksgiving and we took a trip to Mount Vernon. We ate the best ham and homemade berry pie ever.<br />
<br />
We made the trek to Hawaii in December, and found out<a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2014/01/oh-boy-was-i-wrong.html"> baby number two is a boy</a>!Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-7105600988133639572014-01-05T12:04:00.002-08:002014-01-05T12:04:44.400-08:00Oh boy, was I wrong!We decided it would be a fun Christmas surprise to find out the gender of our baby with our parents while we were on the island of Oahu. I booked the appointment and dodged questions from my mom about whether or not we would be finding out this time.<br />
<br />
When the time for our appointment came around, our first full day on Oahu, we spent the morning at the Swap Meet. It was hot and rained a little on us, and Axton fell asleep in the car too early. We all took turns sitting out in the car with him so he could nap and the rest of us shopped. I told everyone we had to be somewhere at 1pm. On the way from the swap meet to the appointment, I remembered that the receptionist with whom I had made the appointment had told me to eat something before coming in so that the baby would be active. I remembered when I was pregnant with Axton, how jumpy and move-y he would get whenever I ate anything sweet, so I grabbed a Rice Krispy treat and shoved it down just before walking into the Ultrasound place.<br />
<br />
Our parents were excited when they figured out what we were doing, and as we were shown into our room, I took a poll.<br /><br />
"So what do you think we're having?"<br />
<br />
Girl, girl, girl, girl. Michael, my step dad, was the only one to say boy.<br />
<br />
I thought back over the last 14 weeks of knowing I was pregnant. Almost every time I thought about the baby, I imagined it as a girl. I thought about how different this pregnancy was from Axton. With Axton, my psoriasis went completely away - with this one, it's gotten way worse. I was sick for a much longer time, and in different ways. I thought about how I had worried about loving a girl, and wondered if it would feel different from loving a boy. My rational brain tells me, "It's your child! Of course you will love it the same!" but another part of me always wondered, "But won't it be weird to breastfeed a girl? I mean, girls have boobs, too. It's just...weird." For some reason, it felt like loving and caring for a boy in this intimate way came more naturally than it would for a girl. Anyway, it didn't make sense in my mind. All I knew was that I already knew how to love a boy, so I knew another one would be easy. And fun, to see how he would be alike and different from his brother.<br />
<br />
But I honestly didn't think it would be a boy, so I didn't want to get my hopes up by thinking about it.<br />
<br />
"I think it's a girl, too." I said out loud to our parents and Adam. But a tiny voice in the back of my head said quietly, "Don't forget...it <i>could </i>be a boy." But I didn't believe it for too long.<br />
<br />
The ultrasound technician came in and told me to lie down on my back. I did so and pulled up my shirt. Axton wanted to be up by me on the bed, and the tech told me that was fine. I pulled him up and sat him down next to me and the first thing he did was blow a giant raspberry on my bare belly, making us all laugh. He liked the laughter and blew on me a few more times.<br />
<br />
The tech pushed her wand against my belly and the hot gel, and swung it over my skin. She showed us his back and spine and head....and then she moved it and I caught a glimpse of something.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3gPPtv4VSQmRyaccHlsqqIjRi-_YVRehetYzQjPeEJtUE7QcaWCO50J8nkE0g3Vw6dLw0ArtbIySFR3o1Y5P04tWGWooDEsLBNRXDiqpLAB2E6CULxzg6iUxtZ_mC__7OLaUwBiYEqct/s1600/BABY_3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3gPPtv4VSQmRyaccHlsqqIjRi-_YVRehetYzQjPeEJtUE7QcaWCO50J8nkE0g3Vw6dLw0ArtbIySFR3o1Y5P04tWGWooDEsLBNRXDiqpLAB2E6CULxzg6iUxtZ_mC__7OLaUwBiYEqct/s640/BABY_3.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>I saw that. </i>I thought, yanking my head over to the technician.<br />
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"You might already know what it is...." she said with a smile. Then she brought two little legs into view, and sitting just between them was.....<br />
<br />
"IT'S A BOY????" I shouted, tears immediately springing to my eyes.<br />
"Yep!" she said, as everyone else oh'ed and aw'ed. I covered my mouth and cried, surprising myself with how much emotion I felt. "I wanted another boy so bad," I choked out, not knowing just how much I had wanted it until now.<br />
<br />
Tears continued to fall as we all watched him jumping and doing somersaults.<br />
"He so hyper!" the technician commented. I laughed and told her about the rice krispy bar. She commented several times throughout the ultrasound at how active he was. At one point, she said, "Oh my gosh, he was just twerking! Did you see that?" A burst of laughter escaped my lips. "No, I missed that," I said.<br />
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She switched the video to the 4d mode, which I wasn't expecting because we hadn't paid for it. It was still kind of hard to see all of his facial expressions since he is still so young and tiny, but it was neat to see him in something other than the black and white blobs you really have to learn to decipher.<br />
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When we were all finished up and they had given us our CD with images and video, we headed out to the car. Adam put his arm around me and said, "That was so fun!"<br />
<br />
I said, "Yeah it was. Can you believe you're going to be the daddy of two little boys?"<br />
He shook his head, his eyebrows raised and a look of bewilderment on his face.<br />
<br />
<i>Me either. </i><br />
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<i><br /></i><br />ps We are having a REALLY hard time deciding on a name we like. Suggestions PLEASE!!Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-10361701017020154692013-12-02T10:12:00.000-08:002013-12-02T10:12:39.576-08:00I played my best for HimI have never really liked the Christmas song "The Little Drummer Boy." Really, the only thing I could think of when I heard it was Dwight humming the song because he knew it was Angela's favorite (see<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgGu7U7AeUA"> here</a>, if you have no idea what I'm talking about).<br /><br />Anyway, it just never was one of my favorites, I felt no attachment to it. But then today, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/11/25/pentatonix-little-drummer-boy_n_4338565.html">this link</a> was floating around Facebook and I clicked on it. At first, I opened the video, pressed play, and then went to another window to work on something else. I slowly found myself more and more distracted from what I was doing, and more intent on listening to the song, and eventually I clicked back to watch the video and the people performing.<br />
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This was the first time this song ever struck me as beautiful. And it wasn't just that these were talented a capella artists either; it was the lyrics. Their music made me focus on the words.<br />
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This song tells the story of a little boy who is told to go see the newborn king. "Bring your finest gifts!" they tell him. "To honor the babe."<br />
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I imagine the drop in his stomach as he hears about and sees others' gifts they are bringing to lay before the king. He is poor, and has no money with which to purchase a gift for this king. He only has one thing to offer. And yet - and here is the beautiful part to me - <i>he goes anyway. </i>He goes to seek the King, knowing that his gift in no way compares to what everyone else is bringing.<br />
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He shows up and in all humility and grace and pure love, he gives the one thing he can:<br />
<br />
<i>Shall I play for you?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
He doesn't have much, and what he does have is meek and lowly, but he "played his best for Him." The little boy gave his all.<br />
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And after Christ had heard him play, as Mary, Joseph, and the animals stood round and listened too, Christ lifted His eyes and smiled at that poor little boy. He accepted His gift with gratitude.<br />
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Today, this thought touched me. I may not have much to offer Christ this holiday season, but I have my talents. I have my heart - and if I can only be humble enough to play my best for Him, and un-distract myself from the glitter and the glow of everyone else's big, shiny, perhaps expensive gifts, then maybe He will smile upon me, as well.<br />
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I love this time of year. Merry Christmas!Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-58385859572287620482013-11-25T18:07:00.000-08:002013-11-25T18:07:08.775-08:00Finding out I was pregnantThis post was originally written when I was 8 weeks along. I wrote a few posts back in the very early weeks of pregnancy that were honest and raw and real and kind of depressing - I wasn't very excited about being pregnant, even though it was all done on purpose, and I struggled to be cheerful through the sickness (still sick, still trying to be cheerful). This post may also run along those same lines. I'll share some of those things I wrote now because I want to be real about what I've felt during this pregnancy. I am sure some people come along and read my blog and read me for what I really am: A whiney, ungrateful twit who doesn't deserve the blessings I've been given. But really, I am working on it. And in the mean time, it helps me to share. Maybe it helps others when I share, too. Who knows? So, without further ado, here is how I found out I was pregnant.<br />
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I hadn't had many symptoms that hinted to me I was pregnant. In fact, I was pretty positive that we were <i>not </i>pregnant this month. I knew (or at least I thought I did) when I had ovulated and I also knew we had not been lucky in love on that particular day. There were a few minor things that happened that made me stop and think, "Hmm...what if?" but all of them could have been explained away by something other than pregnancy. For example, I found an old sippy cup of milk and a chunk of it slipped out of the straw, still in straw-form, and I absolutely gagged all over the sink. Now, I'll admit that's pretty disgusting, but I had always thought I had better gag reflexes than that, under normal circumstances. Another thing was - I kept waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, when <i>I never ever ever do that. </i>But hey, I was just glad I didn't wet the bed this time <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-first-trimester.html">like I did last time</a>. Also, I had cramps. I was tired, I was cranky, I had really bad pain in my tail bone -- but all of these things are also symptoms of Period Doom, too, so I really honestly didn't think anything of it.<br />
<br />
I tested the day my period was due. I set the test down on the sink and watched as the first line appeared - the one that said the test wasn't faulty. Then I watched as the liquid seeped over the rest of the test, clearing a bright white patch in its wake. I shrugged my shoulders and tossed that test in the trash. I wasn't really affected by it, as I had been expecting it. At this point, I started thinking, "Well, maybe we need to wait a little longer. I really don't want a middle-of-the-summer baby, and I really don't want to be sick during our trip to Hawaii. This is good. We will aim for 2 1/2 to 3 years apart instead of 2 years apart." I called Adam, told him I wasn't pregnant, and went about my day. I was happy with my new decision to put off trying for a little longer, even though we hadn't been trying for very long.<br />
<br />
Later that afternoon, I went to the bathroom again. Unbutton, pull down, turn aro --- what. the. junk is that?<br />
I did a double take, whipped around and snatched that test out of the garbage, pulling my pants back up with one hand.<br />
I stared and stared.<br />
<br />
--------<br />
<br />
It was faint, but it was there.<br />
<i>A second pink line. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
My first thought, when my hand hit my mouth and my eyes got big, my very first reaction to the news?<br />
<br />
<i>Oh shi*</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm sorry.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry to others reading this who pray and pray for a second pink line. I'm sorry to others reading this who are offended, regardless of their own ability to get pregnant. I'm sorry to myself that I still haven't kicked my occasional swearing habit and that a curse word is an automatic response and I'm sorry to my baby. I'm sorry that those were the first words out of my mouth after finding out I actually was pregnant.<br />
<br />
The next 30 minutes weren't much better. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I held that stick and sunk to the floor and cried with my head on my knees and just kept asking myself, "How am I going to do this?" and "What was I thinking?"<br />
I cried harder when Axton came in the bathroom, thinking about how much I love him and knowing I would love this next baby just as much, despite how difficult it was going to be. I cried in amazement, knowing I had LIFE in me. I cried because I had <i>done it again and the first time hadn't just been a lucky fluke. </i>I cried because I knew it was a miracle, and how could I - me, of all people, be the recipient of a miracle for a second time?<br />
<br />
I didn't tell Adam that night because technically you're not supposed to trust a pregnancy test after 10 minutes. So I waited until he went to bed and I tested again. The line came quicker this time, and was just a shade darker. I left it out on the sink with a note that said, "I guess I was wrong" for Adam to find in the morning.<br />
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A second post I wrote, on how this pregnancy has been very different from my first one already (it's a mix of past-tense and present tense, sorry for the confusion):<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
I knew it was going to be different, even before I got pregnant. </div>
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<div>
I remember one sunny summer day, I was jogging with Axton, thinking about how I wanted my next pregnancy to be different. I wanted to continue to exercise, I wanted to eat healthier, I wasn't going to have interventions during labor (no induction via breast pumps, water-breaking, or otherwise). As I ran, I told myself it was going to be different, mentally, too. I wasn't going to let the first-trimester-blues bring me down. I was going to BEAT IT, damn it, and I was going to win. I wasn't going to succumb to my tiredness and my ickiness, eating everything in sight (but only if it sounded good) and being lazy on the couch all day. I had an inkling that it would also be different because this time I would be carrying a girl - and when I thought about that, I got all choked up and knew I had to be a better <i>me </i>to show my daughter what kind of a woman she needed to be to make it in this world. I wanted her to be different from me - better than me, stronger than me, kinder than me.....but she wouldn't be those things if I didn't first show her how. </div>
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And then I got pregnant and immediately it <i>was </i>different. My reaction to finding out was different. Different from last time, and different from what I thought it would be. My sickness was different.....oh, was it different. With Axton, I would be sick in the morning, throw up, and then find some relief in the evenings. I had strong aversions to specific foods, and strong cravings for other foods. And then it was gone by 13 weeks. This time around, I don't throw up and I can never guess what is going to set me gagging, but the nausea is constant and strong and neverending, regardless of what I eat. The only sure thing about it is, it gets worse when I don't eat. So I eat, whether or not it sounds good. And guess what? I'm 14 weeks now and only minor improvements have occurred. I am still crossing my fingers relief is coming.<br />
<br />
Mentally, it has been different, too. I lacked the excitement, the drive I had the first time around. When I told one of my sisters-in-law about me being pregnant, she texted me the next day and said that she was checking on me because I had sounded bummed when we chatted the night before. It made me so sad and so mad at myself that when sharing such exciting news with my family, I couldn't even muster up a happy voice! What is my problem?<br />
<br />
I'm a lot more emotional and cranky and paranoid. Up until about a week ago, I kept worrying everyday that I was going to find blood in my pants - I'm sure I worried about miscarriage the first time, too, but I have recently had close friends go through miscarriages and other difficult pregnancies and losses so it really hit me strong this time. The worst part? What I feared about having a miscarriage the most was the fact that I would have gone through a few measly weeks of feeling sick and have nothing to show for it, and will eventually have to do it all over again. And also that, if I did have a miscarriage, I would carry heavy guilt and think that it was my own fault because I wasn't happy to be pregnant, and that I had somehow caused it to happen.<br />
<br />
Do you see how selfish I am?<br />
<br />
I want to keep running, and have done so a few times, but I feel like I am taking another selfish risk in doing so. That I am putting my baby in harm's way just so I don't gain as much weight. (Though I also find it extremely hard to want to go running when heavy breathing makes me gag) I haven't been as faithful in taking prenatal vitamins. I don't sleep as much as I want to because I don't have time to. I feel sorry for Axton whose Mommy will soon be not everything she used to be to him because she can't handle it all - especially after the baby does come.<br />
<br />
I told my mom that if she came out to help me with Axton after the baby is born, that I would just end up missing Axton the whole time, and that it would make me sad that he was sad because he wasn't spending as much time with Mommy. She didn't understand and laughed at me, thinking that I was somehow saying he wouldn't want to spend time with Grandma, which wasn't what I meant at all. I meant that my relationship with him will have to change, and that change scares me and makes me sad.<br />
<br />
I had a few newborn shoots this week and I was so excited to go to them. I thought for sure that seeing these fresh new little people would push all these negative feelings about being pregnant aside, and make way for excitement and joy for this little one. I was horrified that it did nothing of the sort. In fact, it may have made it worse. I liked the babies just fine when I was holding them and posing them and sure they were adorable, but when I got back out to the car and was alone again and thought about that being me in 7 1/2 months.....it just scared me even more. I saw, with my own eyes right before me, how hard a newborn was, and the memories floated back to me. The painful first 3 weeks of nursing, the constant crying, the continuous diaper changes, the bags under my eyes, the sore body and emotions running high.<br />
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Now that I'm in the second trimester and miscarrying is less likely, now I have started to be paranoid about preterm labor. I saw a video floating around on the net of a tiny little guy, born at just 25 weeks, and I cried during the whole video. Then I hopped in the shower and cried and begged God not to have that be my burden - not just because it is scary not knowing if a baby that tiny will make it or not, but also because, and this is what I begged, "Please don't make me choose between my first baby and my second baby. Please don't make me split my time that much - to leave Axton so I can go see the other one. Don't make that my life for months. I could not bear to be ripped in half like that." And for the rest of the day, I would cry whenever I was alone, which happened to be the drive in between every single photo shoot I had that day. So I had a lot of alone time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But then, you'll never guess what happened. You won't guess because if another woman told me what I'm about to tell you, I wouldn't believe her. I would nod my head and smile while she told me, but inside my head I'd be screaming, "Nope, don't believe you. You may <i>think </i>that's what happened, but really, you're wrong."<br />
<br />
But it did happen to me, and it's not just what I <i>think </i>happened, it really did happen. So....believe me.<br />
<br />
<br />
I felt that baby move.<br />
<br />
I felt that peach-sized little tumble of a jumble inside me tickle my uterus. It was light and airy and kind of eery, and it most certainly was not gas (trust me, I've felt plenty of that lately and that wasn't it). It was different and it tickled and I felt it while lying alone in bed one night, quiet and peaceful and thinking. Of course, I cried.<br />
<br />
I am getting more and more excited. I was sad that it took me awhile to be excited, but then I talked to one of my best friends - one that recently went through a horrific (is it okay that I use that word to describe this?) miscarriage. I was nervous to tell her, of all people, how I was honestly feeling about it all. I didn't want to offend, I didn't want to appear ungrateful. But she was understanding and told me that there was a reason we are giving 9 months to prepare for a baby - and it's not all just physical reasons. It's also so we can mentally and emotionally be ready. She told me that it was okay, what I was feeling, and that it ("it" being my excitement) would come. Then yesterday a friend wrote a comment on my post that said, "It took a lot longer for me to allow myself to be happy when I found I was pregnant the second time." Her words brought me comfort, too, knowing I was not alone. Knowing how wonderful and genuine and loving of a mother she is, and knowing she felt similar things. It made me feel less bad about myself. I also liked the she used the words "allow myself to be happy." I can give myself permission to be happy. I can give myself permission to ignore the comments I am not looking forward to, the ones that tell me I shouldn't be showing as much as I am for only being X amount of weeks. I can allow myself a chance to honestly evaluate my feelings and then find a way to change them.<br />
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If it's a girl, we already have a name picked out, and her daddy is already wrapped around her finger. And if it's a boy, and I get another little Axton only different and completely himself, well.... I'll be over-the-moon. Because awhile back I reminded myself that someday Axton will not let me kiss him on the mouth, or hold his hand across the street, or rock him before bedtime - he already doesn't let me snuggle with him anymore. And immediately the only thing I could think of was, <i>I need to do this. I need to keep going. I need this second child. </i></div>
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Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-87699617490598186632013-11-24T05:23:00.000-08:002013-11-24T05:23:01.984-08:00Alright, alright.... I'll tell you.I'm pregnant.<br />
<br />
And though I'm not ready to share the news with the world of Facebook just yet (so if you post anything on there I will probably delete it - you've been warned), I thought it would be a good, healthy step for me to at least share with my blogging friends.<br />
<br />
Every time I came online to post something on here, I would get scared and back down. I would say, No I should wait until I'm in the 2nd trimester. Or I should wait until we find out the gender! Or I should wait until after the wedding I have booked. (And then I booked a birth session and I thought, I should definitely wait until after that) (though those things are in February and March, and by then I will be ginormous anyway).<br />
<br />
It started to bug me, and I wondered why I wasn't willing to share the news with my friends who would be happy and excited for me, why I wasn't willing to admit that I am going to have another baby.<br />
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I figured it out, though, and that's why I'm overcoming it by sharing the news. I am afraid to admit that change is coming. I know the more people that know, the more the reality sinks in, and reality scares me. But I have to admit it: my life isn't the same anymore.<br />
<br />
I purposely told myself I wanted to carry on as normal - I was going to book as many sessions as I could, and I wasn't going to let this pregnancy slow me down. I've been extremely nauseous and of course absurdly tired, but still I kept going. I didn't want to have to change myself and my life. I didn't want to announce anything for fear my clients would see and think, "Oh she is going to be 6 months pregnant when she shoots our wedding. She is ill-equipped for the job. Just what was she thinking?" As I said above, I just booked a birth session, for which I am over-the-moon stoked about, and the only thing I can think about is, "I can't let them know I am pregnant before then. Let them just figure it out when they see me the day of their child's birth, by then it will be too late for them to change their mind."<br />
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This time last pregnancy, I had already packed away my regular clothes and was proudly sporting maternity gear, baggy as they were. Yet this pregnancy, I am clinging to my jeans and trying my hardest to cover any bump that may be appearing. This time, I don't want people to know.<br />
<br />
And that bothers me.<br />
<br />
So I'm telling you.<br />
<br />
I am due the first week in June.<br />
<br />
I <i>am </i>excited, I am. But I think, just maybe, I am also terrified.Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-4076501698008052672013-10-20T11:43:00.001-07:002013-10-20T12:17:30.048-07:00Living frugallyApparently I am not capable of multi-tasking. I cannot run a photography business and maintain a non-exciting, personal blog at the same time. All of my free time lately has been going into shooting and editing, and especially now that it is "holiday season" I have been even more busy.<br />
<br />
I want to share a personal portion of our lives, something that has changed the way we've been living the last 6 weeks or so. It's in regards to finances. I feel the need to preface this post with a statement of acknowledgment. When I say we've been "poor" lately, I use the term lightly. We are utterly spoiled in comparison to a vast majority of the world: we have heat, we have clothes, and yes, we have food. We even have internet and two cell phones. We have a car we bought new, a home we are renting, and a job. We have health insurance and shoes, and a huge comfy couch I am sitting on while doing so.<br />
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<i>But. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
(And this is a good 'but,' so don't take it the wrong way)<br />
<br />
- We double-jammy our son at night because while we do have heat, we don't keep it up very high and only turn it on when necessary.<br />
- We have clothes, but not once in the past 3 years of marriage have I paid full price for a piece of clothing. The majority of my clothes come from thrift stores, and when they come from Target, they come from the 70% off rack. I haven't gone shopping for clothes in months.<br />
- We have internet, but it is the slowest package available and does not include cable. We don't even own a tv. We don't have a Netflix or Hulu account, and the only time we watch movies is the occassional Redbox rental.<br />
- We have two phones, but up until last July we only had one. One phone shared between Adam and I. Now we have two, but neither of them are smart phones and neither have internet capabilities. They both are Wal-Mart, pay-as-you-go, non-contract cell phones.<br />
- Our car may be new, but it's the only one we've got. When I need to go somewhere with Axton, I have to wake up at 6am and take Adam to work to do so.<br />
- The couch in our living room came from last year's tax refunds. The couch before that one? A torn-up love seat we bought from Salvation Army. It was shedding leather all over the floor everytime we sat down on it. I had to vaccuum in front of it every day. And it would only fit one of us comfortably; there was no snuggling going on with that couch. No other piece of furniture in our home was bought brand new besides that couch. The bed frame we sleep on? Adam built it. Our computer desk? Adam built it. Our kitchen table? We bought second-hand and Adam refinished it. Our bookshelves and nightstands? Given to us or found in the dumpster.<br />
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These are all daily decisions that we have made together throughout our marriage. We strive to live a frugal life, making smart decisions that add up to less stress and savings.<br />
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Before we had Axton and I was nannying, most of the money I earned went into savings. We wanted a small cushion for "rainy days," as prophets and most other financial gurus will tell you do to do. But slowly, since I stopped working, we have nibbled into that cushion from time to time. Here a little, there a little, not putting much back into it. When we moved from our apartments to our current condo, little costs kept popping up and the move ended up being much more expensive than we anticipated. On top of that, the security deposit was GINORMOUS compared to our last apartment's deposit. We continued in faith, knowing we were moving to an area we were supposed to be in.<br />
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Our tickets to Hawaii were bought with the last of our savings. "We will replenish it right away! We will be okay."<br />
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And that's when the furlough hit.<br />
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I now understand the fear and the stress that comes with not knowing if you will be able to pay rent that month or not.<br />
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I started getting used to not turning lights on when I walked into a room. If it was daytime, no lights were turned on. If it was nighttime, we used a flashlight. During the random intense heat spell in September, we didn't turn our AC on and I ended up getting so hot I got ill. We didn't eat out and we didn't travel anywhere that wasn't necessary.<br />
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Our dear friends and family all told us we could borrow money if we needed to. I never thought I would be in that situation - what an eye-opener! To have my best friend from high school - in college, about to graduate, tell me she would loan me her savings, intended to get her started with life, if I needed it. I was shocked. And, 100 percent humbled. If they didn't offer us money, then friends who knew of our situation invited us over for dinner so we didn't have to use our limited resources that night.<br />
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In the past six weeks we have only gone grocery shopping for the bare minimums. And by that I mean, we haven't bought fresh fruit or produce, besides a couple bunches of bananas and 2 heads of lettuce.<br />
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Did you read that? In the past 6 WEEKS, the only fresh produce we have bought are bananas and lettuce. I am dying for the days of last summer - the days we had a fridge full of strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, green peppers and zucchini, spinach and baby carrots.<br />
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The only grocery shopping we have done in the past 6 weeks was for the daily necessities you run out of most often: milk and eggs and butter. We have been making homemade bread and homemade tortillas. We have been using every last canned item in our cupboards and are depleting the last of our frozen chicken breasts and ground beef in our deep freezer. I have learned to get creative with our meals. If we didn't have it on hand, I would either substitute something else or make it myself -- or do without.<br />
<br />
I miss cheese.<br />
<br />
Last week I had a friend over and I was absolutely mortified when I realized it was lunch time and I had.....not much to offer her. I fixed up the last of our head of lettuce and offered her a salad. She said she could help me chop up vegetables for the salad and I had to swallow my pride and say, "Actually, it's just lettuce. I'm sorry, that's all we have." We had just finished our last tortilla so I couldn't even offer her canned refried beans slabbed on some flour and lard. I had an apple someone had given to us because I mentioned I hadn't had apples in so long I was starting to crave them (I never crave apples), so I cut that up and placed it on the table. Axton saw her son eating a jar of baby food and asked for some. I searched our cabinets and pulled out the only baby food we had left: the prunes we bought six months ago when he was constipated.<br />
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My friend was gracious and acted kind and unaffected, but I finally just said, "Things are a little tight for us right now. I'm so sorry I don't have more to offer you."<br />
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Again, I was so humbled. To look a friend in the eye and admit that we don't have money to go grocery shopping.<br />
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And I know......I know what you may be thinking because I've been thinking it everyday for the past few months as things have gotten tighter and tighter: We are still so much more blessed than so many others. Even if things had been worse, we would have had parents and siblings help us. We never would have had to go hungry - though we might not be eating the food we want to eat or dream of eating, we <i>are still eating. </i>I might not have new clothes, <i>but still I am clothed. </i><br />
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In the LDS church, we can be given special blessings that warn us of trials or challenges, guide us personally, name particular talents or blessings we may be given - these are called patriarchal blessings. We hold them sacred and generally don't share them with the public; I re-read mine often, especially during times of trial. My patriarchal blessing mentions twice that, throughout my life, my physical needs/financial needs will be taken care of, and that I will not want. I have always taken those words seriously, and in times past, they have given me confidence and comfort. Whenever Adam would worry about finances I would not be affected, I had, perhaps, an almost arrogant attitude about it, an over-confidence.<br />
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But still, even after going through this and being humbled, still my physical needs have been met. I have not wanted in the ways that others want. My health and safety have never been compromised. My comfort, indeed, has, but I also know that that is part of life.<br />
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It's been, and still is, a wonderful learning process. It's good to not have everything you want. It's good to worry a little, to be humbled and to admit and accept help. I hope this post doesn't come across as 'holier-than-thou' or Look at me, look how frugal I am! In fact, it's meant to be the opposite. It's meant to be grateful and thankful and amaze-ful at the goodness of God and the absolute <i>goodness </i>of trials and tests, to be stretched thin, to be vulnerable, to need and to ask. I do not think this experience will be wasted; I have a feeling there will come a time when someone else will need to hear me say, <i>I know how it feels. I've been there, too. </i><br />
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<br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-73825336560999183072013-09-22T19:00:00.000-07:002013-09-22T19:12:14.567-07:00From the ground up<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two posts ago, I mentioned a comment I had made to Adam in a moment of frustration. I had said to him, in reference to my brain turning into mush these days:</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.796875px;">Do you realize that I sit at home and, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.796875px;">from the ground up</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.796875px;">, teach a human being how to live life? I started with a child who knew nothing and I have to teach him everything. Do you know what that does to my brain?</span></span></i><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Since I thought those thoughts and wrote those words, I've been trying to think about them in a different light. That day, I was focusing on the fact that the most conversation I get in a typical day consists of baby sign language, songs, numbers, colors, and the alphabet (which means, WATCH OUT once you get me alone with an adult. I will. TALK. YOUR. HAIR. OFF.). That day I was focusing on the fact that I don't make hard decisions, I don't talk about fancy things like politics and finance, or art and literature. I don't wake up at the same time every day and I typically don't go to bed until after 11pm. I don't have a car to drive fun places, and I can't afford a gym membership that offers free babysitting. I don't bring in a substantial amount of money, and the money I do bring in goes right back into my photography business (especially when I have a habit of losing and/or breaking things). I can't remember diddly squat, I'm constantly losing my keys (though J promises me it's endearing. She's nice like that), and I'm not 'using my degree' I worked so hard for. <i>That's what I was focusing on. </i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">But what if I stopped thinking about the negatives, and started seeing just how beautiful it really is to be the person who raises a human being. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Today the sun was shining through our kitchen window in just the right way. You know what I mean, when the rays are visible and maybe you pull out a kleenex and you can see all the little dust floating down that ray of sunshine? Well, today I was taking off my socks and snapped them in the air (gross image. Poor Axton), and little flecks of lint started to dance in the orange glow. Axton's eyes got big and round, and his mouth made an "O", his lips curling over his teeth. He spread his hands out and tried to touch the dancing little white dots (I know, try not to think about the fact that they were from my dirty socks, it makes my story prettier). I sat there and watched him marvel at seeing this tiny phenomenon for the first time - something I've seen countless times in my life. I've seen it so many times, I failed to recognize that, despite it's common occurrence, </span><i style="line-height: 20.796875px;">it is still magical. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">Not too long ago, we were sitting in his bedroom playing with toys and a fly came buzzing past him. Axton's eyes snapped open and he says, "Where'd it go?" his hands out in the 'questioning mode'</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOD8PRo_d4a3gzJWcBJaoiGM1p5jy5nbpM2IuCL58sBhRyPKN-k26mW_9zajimY99DWFctEsf0Zac1F7h941vXSJZfzzzQUAv0We2yz9PM0eGQYofIe-G-rGyQdRC1N6sWShwr3kfKecT/s1600/DSC_1097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOD8PRo_d4a3gzJWcBJaoiGM1p5jy5nbpM2IuCL58sBhRyPKN-k26mW_9zajimY99DWFctEsf0Zac1F7h941vXSJZfzzzQUAv0We2yz9PM0eGQYofIe-G-rGyQdRC1N6sWShwr3kfKecT/s320/DSC_1097.JPG" width="213" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 20.796875px;">I pretended to look around for it, really dramatic and worried. Then I snatched out my hands really fast, and said, "There it is!" and pretended to catch it.<br /><br />Oh boy did Axton think that was funny. He started laughing, and his face turned bright red and I lost the sound of his laughter. Then he stopped short and said again, "Where'd it go?" So I reenacted my fly-catching sequence and this time he started laughing so hard he started to tip backwards. It was like slow motion, he just kept falling. I swear he was defying gravity and the bounciness of his laughter was keeping him afloat parallel to the floor for longer than possible, but eventually he did tip right over. He was laughing so hard, he fell over folks!!! He actually fell over. When was the last time I laughed that hard, at something so silly and innocent? Man, I must be a good actor, but either way it made me feel fantastic. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes I make that boy give his mama a kiss 50 times a day. Most of the time, he is still happy to do it, too! Anyone else would have said, "Okay, you're done lady!" after 3 kisses. But not him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Raising Axton 'from the ground up' means I get to live the goodness and the sweetness of this life all over again. It's <i>almost</i> like I get a second chance at life - a second chance to notice things I missed - or have long forgotten since becoming an 'adult.' I already said it once, but there is no better word for it: Childhood is <i>magical. </i>And I get to see a tiny portion of it through my son's eyes everyday.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that, my friends, is a true gift from God.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And you know what, I <i>do </i>make hard decisions. I have a feeling, too, that those decisions will only get harder as Axton gets older and is faced with even more serious things, like friends, school, church, liiiiife in general.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I stop and really think about it, I can honestly say there is nothing else I'd rather be doing than raising this little boy from the ground up. I know I pretend to feel sorry for myself occasionally, but the truth is, I am sorry to mothers who cannot do the same thing. I am sorry to mothers who have to drop their kids off with someone else and miss a lot of amazing things that their child learns. I realize me staying home with Axton is a complete luxury, and I do realize I am blessed to be able to do it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember, back before I had Axton, reading someone's blog that talked about the first time their kid went to nursery. They said that it was the first time their child had really been left with someone they didn't know. I didn't understand that - I thought, "Well then, this will be good for them, right?" And now, here I am, years later, and I am in the same boat. I haven't left Axton with someone he doesn't know. Ever. And in less than two months, he, too, will be going into nursery. I worry for him because I've seen the way he acts in group settings and it's not too pleasant (which surprises me a bit, and I'm hoping it's just a phase). And while yes, I do think 'it will be good for him,' in whatever way that means......it's still hard.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have never questioned the goodness of people's hearts like I do when I think about leaving Axton in nursery.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can you believe that? These are church-going people who have been called by the Lord to serve in the nursery and yet I still worry. Will they be kind to my son? Will the other kids pick on him? And if they do, will the teachers notice and stick up for him? Will he learn bad habits? I can't even imagine what it would be like if I had to work and I had to leave him at a daycare. I think I would have to be medicated for anxiety. Like, seriously. And I am not even going to think about the day he goes to kindergarten. It chokes my throat up just thinking about it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is a round-about way of trying to remind myself that "from the ground up" is EXPONENTIALLY important (yes caps-lock was necessary). It may turn my brain into mush in some areas, and I'll never have my old body back, but it has turned my heart into gold. Pure, liquid gold. So undeniably vulnerable and attached to this little boy. It has strengthened my spirit times a million, it has forever changed the way I see women. I have more respect for women I knew in high school because I know they are moms now and I know what they have gone through. It makes me connected to the universe, and, somehow, ironically, even though he has my heart walking around in his body, I am now more whole because of him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>Love this good takes work this hard</i></b> - God knows it, I know it, and I'll bet you know it, too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See photos of my little obsession <a href="http://mrosephoto.blogspot.com/2013/09/axton-maryland-child-photographer.html">here</a>. </span><br />
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Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-38569898656351341842013-09-14T12:00:00.000-07:002013-09-14T12:00:04.117-07:00Meeting Kyle*Yesterday was slummy. It was downright discouraging and depressing, what with my camera breaking and ipod-losing and the job confusing... At one point in the afternoon, I looked out my window and saw a beautiful almost-fall day was about to slip through my fingers. So I decided to take Axton and Kaleo out for a walk. We live at the end of a cul-de-sac and so our roads stay pretty quiet; I usually let Axton dictate the direction of our walk. Today he went up the street, instead of toward the park. Today he saw the lady who lives at the corner, the one (of many) we haven't met yet. Today she waved and gave a smile and commented on his big blue eyes. She said, "Our dog is a barker, too, it's okay," when I apologized for Kaleo's loudness. Axton kept waving and waving so she came over to say hi and to pet Kaleo.<br />
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Finally she said, "I'm waiting for my son to come home. The bus is almost here." She paused, and then smiled again at Axton. "His name is Kyle."<br />
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We didn't say anything else for a few minutes. Then the woman turned back and called to her husband in the house. "Honey! He's here!" Her voice had an urgency to it and I guessed that perhaps her son was a kindergartner, and they were new School Parents.<br />
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A man came whizzing out of the house, his hands fumbling with an energy drink, car keys, a wallet. He jogged to meet up with his wife, who was already at the corner. Their quickness captured my attention, and even though she was gone, and even though it was probably rude, I stayed to watch their reunion. Axton, too, was still, his eyes caught on the action.<br />
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And then I saw the bus.<br />
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That's when I knew.<br />
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The bus stopped, and nothing happened for an abnormally long amount of time. Their child did not bound down the stairs, leaping into Daddy's arms. He did not high five his neighbor or say bye to the bus driver. Instead, I caught glimpses of him through the window, lead by an adult down the aisle. When he got to the top of the stairs, his dad reached up and picked him up.<br />
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The boy looked back at us, Axton and I, saw us watching him, over his dad's shoulder. He had the same big blue eyes as my boy did, and similar wispy blonde hair.<br />
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But, unlike Axton, he also had slanting eyes, a flattened nose bridge, a small mouth. Unlike Axton, this boy had down syndrome.<br />
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I had to fight the tears....I had to whisper for forgiveness. For my ingratitude, at my shallowness and hollowness.<br />
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The family walked towards their van, parked across the street from us. I leaned down to Axton and asked, "Can you say hi?" But Axton did not. I think he knew this boy was different.<br />
So instead,<i>I</i> said hi.<br />
"Hi Kyle! You've got big blue eyes just like my boy!"<br />
Kyle's dad set him down on the sidewalk next to us, and Kaleo stopped barking (luckily, he really likes kids) to sniff Kyle's hands.<br />
"Kyle, you sure are a styling young man! Look at that cute outfit you have on! Axton," I tried again. "Can you say hi to Kyle?" But still he didn't.<br />
Kyle pet the dog a few times, and then Mom said, "Ready to go out to eat?"<br />
So I took the hint and told them to have a good night. "We're on our way to meet Daddy."<br />
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As we continued down the side walk, it wasn't long before Dad's car met up with us and the three of us - Axton, Kaleo, and I - hopped into the front seat with Dad, as he drove us the 50 yards back to the house (we don't make it too far on walks). I told Adam, "We met the family on the corner. They have a son, too."<br />
"Oh yeah?" Adam said, pulling into the driveway and shutting off the car.<br />
"He has down syndrome." I said, the motor's silence thickening as I did.<br />
We both paused for a minute, two parents of a lively, healthy child. What a different life, what a different challenge it would be if he were not who he were.<br />
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I can't fathom the stress and the worry that that mother will live with for the rest of her/Kyle's life. It is a vastly different stress and worry that I will have. No one can say one is better or worse or harder or easier. We are both mothers and we share that life-clenching determination to do what is best for our child.<br />
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Regardless, I've been humbled. My path could have been different. The Lord loves us. He knows us. He knows what challenges we can handle, what to put in our path to shape us to be the kind of person He would want us to be. He is good.<br />
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I hope we see more of Kyle around - I could use more of his light in my life.<br />
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*Kyle is not really his name. He real name is much cuter and fitting for this boy but I felt I should not share it on here.Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-30090644041273447032013-09-13T12:00:00.000-07:002013-09-13T20:00:31.367-07:00A Hard DayIt's been awhile since I've posted - I've been busy with my boys, our move, my photography business, church, summer, fun things, not fun things, and so on. But today has been a hard one, and since misery loves company or something like that, I felt inspired to write a blog post. Also, I'm lacking motivation to edit photos that need to be edited and so instead I came over here, to my lonely little blog that was in need of some attention.<br />
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God has funny timing, and it's one of those days where I just want to cry. I cannot tell you how many times in the past little while where "coincidences" have been rubbed in our faces. We've had a job in another location offered to us the day we signed a year-long-lease in our new place in Maryland. We've had phone calls coming in within minutes of finding out news, telling us to 'go the other way,' 'choose the other path.' We've had contradicting advice left and right - from above and from below. We are spent. We are done. We give up. We will just be a blob of life in our current location until we are shoved in another direction.<br />
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I know I'm being cryptic - and it's mostly because I'm too lazy to spell out the entire story, and not because I care if anyone knows. Basically, Adam is looking for another job. Has been since the beginning of the year, and now we are still (endlessly) trying to decide if he should stay government, go contractor, stay Maryland, go out West, or go Foreign. And all FIVE of those options have, at one point or another in the past 6 months, been near-possibilities that we started to prepare for, only to have all of them fail.<br />
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You would think that would mean we are just meant to stay where we are, right? I mean, apparently it does, for the time being. Except for the fact that our least favorite option keeps coming back and giving us another chance at it (kind of). Ha, it's hard to explain when you haven't been following along the whole time.<br />
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Anyway, on to more misery. We also just started going to our new ward. The first week was hard, quieter and lonelier than you would hope a Christian church to be. Every week since then has gotten better, but it's still an adjustment.<br />
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This past month I have stood someone up for a breakfast date I forgot about, lost my ipod, spent a lonely week without Adam while he traveled to Utah for a funeral, accidentally spilled the beans about <i>someone else's </i>secret (I am usually so good about that! What is wrong with me?), broke my camera, and not gotten pregnant. We've spent too much money on moving, having two rents to pay for a month, getting new tires, flying Adam to Utah, and lots of other things.<br />
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I mean, I don't even have my head.screwed.on. The other night Adam was looking for my phone and his keys and they were both in my possession last and I couldn't find either one of them and Axton needed to go to bed and I was cranky and this was also the day we found out I had lost the ipod (as a sidenote, I was way less upset about losing that device than I was about the simple fact that I lost it. I was just so aggravated with myself for being 'so careless! So clueless!' and I was just angry at myself. It did not feel good). So when I told Adam I didn't know where either of those items were, he threw his hands up in the air and said, "I can't keep up with you! I give up!" I said, "K." and stormed off to give Axton a bath. When Axton was in bed, I came back out, picked up my stupid diaper bag, tipped it over onto the couch, and shook everything out of it. Angrily. Crumbs flew everywhere. Crumbs and wrappers and pens and cards and garbage and cheerios and chunks of granola bar, all over the couch. Not to mention my phone --- tumbled out of it. I picked it up and threw it at Adam and then walked into our bedroom to read a book.<br />
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Later I said to him, "Do you think I would be like this if I had a 9 to 5 job and spent time with adults all day? Do you realize that I sit at home and, <i>from the ground up</i>, teach a human being how to live life? I started with a child who knew nothing and I have to teach him everything. Do you know what that does to my brain? .....I can't have you "giving up" on me."<br />
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Anyway, so we hugged and sorrys and love yous and good feelings and blah blah blah but man! It's just been a rough one. A real douzy. Then today, <i>while I was doing a session with someone, </i>I totally broke my camera. Oh I am still pissed/sick about it. I have an appointment with some geeky guys to look at it because I don't even know what happened.<br />
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So you haven't heard from me in 6 weeks and this is what you get! Welcome back to my life! Really though, life <i>is </i>good. It's actually great. I'm generally happy but we do have hard times, and that's when we lean on the Lord. If you haven't seen already, I've started a 365 project where I take a photo everyday for a year. I did a similar project with my best friend a couple years ago, and we made it six months into it. There are some real gems from that project, if you want to check it out: <a href="http://wwm2b.blogspot.com/">wwm2b.blogspot.com</a>.<br />
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I will try to be better about blogging again! I just need to learn to balance my photog stuff, because that's really what's been sucking up all my time lately. Until then!<br />
<br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-8914029640523528342013-08-07T12:55:00.001-07:002013-08-07T20:04:27.414-07:00NYC with a One-Year-Old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So like, forever ago we went to New York City. Adam had a work conference, which left me alone with my one-year-old to explore the streets of New York. I was a little terrified at first, especially to ride the metro with all our crap, the giant stroller, and Axton, but we made it work....we walked a lot, we ate a lot, and we saw <i>a lot. </i><br />
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My top suggestions for NYC with kids:<br />
1) Central Park - We could have spent all day here. There are huge water fountains that Axton got soaked in, playgrounds, paths, <a href="http://www.centralparkzoo.com/">a Zoo</a>, kids running around everywhere. It's the best.<br />
2) <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g60763-d116236-Reviews-New_York_Public_Library-New_York_City_New_York.html">NYC Public Library</a> - it's practically a museum in there! They have art and other exhibits, as well as the original Pooh and friends and a baby story time every week.<br />
3) <a href="http://www.amnh.org/">American Museum of Natural History</a> - we spent all day there, and there was tons of stuff for kids of all ages to see and do.<br />
4) <a href="http://www.esbnyc.com/">Empire State Building</a> - depending on the age of your kids, they may or may not like this. Axton was kind of cranky while we were up there but we were still glad we did it.<br />
5) <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Washington_Square_Park">Washington Square Park</a> - It was fun to go to a different area of Manhattan. The park was filled with vendors and had a musical/festival feel to it. Plus, Axton loved getting wet once again in their fountains.<br />
6) <a href="http://www.thehighline.org/">The High Line</a> - We ran out of time and were not actually able to make it to this park, but I have heard great things about it and it sounds awesome.<br />
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The train ride up was about 3 hours long, and Axton did great. We kept him occupied with food, walks up and down the aisle, and babbling with strangers who would listen. There was that one time I had to change his diaper and since the tiny train bathroom didn't have anywhere to put him, I changed him standing up and he ended up peeing all over the floor and my foot....but that's just typical life with Axton.<br />
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Adam's work paid for the hotel and our train ride up. We stayed at <a href="http://www.newyorkerhotel.com/reservations/index/adwords?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=NYH&utm_content=NYHDKIinitialcaps&gclid=CKiMkLHy67gCFUii4AodgiwAGA">the New Yorker</a>, and I would highly recommend it to anyone who wants easy access to everything. It was directly across the street from the Penn Station and just a block away from the Empire State Building. Our room was tiny but it had a great view and a pretty good continental breakfast (though, no they do <i>not </i>have a pool and yes I did have the naivete to ask!)<br />
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We got to Penn Station around noon on a Monday, and it was pouring out. We dashed to the hotel, only to learn our room wasn't ready yet. Adam's conference was already starting, so I was thrust into single-parenthood-in-NYC fast. We waited in the lobby until a room was available for us.<br />
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After unloading our stuff in our room, I started out small with our adventures and we darted across the street for our first New Yorker Pizza. My favorite was the margarita pizza, with fresh tomatoes.<br />
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On Tuesday I met up with <a href="http://joelandsaracastro.blogspot.com/">Sara</a>, a friend of mine from BYUH. She had an internship with Random House Publishing (I know, soooo cool) and so has spent a lot of time in NYC. I was still too nervous to ride the metro by myself, so I ended up walking all the way from our hotel, through Central Park, and then to the Metropolitan Art Museum, where we were meeting Sara. Good thing we love Central Park so much - we walked past the skating rink that's in the movie Serendipity, we almost went to the Zoo but decided we didn't have enough time, and we found a large playground that we would come back to later.<br />
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Sara let us in on a little secret: The admission price at the museum is just a "suggested" amount; you can actually pay as little or as much as you want. I paid $5, Sara paid $1. We walked around <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/">the Met</a> and mostly just chatted and tried to keep Axton occupied.<br />
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We decided that an art museum was not the best place to have my hooligan child, who wanted to run around and scream and touch everything (he got yelled at for touching the rope that was five feet away from a canvas) so we didn't stay too long. I would have loved to stay there longer, but it just wasn't happening with this kid. However, we did go to the roof and it was a <i>must. </i><br />
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It was at this point that I realized I had not packed diapers with me (....wha da freak, dude? I've been doing this for over a year now and I still forget to pack diapers? Yep, that'd be me). Luckily there is a Duane Reade (a drugstore) on almost every street.<br />
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We hit up <a href="http://www.steaknshake.com/">Steak & Shake</a> for lunch. It was a lot like <a href="http://www.shakeshack.com/">The Shake Shack</a>, which Adam and I both loved <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2011/10/new-york-city.html">the last time we were in NYC</a>. It was cheaper and the burger was delicious, though I do prefer Shake Shack's shakes over Steak & Shake's. Sara had to leave a bit earlier than expected, so I followed her to the metro station and she helped me figure out where I needed to go. I still preferred walking but at least I felt capable of using the metro if necessary.<br />
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We met up with Adam and went to <a href="http://www.bhphotovideo.com/find/HelpCenter/NYSuperStore08.jsp">B&H Photo</a>. I was in camera heaven. I wanted to touch everything. It was beautiful. I talked to a few employees and got some lens/equipment advice and slipped on my own drool on the way out. We walked the streets around our hotel that night, just looking for a place to eat and enjoying the atmosphere.<br />
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We ended up ate at BRGR....yet another burger joint. The food was good, but I was so grossed out by the end of that night that I didn't want to touch another hamburger for a very long time (and hey, I haven't since then thanks to my July month of Veganism!)<br />
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On Wednesday, Axton and I did a lot of walking again. We hit up the <a href="http://www.nypl.org/">NYC Library</a> (FYI: There are two buildings labelled NYC Library on google maps. One of them is super lame and probably not the one you were thinking of....trust me, I went there first. But keep walking and you'll shortly find the one you want).<br />
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Axton really loved the giant Clifford and the original Pooh friends, but mostly he was running around being destructive again so we didn't stay too long. From there we walked to Grand Central Station (which wasn't very exciting, but I imagine I would have enjoyed it if I had a tour guide telling me cool things about it).<br />
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We also hit up the <a href="http://www.rockefellercenter.com/?gclid=COvcgt7967gCFYqi4Aod-jEA3A">Rockefeller Center</a>, the <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/nbc-experience-store-new-york">NBC store</a>, and <a href="http://www.magnoliabakery.com/">Magnolia's Bakery</a>. I had seen the bakery featured on a tv show raving about their food but lemme tell ya, I was <i>not </i>impressed. Axton and I got their cheesecake and a cupcake, and neither one of them were that exciting. I much prefer Cheesecake Factory and DC Cupcakes.<br />
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That night with Adam we went to the <a href="http://www.esbnyc.com/">Empire State Building</a>, one of Adam's two requests for the trip. We went around 6pm, and the lines weren't too bad. We were up there before sunset and when we came out the lines were much longer.<br />
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For dinner, we had take-out from <a href="http://lucyscantinaroyale.com/">Lucy's,</a> a Mexican restaurant across the street from our hotel. It was pretty tasty and decently priced.</div>
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The next day it was pouring outside, and since I wanted to go to the American Museum of Natural History, a mile-long walk, I decided I'd better brave the metro all by myself. I was feeling pretty good about myself until I was sitting on the train and watched my stop fly right past me. With each station passing by me, I started to get more and more nervous. When the crap was this train going to stop? I was at the very north end of Manhattan by the time the train stopped....I got off and realized I had gotten on an 'express' train that, though it was headed in the right direction, did not stop until its final destination. So I squared my shoulders and got right back on the next train heading back where I came from. This time it did stop when I needed it to.....but once I got off I realized I was stuck down in the dingy dark abyss that is the metro station. There was no elevators! Axton was asleep in the stroller, and the stroller was stuffed to the brim with snacks, diapers, water, and every other baby-related item you can possibly think of. So for the third time, I got on another metro, thinking I could just go one stop down and walk back to the museum. But alas, I was met with the same fate: no elevators, Axton still asleep. I sighed, knowing I couldn't just stay down there forever, and started to unbuckle Axton from the stroller. Then, a big burly guy walked past me. Without thinking, I called out to him. "Do you think you could help me?" I asked. He stopped, turned around, looked at my desperate face and sticky situation, and without hesitation said yes. I grabbed one side and he grabbed the other and together we walked up two flights of stairs - it was still pouring out and he got soaked just as I did, but he was kind and I was grateful. This was not the first nor the last time I had been treated with genuine kindness in New York. Another time, someone saw me walking with Axton in the rain and walked next to me with his umbrella until we got where we were going. Someone else walked me through the metro station until I found the train I needed. No one was rude or too busy to help. </div>
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Also, I learned that the Metro map that is posted all over the station and the trains has a list of all the stops and which ones are handicap-friendly. Just a heads up to anyone planning on going to NYC with a stroller....</div>
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Finally we made it to the Natural History Museum, and we spent all day there. Both Axton and I loved it. Again, I only paid $5 to get in - this only allowed me to see their <a href="http://www.amnh.org/exhibitions/permanent-exhibitions">permanent exhibits</a> but that was plenty for us. My favorite exhibit was their Earth and Space Center, a giant globe in the center of the museum that showed a film inside.</div>
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In the late afternoon, the sun finally came out and it heated up quite a bit. Axton and I walked through Central Park again (since we weren't about to repeat our earlier incident in the metro station) and we found some kiddy water fountains - Axton got soaking wet and I ended up stripping him down to his diaper. </div>
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We met up with Adam and hit up his 2nd request for this trip: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Washington_Square_Park">Washington Square Park</a>. This is the archway from the movie August Rush. </div>
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The park had a really relaxed, friendly atmosphere and Axton just had to get soaking wet for the second time that day (and, once again, I had run out of diapers which meant he had to sit in a giant pad of water the whole ride back to the hotel. He was fairly decent about it, at least).<br />
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Next we hit up the <a href="http://www.911memorial.org/">9/11 Memorial</a>. The memorial didn't take much time, but we really enjoyed it. It really is a special tribute and I definitely teared up (no surprise there). I would recommend it to anyone.<br />
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Finally, we ended the evening at <a href="http://www.angelospizzany.com/">Angelo's Pizza</a>, recommended to us by my friend Sara for the best New York pizza she's had. And good heavens was it delicious. I would have loved to have gone back the next day and ordered something else from them - maybe a giant bowl of pasta - but since we only had the one taste-test we went for a simple, pepperoni pizza. <i>So. Good. </i>So good. If you get the chance, go. Just do it. </div>
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Our last day in New York City was short - we were catching an afternoon train home. We went back to B&H Photo so I could trade in a lens, got some lunch to take on the way home, and headed out. </div>
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<i>Success. </i>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-63537988565575517452013-07-12T13:35:00.002-07:002013-07-12T13:35:29.434-07:00Soon.I felt the need to tell you, oh blogging world and friends, that I'm feeling better.<br />
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Thank you for "listening," for sending me warm thoughts, and especially thank you to those that left comments. I appreciate so much your insights and encouragement. It really does mean so much.<br />
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My last post was the result of months of questions, not just about children, but also about our current living situation. We've been going back and forth about Adam's job, him possibly relocating. We made plans for one thing, and they got yanked out from under our feet and we've been crawling around on our hands and knees since then trying to find our footing again. Trying to find our place, where we're needed, where we'll be happy. I don't do well with uncertainty, with not knowing what's next. I'm a planner; it's what I do. The gray, middle area scares me, and that's what I've been swimming in since the beginning of this year. My last post was like a pin to the balloon - a verbal explosion of some of the pressure we've been feeling.<br />
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I called up a BFF after writing that post and she said, "It's so hard to blog about those kinds of things because the minute after you write them and publish them, you already feel different. That was just a snapshot of how you were feeling right then." And that's true - as soon as I wrote it all out and got it off my chest I felt a little better already. Just throwing it all into the universe seemed to free up my brain a little bit.<br />
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This friend also reminded me that I had gone through a very similar phase before we decided to get pregnant the first time around - a period of grayness, of confusion. I had completely forgotten about that. I looked up an <a href="http://www.blogger.com/I%20had%20such%20a%20bad%20attitude%20about%20it%20and%20just%20didn't%20know%20where%20I%20was%20supposed%20to%20be.%20I%20was%20experiencing%20a%20major%20%22stupor%20of%20thought%22%20---%20a%20post-college%20depression,%20if%20you%20will.%20What%20was%20going%20to%20make%20me%20happy?%20Getting%20a%20new%20job?%20Going%20to%20graduate%20school?%20Certainly%20I%20wasn't%20ready%20for%20a%20baby....was%20I?%20%20I%20was%20seriously%20depressed.%20I%20got%20up%20every%20day%20at%205:30%20in%20the%20morning,%20went%20to%20a%20job%20I%20didn't%20like,%20and%20was%20exhausted%20when%20I%20came%20home%20at%205:30%20at%20night.%20I%20didn't%20have%20energy%20or%20time%20to%20make%20dinner,%20take%20care%20of%20the%20house,%20or%20be%20a%20good%20friend%20or%20wife%20to%20my%20husband.">old blog post</a> of mine, just to compare. Here's what I read:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 20.798612594604492px;">I had such a bad attitude ... and just didn't know where I was supposed to be. I was experiencing a major "stupor of thought" --- a post-college depression, if you will. What was going to make me happy? Getting a new job? Going to graduate school? Certainly I wasn't ready for a baby....was I?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 20.798612594604492px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 20.798612594604492px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: purple; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; line-height: 20.798612594604492px;">I was seriously depressed. I got up every day at 5:30 in the morning, went to a job I didn't like, and was exhausted when I came home at 5:30 at night. I didn't have energy or time to make dinner, take care of the house, or be a good friend or wife to my husband.</span><br />
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I was quite shocked to realize that that was exactly what I had been feeling like lately. All those questions, a bad attitude, a constant stupor of thought. Feelings that honestly went away once I made the decision to get pregnant.<br />
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This time, though, it was two major things - well, two major <i>people </i>and the things they said to me - that have helped me see a bit more clearly.<br />
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The first one was Adam. We talked about all the things I've been afraid of, my hopes and my hesitations; he not only validated them all, but made me feel better about every single one. And then he looked me in the eye and said, softly, "I want another baby. I know it's you that has to do it for us - I can't do this - and I don't even know what all you do have to go through, but I will be by your side every step of the way. I will go through this <i>with you </i>as much as I can."<br />
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Now, outside of that moment, I can stop and I can say, "Yeah sure <i>you </i>want another baby. You sleep through the night while I struggle with back pain and a huge belly, while I breastfeed and comfort. Then you go to work all day and associate with professionals and come home to excited Axton for a few hours and then put him to bed. You have no idea what another baby will mean for <i>me.</i>" (And, later, I did say those things to him).<br />
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But <i>in </i>that moment? Him looking me in the eyes and asking me to do something for him, something he really wanted, something that he couldn't do for himself - well, honestly, I was reminded of the Savior. Just as we cannot save ourselves, just as we had to ask Jesus Christ to suffer, to bleed from every pore, to be crucified for our sins - I was reminded that I am doing God's work. That I would be doing something for this world, for my husband, for this waiting soul, that no one else can do. I have to sacrifice a lot to make it happen, but it's <i>been asked of me. </i>By Adam, and by God. (And isn't it wonderful that it's been asked of me, not forced on me? Isn't <i>agency </i>and the gift to choose beautiful?)<br />
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I have always told Adam, during our periods of transition, "I just wish God would tell us where to go, rather than us trying to decide between here or there. If God would just say, <i>I need you to go to X, </i>then I would. Happily." But God, so far, hasn't done that too often with us - He's given us our choice, and redirected us only when necessary. I decided I needed to be real with God - I got down on my knees and said an out-loud prayer - something I hadn't done in quite some time. I poured it all out to Him, even though I knew He already knew.<br />
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I just talked, and He just listened.<br />
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....Until.<br />
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Until I asked the question. I only asked him one question, and I asked it straight out. And, in return, He answered me straight out. His answer was just one single word that clouded all my other thoughts. I tried to beat it away, tried to ask again just in case He had said the wrong word on accident but again this word came back, and I resigned. I said, <i>Okay. </i><br />
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And as soon as I accepted, I was filled with just a glimmer of excitement. Of hope... Of Courage.<br />
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It's going to be really hard - but [eventually] I'm going to do it anyway.<br />
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And I think there's power in that, in doing something despite being afraid of it. Isn't that the definition of courage? I remember asking another friend, who is currently pregnant with her second boy, if she was scared. She told me, "I was at first, but now I feel up to the challenge." I've been thinking about those words a lot lately, how this is a chance for me to gear up and face things head on - to rise up to the challenge and come out conqueror. To prove to myself - over and over and over again - that I can do hard things. I can have a baby at a birth center, with no medication. I can run 13.1 miles in 2 hours and seven miles....and one day in the future, I can have <i>another </i>baby. I can do hard things.Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-17907872634188806242013-06-29T08:35:00.000-07:002013-06-29T11:45:16.435-07:00On when to get pregnant again, being angry with God, and finding a Heavenly Mother. And way too many questions.This is an extremely personal post, and, as these thoughts have been going on for months now, it's taken me awhile to actually decide to share them with anyone. I emailed a friend about it, and I finally sat Adam down and told him how seriously this all was bothering me, and just allowing myself the chance to talk it out has helped. Now I'm ready to be open about it.<br />
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Around Axton's 9 month mark I started to get that tiny little inkling of a thought.....<i>I've got to do this all over again. </i>That is also when Axton started sleeping through the night consistently and I think I was still paranoid about my sleep and didn't want to think about the fact that I'd have to give it up again one day. Adam also brought up the subject of baby number two around this time. All of his siblings are 2-3 years apart and are very close, and he wants that for our family as well. I do, too, but I'm struggling so much with this.<br />
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After that I went through a phase where I would ask every mother - whether I knew them or not - if they liked the age gap between their kids. How hard it was, what they enjoyed about it.....now that I think about it, that's a silly thing to do because it's so personal and is different with every child/sibling/parent combination, but I just was aching to find answers. I've prayed about it, I've searched the scriptures, I've pondered it, and still I am changing my mind every single day. Do it this month, do it in 6 months, do it never (so he'll be an only child! Is that such a bad thing?). I even got up my courage one night and told Adam, "Okay, let's do this!" and last minute backed out and said, "Actually, nope. Not yet."<br />
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There are so many emotions and fears and questions I have, and all of them lead to another and they all intertwine and affect each other and me and him and God and who is right and will I be punished or blessings withheld?<br />
<br />
I have a hard time because being pregnant is hard. It's tiring and sore and it goes on forever. And then I have to go through labor again, and I swear I must have a bit of PTSD on that or something because I have anxiety just thinking about it. And I have to push that baby out of me again and it's going to be hard - especially because I will go natural again. Maybe you're thinking, "Oh please. Just get the drugs and shut up. It's not that bad." But, I know me and I know I will have guilt if I do things that way, and I don't want to deal with guilt, either - it's no better. Plus, it's just not a route that I want to take. I don't feel good about it, so I have to deal with another route. And, drugs or not, at the end of the day I will still have a brand new baby to take care of, raging hormones and feelings of loneliness and inadequacies. I will still have leaking boobs and chapped nipples, I will have tired, saggy eyes and a tired, saggy body. And on top of it all, I will have also have Axton to take care of - something I did not have the last time around.<br />
<br />
I have a hard time wanting to get pregnant again because I want to do other things, like pursue photography and writing, without having to plan around 3 months of sickness, the last 8 weeks of watermelon mode, and then 3 months postpartum trying to figure it all out again. Sure, these are all selfish reasons but is it so wrong to be selfish? You have to think of yourself sometimes, don't you?<br />
<br />
I have a hard time because I'm legitimately afraid of the love. I see how much and how deeply I love my one child and I fear what double that love will feel like - because to love is to risk losing. And I don't know how I would survive if ever I lost this love.<br />
<br />
Thinking all these things has gotten me into a major pity mode, and I've started to question why God made things the way He did. Why do women have the 'harder' lot? Why do we have to go through this in order for the population to continue? Why does it have to be so difficult? And once you get me thinking on that, then my brain runs wild - Why is sex designed the way it is? Why does it have to be so intrusive on women? [Sidenote: Adam and I have a very mutually-beneficial and respectful sex life; this is not a commentary on the way he treats me in bed, but just a general feminist running list of questions]. Why are women not granted the respect they so honestly deserve in this world?<br />
<br />
.......And I search and I search and my mind keeps returning to Her. A Heavenly Mother. If families on Earth are patterned after families in Heaven, then I know She is there, I know she exists. But why is she <i>never </i>spoken of? Why am I not encouraged to have a relationship with Her? I casually brought this up with Adam one night, not letting on how much it was bothering me, and his reply was : "Seek Her out."<br />
<br />
So I did. In the scriptures, hymns, and conference talks. Yes, yes, I know that one hymn that mentions it. But really? Is that all? LDS.org brought up ONE talk from President Hinckley that says the words "Heavenly Mother." And do you know what he says in that talk?<br />
<br />
<i>However, in light of the instruction we have received from the Lord Himself, I regard it as inappropriate for anyone in the Church to pray to our Mother in Heaven.</i><br />
<br />
He goes on to explain that in the scriptures we have always been taught to pray unto the Father, as Christ taught us how. And that "the fact that we do not pray to our Mother in Heaven in no way belittles or denigrates her."<br />
<br />
I guess I understand what he's trying to say. But it doesn't bring peace to my mind or answers to my questions. I'm not trying to shake anyone's faith or to condemn the words of a prophet - I don't want to be angry about this or towards God. But occasionally I am. This topic is really hard for me to share, and the reason I hesitated so much to even blog about this. Probably mostly because <i>I feel guilty for questioning something my gospel teaches. </i>But that's not fair, either! God gave us brains to ask and question so why do I feel bad? It's not often that I have these kinds of feelings and I don't like the confusion I feel and the fact that my heart does not line up with what my gospel teaches. I've always felt that our relationship with God is extremely personal, and that you can receive personal revelation from Him so that your life choices line up with you, the church, and His will for you.<br />
<br />
....But right now I'm not feeling any of that. I continue to struggle with not having a desire to get pregnant again. I want Axton to have siblings because I have hopes that this would bring him happiness. I want Axton and his siblings to be close in age because my brother and I are four years apart and we hardly ever talk. And I question if this is because of lifestyle differences or is it really the four years?<br />
<br />
I feel like there is this stigma in our Church that the more kids you have the happier you will be, because they bring blessings with them. But will I, personally, be happier if I have four kids or than if I only had two? And if that is true, where is the line? Will we become exponentially happier with each child we bear? I don't believe that to be true, there has to be a line somewhere. But if it is true, <i>how is that fair? </i>And how can we know where that line is to begin with?<br />
<br />
I'm struggling to reconcile what I want with the guilt of feelings of selfishness, with trying to know and understand "God's will" for me. When we pray we often say, <i>If it be thy will. </i>But isn't that why we are given free agency? Will I not be blessed if I somehow, perhaps even <b>accidentally</b>, go forward without it lining up with God's will for me? Again I ask, <i>how is that fair?</i><br />
<br />
Some people have said, "You will know when the time is right." I don't believe you. Because right now I don't know - so does that mean it's not the right time?<br />
<br />
<br />
The bottom line on when to have kids I think will end up being this: I will never again feel prepared, just as I did not feel prepared for the first one. However, it's worse this time around because I <i>do </i>know what it all will be like. I <b>have not </b>forgotten the pain and I never will. I hope, in my heart, that one day a desire will return. But I fear it will just be one of those things that the guilt will become too much, and then I will shrug my shoulders and say, <i>What the hell, let's get this over with. </i>And that kind of makes me sad but I don't know what else to do about it.<br />
<br />
Guilt, guilt, guilt. So much guilt. These can't be feelings from my loving Heavenly Father, can they?<br />
<i><br /></i>
Anyone else ever have similar thoughts and fears? On any topic or question I've asked? Getting pregnant again when you know how hard it is? Searching for a Heavenly Mother only to be discouraged from doing so? Any insights would be great - or even just knowing I'm not alone.<br />
<br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-66759449538232752192013-06-27T18:07:00.000-07:002013-06-27T19:53:04.447-07:00What I learned from breastfeeding another human being for 13 monthsI said that to Adam last night:<br />
<br />
"Can you believe I <i>fed </i>another human being? Like, with my body. My own body made his food. For 13 months? And, like, the first 8 months his entire diet consisted of calories that <i>I made</i>?"<br />
<br />
I kept saying it, in circles, trying to wrap my head around the concept.<br />
<br />
"How did I <i>do </i>that? How do women's bodies do that?" Again and again.<br />
<br />
He shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea. It's so crazy, though!"<br />
<br />
The past two weeks I've been trying to get my right breast to dry up (TMI? Seriously? You know this blog is always TMI, right?). The left one didn't have a problem at all - I had been producing much more milk on my right side for a few months now, but I didn't think it would take two whole weeks. I read a lot of blogs that said by the time they were down to one or two nursing sessions a day, it wasn't hard to completely wean off - that they were dried up within a few days. Not me - not righty, anyway. That milk is holding on for dear life. About a week after stopping nursing, I felt hard lumps and when I applied pressure, liquid would seep out. I tried it (gross, I know. But again - you should know this about me by now) and it was no longer sweet, but salty and well, kind of sour tasting. Huh. Weird.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I kept kind of hoping that Axton would be one of those kids that would "wean himself" - and I realize that had I waited long enough, maybe he would have. But I also felt if I let him decide he'd still be nursing when he was two and there is nothing wrong with that but it just wasn't what I wanted. I just felt...I don't know, like it was time. To stop. To selfishly give my body entirely back to myself. To enjoy an undetermined space and time of just "me" before I get pregnant again.<br />
<br />
The last night of breastfeeding Axton, I, of course, forced myself to have this thought, forced myself to feel every word in this sentence, to make sure I was really ready for it: <i>Tonight is the last night you will ever put this child to your breast.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I thought it and felt it and rolled the words around in my brain, I tasted them in my mouth and twirled them with my tongue, and then I swallowed them and forced their way into my heart. And you know what I heard?<br />
<br />
I felt a small part of me say: "Oh, sad."<br />
A smaller part of me said: "Hallelujah."<br />
But mostly I just said, "Okay."<br />
<br />
It just was. I was so pleasantly surprised that this wasn't going to be an emotional thing for me - I think it was a combination of many things - slowly eliminating nursing sessions over the past 3 months, as well as learning/realizing breastfeeding is not the only way to bond with your child.<br />
<br />
We've been starting to think about when we want to have baby number two (and that dilemma is a whole separate post), but just thinking about having a newborn all over again sends me into a near-anxiety attack. I feel like I will be brand new all over again with the next one. I reread my journal from a few months ago, and read back to when he was first born. At one point I made a list of things I learned about breastfeeding and I wanted to share some of them, as well as add a few more I've learned since then.<br />
<br />
<b>1. I will say it again: Breastfeeding is not the only way to bond with your child. </b>Yes, breastmilk is the best thing you can feed your child. There is no denying that - it's a scientific, proven fact. BUT. Having been a breastfeeding mother made me learn there is nothing wrong with <b>not </b>breastfeeding. There is not even a tiny drop of judgement in me for women who do not breastfeed - formula-fed babies are still healthy, happy, strong, etc. In fact, I sometimes found myself jealous of mothers who chose to formula feed - mostly because they can be away from their child for more than 4 hours without their boobs getting rock hard, or because Dad can do a night feeding. Nursing Axton was of course a special time for us to bond - but I also found many other moments with him to be just as special. If I wanted to bond with Axton, I made it happen - with or without my breast, it was beautiful and meaningful.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Breastfeeding hurts. </b>I had no idea how painful it was going to be for my nipples to acclimate to getting sucked on for hours a day. Those first few weeks were like being tortured. Even after just one day, I remember giving my mom the stink eye every time she would say, "Okay, honey. He's ready for you. Time to feed him." I always felt like I <i>just </i>nursed him, and now it was time to whip out the shredded, mangled mess of my nipples to get torn up some more. My nipples bled! They cracked! They burned! I would find myself gripping onto Axton's tiny body for the first 30 seconds while I scrunched up my eyes and face until the pain would subside. Finally, I talked to my sisters-in-law and found out my next lesson --<br />
<br />
<b>3. Lanolin will be your best friend. </b>I didn't even know what that stuff was at first, until I googled "Best Nipple Cream." From then on, I put <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lansinoh-Lanolin-Breastfeeding-Mothers-Grams/dp/B005MI648C/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1372377742&sr=8-1&keywords=lanolin">that stuff</a> on constantly - before I nursed, immediately after I nursed, and in-between nursing. Good thing it's safe for infants to consume because I'm sure Axton got a hefty amount of that the first month. It cleared up my bleeding and scabbing and after a few months I didn't need it anymore.<br />
<br />
<b>4. You're gonna wanna wear that bra at night. </b>I remember shopping at Target for nursing bras while I was still pregnant and seeing a lot of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Medela-Sleep-Bra-White-L/dp/B000JIKN0A/ref=sr_1_1?s=hpc&ie=UTF8&qid=1372377777&sr=1-1&keywords=night+time+nursing+bra">"Night" versions</a>. I remember thinking, "Psh, I hate wearing bras at night. <i>That's </i>not gonna happen." So I'm sure you can imagine (or maybe you can't) what happened the first night after my milk came in and I wasn't wearing a nursing bra....that's right, I woke up in a sticky, sloppy, wet mess of my own milk. "What the...?" Oh yeah, from then on I wore a nighttime nursing bra to bed - with <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Philips-AVENT-Washable-Nursing-6-Count/dp/B000063XV4/ref=sr_1_3?s=hpc&ie=UTF8&qid=1372377828&sr=1-3&keywords=cotton+nursing+pads">two cotton pads</a> shoved in each side to prevent that from happening again.<br />
<br />
<b>5. Breastfeeding makes you sweat like an overweight horse galloping through a desert in 150 degree weather. While wearing 8 blankets and 16 pairs of socks. And a scarf and hat. </b>Holy Moly I was stinky and sweaty those first three months. No wonder I hardly wore any clothing! It was May, I was still 40 pounds overweight, I was constantly skin-to-skin with this tiny bundle of heat, I was burning over 500 calories a day producing gallons and gallons of milk (not really <i>gallons </i>but it sure felt like it). You know what my very first outing on my own, without baby, was? Going to Walgreens to get extra-strength deodorant. Because the stuff I had wasn't cutting it. I tried a few different kinds, but my favorite is <a href="http://www.drugstore.com/products/prod.asp?pid=325938&catid=180637&aid=338666&aparam=goobase_filler&device=c&network=g&matchtype=">Arm & Hammer Natural Deodorant </a>- no aluminum so no risk to baby!<br />
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<b>6. Some women can tell when their milk lets down. Some can't. <i>I can. </i>It's weird. </b>I couldn't tell at first, probably because my milk always seemed to be on "blast the entire atmosphere" mode during the first few months. But after things started to regulate and calm down, and it would take a minute or two for my milk to let down, I could totally feel the sensation. It felt all tingly down my entire breast and to my nipple. It was pressure, too, so not necessarily painful but perhaps uncomfortable.<br />
<br />
<b>7. Breastmilk tastes funny. </b>It kinda made me gag the first time I tried my own breastmilk, more from the thought of it than the taste of it. The only way I can describe it is a sweet, almost earthy taste. Maybe I'm just imagining the "earthiness" of it because it came from my body and is therefore the most organic substance possible....either way, it's strange to consume your own bodily fluids (says the girl who encapsulated her placenta).<br />
<br />
<b>8. Breastmilk changes from morning to night, and as baby gets older. </b>The design of women and their ability to make such an amazing substance seriously astonishes me. I was reading a book about breastfeeding (or, more likely, it was probably an infographic on Pinterest, but I can't find it if it was), anyway it talked about how milk produced in the morning contains hormones and substances that wake an invigorate baby, while milk produced at night was supposed to help calm baby. And as your baby gets older, your body adapts and makes milk to support their changing needs. It's a tailored diet, specifically for your baby. Nature is so incredible. <i>God </i>is smart.<br />
<br />
<b>9. Oxytocin. It's kind of a big deal. </b>I learned a lot about oxytocin when I started reading about breastfeeding. Oxytocin is a hormone that is released during orgasm, when your nipples are stimulated, when you nurse, and during and after childbirth. So, if you remember from my <a href="http://megandadamharrison.blogspot.com/2012/05/welcoming-axton-labor.html">birth story</a>, they put me on a breast pump when my contractions slowed down. That's because nipple stimulation releases oxytocin, which in turn helps your uterus contract. Thus, it is a form of induction. This is also why breastfeeding helps your uterus to shrink back to it's normal size after delivery - the hormone encourages uterine contractions. Also, if you google "What is pitocin?", the online dictionary defines it as....<b style="font-style: italic;">oxytocin. </b>I figured this out when I was at the hospital photographing a birth, and they put the mother on pitocin. I looked at the bag that held the liquid and it was labelled Oxytocin. It totally clicked in my head then - your body naturally produces the hormones necessary for labor, and when an induction is necessary, doctors a synthetic version of that hormone (not quite as nifty as the real deal, but it does get the job done. Usually.)<br />
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<b>10. Breastfeeding can help you lose weight. But it can also make you hold onto your weight. </b>So breastfeeding burns tons of calories, right? Like, tons. You may think you're just sitting there on your couch, snuggling your baby, but really your body is in overdrive pumping out the liquids. This means you probably build up quite the appetite, and should be taking in more calories than normal to keep up with it all. This is part of the reason why a lot of women lose weight so quickly after delivering - their bodies are using up more calories than they are taking in. However, on the flip side, some women say they cannot lose the last 5 or 10 pounds until after they <i>stop </i>breastfeeding - I've read this is a survival tactic; so in case of "famine" or other life-threatening situations you still have stored fat to continue on. Interesting, yes?<br />
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<b>11. Pressure stops the flow. </b>Man is it awkward when you can feel your boobs starting to leak in public. Even when I thought I was "past that phase" it still continued to happen to me. You gotta carry those stupid nursing pads with you everywhere you go - for at least the first 6 months! Even after things calm down, it can still surprise you. But I did learn that applying pressure helps stop the flow of milk. So if ever I was in public and felt the all-too-familiar tingle, I would simply cross my arms over my chest and secretly apply pressure to the nipple. That would often do the trick, or at least slow it down a bit.<br />
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<b>12. I finally learned the lying down position. </b>It is a rare thing when I find a breastfeeding photo that I really like. I don't have anything against them, or anything, I just haven't found many that I particularly <i>love. </i>But today I came across this one, and I think it's the most beautiful one I've seen. (From <a href="http://thecrunchymamablog.com/2013/01/12/breastfeeding/">here</a>)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1boe_EO1fYSzE-_LNZGxCpLBCGITD3SXuYQOhsIZunRKs_M4OeBybFF9YF_Erra9vW0W11WvfmXobwYB2oF7i7OpWjjifkpOu07XoxSdsprdUsRjtvdK4r8oNCkxcwNDWUBedpOMjwash/s551/ronin6days-9451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1boe_EO1fYSzE-_LNZGxCpLBCGITD3SXuYQOhsIZunRKs_M4OeBybFF9YF_Erra9vW0W11WvfmXobwYB2oF7i7OpWjjifkpOu07XoxSdsprdUsRjtvdK4r8oNCkxcwNDWUBedpOMjwash/s640/ronin6days-9451.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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I just love how she is holding his hand - I remember when my mom was here for the first two days after Axton was born and she told me to do that - to hold Axton's hand just like that to help create that bond. However, I didn't start trying the lying down position until he was probably 4 months or so. I don't know why, I just never figured it out or no one ever told me about it. But it became my favorite position to nurse in during the night (because I could lie down. Duh).<br />
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<b>13. It gets easier. </b>Breastfeeding is really not an easy thing. It may be a "natural" thing, but it doesn't <i>come </i>naturally, if that makes sense. It's instinctual, but it still takes some practice, for both momma and baby. And once you both get the hang of it, once your nipples toughen up and your boobs calm down, once you get over nursing in public and have a few bags of pumped milk in the freezer, then really it's quite simple. And it's free!<br />
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<b>14. Skin-to-skin. </b>When baby is first born, and while he is still tiny and you both are still getting the hang of things, you will probably nurse skin to skin a lot (meaning baby and you are topless). At least, I know I did. However, as Axton got older and didn't go through as many outfits a day (meaning, 2 outfits a day instead of 5), and as I got braver and ventured out of my house more often, then we nursed skin-to-skin much less often. By the time he was 6 months, we hardly ever did. However, I did make it a point to still do it occasionally - just because this is the only time in his life that I could, would want to, that would be acceptable/appropriate/whatever to do that, to be that intimately close to my son. He's getting older now and the window to do this with him is such a short fraction of his life - so from time to time I would take a bath with him, and then I would wrap us both up in the same towel and we would nurse naked together. For those of you who aren't moms, you might think that's weird. For those of you who are moms, I bet you know what I'm talking about (if you are a mom and you still think it's weird then I say, Meh. To each their own). Having those last few precious skin-to-skin moments with my son were so special and I'm glad I made time for that occasionally before we stopped nursing, because it won't ever happen again now that we are done.<br />
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I've heard a lot of women say that, with breastfeeding, you either LOVE it or you HATE it. I disagree. I neither LOVED it nor HATED it (at least not 100% of the time for either one). I think once Axton started eating other foods, too, it helped out a bit, because then I wasn't nursing 24/7. But I can honestly say that overall I enjoyed nursing, and I'm glad I did it. Like I said above, breastfeeding is certainly not the <i>only</i> way you can bond with your child, but it is a major way to do it (<i>any </i>way you feed your child is going to be a bonding experience). I do have some beautiful memories of Axton nursing - the way his hand would sleepily wave and tickle across my chest, find the ends of my then-long hair, and trace his fingers through it. Or when he would stop sucking just to stare at me, my breast still in his mouth. I would smile at him and we would be like teenagers, lost in love and in that moment, obsessed with each other and completely oblivious to the rest of the world.<br />
<br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-74367117562324850512013-06-25T19:35:00.001-07:002013-06-25T19:35:14.155-07:00My Half-Marathon Running Playlist<b>Alannis Morisette:</b><br />
Head Over Feet<br />
That I Would Be Good<br />
Incomplete<br />
<b>Arthur Lyman</b><br />
Boy From Laupahoehoe (Dedication to Dad Harrison)<br />
<b>Beyonce</b><br />
Single Ladies (Dedication to Shelly)<br />
<b>Black Eyed Peas</b><br />
I Gotta Feeling (Dedication to Tiffany)<br />
<b>Carly Rae Jepson</b><br />
Call Me Maybe (Dedication to Jeanna)<br />
<b>Cher Loyd</b><br />
Want U Back (One of my favorites; also, reminded me of Jaclyn)<br />
<b>Christina Perry</b><br />
Jar of Hearts<br />
<b>Daughtry</b><br />
Over You (Dedication to Robyn)<br />
<b>Dixie Chicks</b><br />
Ready to Run (Dedication to Kennedy)<br />
Not Ready to Make Nice<br />
<b>Elton John</b><br />
Circle of Life (Dedication to Ma Kauwe)<br />
<b>Eurythmics</b><br />
Sweet Dreams<br />
Here Comes the Rain Again<br />
<b>Fergie</b><br />
Glamorous<br />
Fergalicious<br />
<b>FUN</b><br />
Some Nights (Favorite)<br />
We are Young<br />
<b>Good Charlotte</b><br />
Motivate Me (Dedication to Samantha)<br />
<b>Donkey Kong Country, Simian Segue </b>(Dedication to Dauphinee Family)<br />
<b>Ingrid Michaelson</b><br />
The Way I am<br />
You and I<br />
Be OK<br />
<b>Justin Bieber</b><br />
Baby<br />
<b>Karmin</b><br />
Brokenhearted<br />
<b>Katy Perry</b><br />
Firework<br />
California Girls (favorite)<br />
<b>Ke$ha (Favorites)</b><br />
Your Love is My Drug (Reminded me of Heather)<br />
Tik Tok<br />
We R Who We R<br />
<b>Lil Mama</b><br />
Lip Gloss (super annoying)<br />
<b>Mat Kearny</b><br />
Undeniable (because you can't only have upbeat songs for an entire two hours)<br />
<b>Michele Branch</b><br />
Tuesday Morning (so gorgeous)<br />
<b>Miley Cyrus</b><br />
Party in the USA (favorite)<br />
<b>Old Crow Medicine Show</b><br />
Wagon Wheel (unfortunately reminded me of an ex-boyfriend. But I still like it)<br />
<b>P!nk</b><br />
Just Give Me a Reason (favorite)<br />
<b>Queen</b><br />
We are the Champions<br />
I Want to Break Free (remind me of Ally)<br />
We Will Rock You (favorite)<br />
<b>Rascal Flats</b><br />
Life is a Highway (Dedication to Sheri)<br />
<b>The Rocket Summer</b><br />
Break It Out<br />
<b>Sean Kingston</b><br />
Me Love<br />
Beautiful Girls<br />
<b>Sheryl Crow</b><br />
Strong Enough<br />
<b>Sister Sledge</b><br />
We are Family (Dedication to Keola)<br />
<b>Stroke 9</b><br />
Vacuum Bag<br />
<b>Sugarland</b><br />
Stuck Like Glue<br />
<b>The Summer Obsession</b><br />
Melt the Sugar<br />
<b>Taylor Swift</b><br />
Picture to Burn<br />
Red<br />
22 (Favorite)<br />
We are Never Getting Back Together<br />
<b>We the Kings</b><br />
Just Keep Breathing (Dedication to Gabby)<br />
<br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-43431554143189637782013-06-02T07:38:00.001-07:002013-06-02T08:39:25.444-07:00"He hath made everything beautiful in His time"<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I've been reading the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Its-All-Too-Much-Living/dp/0743292650">It's All Too Much</a> the last few weeks. It wasn't one I'd pick out for myself, but we're reading it for book club - it's all about organizing your home/life and figuring out why we keep the things we do, our relationship to the stuff we own, excuses for holding onto things, etc. I kind of dreaded starting it, mostly because I knew it would make me feel guilty for all the stuff (crap) in our house (tiny apartment), and organizing and throwing things away is always not just physically exhausting, but emotionally as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And that's exactly what happened. I read the excuses, checked them off one by one, said, "Yep, yep, yep...yep, that's me, too." Thus began the journey of organizing my home. I threw out bags and bags of clothes I haven't worn in months (but kept the fat clothes because eventually there will be more kids), I thew out boring baby toys and packed up ones Axton is "too old" for now, I sorted through the closets, under the bed, and the nightstand. I did it all without a second thought.....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Until I hit the bookshelves.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">What is it about paper that I find so hard to throw away? I had books on my shelves I've read and didn't really like and therefore would never read again. I had books I'd been saving to read for years, and still haven't touched. I had books full of quotes and "words of wisdom" - and really, when would I sit down to read 100 pages of 1,000 quotes from different people? Um, never. I had my college anthologies, highlighted and thick with my handwritten notes. Oh they were beautiful.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Even worse to confront was the three-foot-wide stack of papers full of words that <i>I </i>wrote. I found the first paper I ever wrote for Brother Williams, which was also the first paper I'd ever written for an "English Major Class," which was the class that became the determining factor in me becoming an English Major. What I'm trying to say was, that paper was important to me. It had been returned to me covered in his green ink and cryptic editing symbols, the most hashed-up paper I'd ever received up to that point. But then at the end, he'd written the words: <i>Your work is very promising. </i>That's when it hit me: my college destiny, if you will, was to be an English Major. To take as many classes from this crazy-Nazi teacher as I could, and to show him that he was right about me, about my writing. I took every class he offered, and prided myself in each and every A he gave me (while peers would gush over a B from him, saying, "Getting a B from Ned is like getting an A in a 'normal' class). I couldn't throw away a single paper I wrote for him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhomPKDXEnZo850BVmbJQwh9EXQzysZAPqrDDLwNuP0B0OlLZL2VxVDKHXhsbZR57keeM45lUKJYI-DFEuWKKQjkLXNDU8ZC45goPjFCBcfcWPcODFa32L_pQ0Gcx0HtokmZEt13JN8jzas/s1600/DSC_3321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhomPKDXEnZo850BVmbJQwh9EXQzysZAPqrDDLwNuP0B0OlLZL2VxVDKHXhsbZR57keeM45lUKJYI-DFEuWKKQjkLXNDU8ZC45goPjFCBcfcWPcODFa32L_pQ0Gcx0HtokmZEt13JN8jzas/s400/DSC_3321.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">(The papers I kept)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The rest, I tossed into a bin to be taken to recycling.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIvsc32fb5kk3E1ZpyM6VUCMX8hwaHsDMJ1HLjDurv515SP3PV59jiyKjEZlYjPqyOF2fUEV6KVtEpHhhf0VThbMozdUZOG4Wns7d7Xbt4o-DbE1WQMJo2aUaW2ixBVG0PvRfSiW99xn0S/s1600/DSC_3320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIvsc32fb5kk3E1ZpyM6VUCMX8hwaHsDMJ1HLjDurv515SP3PV59jiyKjEZlYjPqyOF2fUEV6KVtEpHhhf0VThbMozdUZOG4Wns7d7Xbt4o-DbE1WQMJo2aUaW2ixBVG0PvRfSiW99xn0S/s400/DSC_3320.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">(The papers I tossed)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Then I cried.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And I mean, <i>cried. </i>It was not just a few tears streaming down my face; it was full-on, shoulders-shaking-making-strange-gasping-noises-sobbing. I looked at that pile of papers and the hours of work it represented. I saw the person I was during that time of my life - the freedom and the joy and the pride and accomplishments and compliments I received from it. I cried because it was over, and I would never again be that person and throwing away those papers proved it. I LOVED college. I was good at college - I was <i>excellent </i>at college. I could have gone on to get my graduates degree and my doctoral degree. I had the connections, I had the brains......and now what was I? A stay-at-home mom with mushy brains who hadn't accomplished anything important since December 2010. I had thrown it all away because I was scared and because being a mom was "easier," and now that he was here I would never get the opportunity back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">At least, those were my thoughts, and those were my tears. And yes, I realize I was throwing a pity party for myself. (And then Axton came over and put a green frisbee on my head and laughed and laughed and so I had to laugh a little bit too).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That night I sat down and typed out an email to that Ned Williams, wondering if he would even remember me. I was embarrassed with my sentimentality, my nostalgia; I also found myself embarrassed to tell him that "all" I'd done since graduating was move to Maryland, take a trip to Europe, have a baby, and continue to pursue photography. I thanked him for making me a better writer and student, told him I thoroughly regretted not doing the teaching internship while I had the chance. Then I said Mahalo for the first time in two years and signed off, not expecting a reply.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But, two days later, I received an email for Dr. Ned Williams. His words did my heart some good:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have wondered what has become of you since you left Laie ... Now I read that you have been wise in choosing motherhood, European travel, and photography during this season of your life. Thoreau urges us to "make sure your footsteps are always pointed into the direction of your dreams." Sounds like your post-Laie path would impress Thoreau. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Do you see what I first saw when I read those words? </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">During this season of your life. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Those words soared into my soul: This is the season I am in now, Meghan. This is who you are, and it's okay. You had a season of college, you had a season of travel, and now you are in the season of Motherhood. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
Seasons, seasons, seasons. After I read that, now I see it's being whispered everywhere around me. I read a comment someone left on a blog that read: "Life is about Seasons." Another <a href="http://mormonmohawkmama.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-tender-balance.html">blog</a> said: "<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">I will allow myself to believe that there is a season for everything, and that opportunities and 'success' will come in time."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">And then, of course, the scripture in <a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/eccl/3.1?lang=eng#1">Ecclesiastes</a> that I had never <i>really </i>read until now:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;">"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die .... A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance ... A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; ... A time to keep silence, and a time to speak....</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><b>He hath made everything beautiful in His time"</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
I think it's starting to sink in now. I was chatting with another photographer on Facebook the other day and I found myself telling her:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px;">I also had to come to terms with the fact that, a lot of the photographers I tend to compare myself to, photography is their full time job. They either don't have kids or put their kids in daycare. I had to learn to be okay with the fact that I'm just not at a point in my life right now where photography can be a full time thing - it can only be a part time hobby. Right now I'm needed for a greater calling so I sometimes have to put photography on the back burner (and remind myself that one day they will be out of the house or in school and I will miss these days...right? </span><span class="emoticon emoticon_smile" style="background-color: white; background-image: url(https://fbstatic-a.akamaihd.net/rsrc.php/v2/yk/r/t_j4FmHG-TR.png); background-position: 0px -719px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: auto; display: inline-block; height: 16px; line-height: 17px; vertical-align: top; width: 16px;" title=":)"></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px;"> )</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: purple;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 17px;">I think I was dreading organizing those papers because I knew that by throwing some of them away, I'd really be saying good bye to that season of my life. I had a good cry when I did it, and now I can move on. I'm happy to be in the season of life that I'm in now, and I honestly would not go back to any past "season" of my life if given the opportunity - because they are seasons for a reason! We need certain people, places, circumstances in our lives for different times. Change is good. Change is growth. Everything really is<i> </i>made beautiful in His time - and right now, my time is to be a mother. And it is <i>gloriously </i>beautiful. </span></span>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-29458347070017833312013-05-27T12:19:00.000-07:002013-05-27T12:19:20.730-07:00Twin BirthWhat an incredible experience. If you haven't already, please go to my photography blog to see my twin birth photos! They really are gorgeous.<br />
Click, click:<br />
<a href="http://mrosephoto.blogspot.com/2013/05/jordan-ive-twin-birth-story.html">http://mrosephoto.blogspot.com/2013/05/jordan-ive-twin-birth-story.html</a><br />
<br />
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<br />Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-7946045606206399692013-05-17T13:20:00.001-07:002013-05-17T13:20:07.908-07:00A Letter to My Son on His First Birthday<br />
<br />
Dear Axton,<br />
<br />
I'll admit it. I've been putting off thinking about this day for the last month, now. I've pushed it to the back of my mind, and allowed myself to get busy with other things. But now the time is come, your birthday is here and you are a one-year-old. Already I see you turning into a toddler, your baby-ness long behind you.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrB8_1ETw4EQMYGaEd5rm6H0YYTKY7me0QVfZYhnQ_JXlP-9EoNA1DwgiQvhupfMACbJS-mDfUqN8BZ6NEnRE2-ZFIC-muPtbhMnopmXn-DNWsewIVu4RCMnmjsbXbwERneifYB9DhwBY/s1600/100_0115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrB8_1ETw4EQMYGaEd5rm6H0YYTKY7me0QVfZYhnQ_JXlP-9EoNA1DwgiQvhupfMACbJS-mDfUqN8BZ6NEnRE2-ZFIC-muPtbhMnopmXn-DNWsewIVu4RCMnmjsbXbwERneifYB9DhwBY/s200/100_0115.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimW9X7oFALlu5GvTH0dmD169pJrXGPXJhsPZBq2XRvQVsiQUIau_whPc7ZDS3PKJlnF2aNW7eFWnusOnL_UIhk3RPBRmmOjzeqAg69RxOLgMPFu79Yt_tLIRaGCkaspUTVyzi9gVEBC0IK/s1600/100_0120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimW9X7oFALlu5GvTH0dmD169pJrXGPXJhsPZBq2XRvQVsiQUIau_whPc7ZDS3PKJlnF2aNW7eFWnusOnL_UIhk3RPBRmmOjzeqAg69RxOLgMPFu79Yt_tLIRaGCkaspUTVyzi9gVEBC0IK/s200/100_0120.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
Looking through all your pictures from the last year, I find myself infinitely grateful for cameras. There is no way I would have remembered that you ever used to look like this, if it wasn't for the photos. There is no way I could ever have realized how much you've changed. I was clueless to how much kids grow up in a year.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5sHm9xaQ9MiDX2XhPB8uYmySNO-rdzGOqxwg0_5jVbUDphMzT4D_MoKkkkU9On3cIX1jHAADW26UHGtm6N8510XMykML6k6BFmkrjd7D0tW0R0hgJcM1o2J73IJp1UtQr-n4VO4pTgS2/s1600/318257_10151748621560285_1440244537_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5sHm9xaQ9MiDX2XhPB8uYmySNO-rdzGOqxwg0_5jVbUDphMzT4D_MoKkkkU9On3cIX1jHAADW26UHGtm6N8510XMykML6k6BFmkrjd7D0tW0R0hgJcM1o2J73IJp1UtQr-n4VO4pTgS2/s320/318257_10151748621560285_1440244537_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've loved you from day one, in the way only parents can - strong and consuming. I've enjoyed you from day one. But, man did I start really liking you around the 8-month mark. (And it's probably no coincidence that that is also when you started sleeping through the night and I got a bit of my sanity back. It really changes things, sleep). You really started to show off your personality at this time, though. Started to interact and react so much more, and it hit me so hard then just how fun being a parent could really be. How awesome it is to teach you new things, watch how it clicks in your mind, and how you interpret and receive information. I started to realized that I could want another child, someone for you to play with, to call your brother and sister.<br />
<br />
Being your mother is, of course, a whole-body experience. It sucks up every ounce of patience, energy, and love from my very core. It affects my every physical sense. Let me explain.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjveyDRx-hota2Lo3ly20PCved6mQlFiBut_yswH1Lg4c8lqQi-S3BD-UQTqDJd_CNEs-7sZ40qvcIdWM6wLHi_a0hv30YH_qChS-4voLxFb0gYlJ380Xkn5df7PO0-fct_6lDkoFTsphM-/s1600/DSC_0284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjveyDRx-hota2Lo3ly20PCved6mQlFiBut_yswH1Lg4c8lqQi-S3BD-UQTqDJd_CNEs-7sZ40qvcIdWM6wLHi_a0hv30YH_qChS-4voLxFb0gYlJ380Xkn5df7PO0-fct_6lDkoFTsphM-/s200/DSC_0284.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_z-iRPLTyLHCWNucTIZi9UmEQLnWinnJDYM1sCbMd-hX84YcZWdKzEe1ptBB_mJo01W2WHSCmPshCIYQWoP3igx_VjcO6b1MwmP7_jZ-N9rX8e8IKhocJfCS6RI9j3gNExTeTiQzpA3X/s1600/DSC_0390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_z-iRPLTyLHCWNucTIZi9UmEQLnWinnJDYM1sCbMd-hX84YcZWdKzEe1ptBB_mJo01W2WHSCmPshCIYQWoP3igx_VjcO6b1MwmP7_jZ-N9rX8e8IKhocJfCS6RI9j3gNExTeTiQzpA3X/s200/DSC_0390.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
Sight:<br />
I see your two little teefers sticking up in your wide open smile, your nose crinkled in delight.<br />
I see your big round belly making the buttons on your vest pop.<br />
I see a deep dimple sinking into your cheek.<br />
I watch you learn to walk and climb, pulling yourself on top of things, getting braver between letting go and grabbing on.<br />
I watch you interact with others, learning how to be a friend to other people your age and size. I like to sit back and wait and see what happens before I jump in and rescue you (or the other kid, as the case may be).<br />
I've watched my mom become a grandma, my dad become a softy grandpa, my brother an uncle. I watch other people love and grow and change simply because you are now in their life.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvAyGXW4ZBVw6x0eA8qeofj-1RtNGFsnDqwDDDqrmqTkEziXRstwDXqDbJi8kaVmcMG6W_f72TTt-LlE-K9opbrEy1A8wFqZ_7vqRo3fgbI8v1Q3CTqSy3h76FSpVflXAUIIKkRw_WdwY/s1600/DSC_0484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvAyGXW4ZBVw6x0eA8qeofj-1RtNGFsnDqwDDDqrmqTkEziXRstwDXqDbJi8kaVmcMG6W_f72TTt-LlE-K9opbrEy1A8wFqZ_7vqRo3fgbI8v1Q3CTqSy3h76FSpVflXAUIIKkRw_WdwY/s200/DSC_0484.jpg" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyH0F9o75ZB4Ob3tW2fZkBaI5j7EcoAx3-T1sNkd9jB3vqA-EyNvonbuMX3gQ0EHO1UNvKZp2d4W4RRR9fyU2R__bNl4fZXpd9DpAaCtmsbCLE245o3TP_efAPwyCYdb3EALyYu-ZYE2ZD/s1600/DSC_0495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyH0F9o75ZB4Ob3tW2fZkBaI5j7EcoAx3-T1sNkd9jB3vqA-EyNvonbuMX3gQ0EHO1UNvKZp2d4W4RRR9fyU2R__bNl4fZXpd9DpAaCtmsbCLE245o3TP_efAPwyCYdb3EALyYu-ZYE2ZD/s200/DSC_0495.jpg" width="132" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9p8nduHArTn2Y1EZlTDwn-KDh6QW17RHsIJMMQaYfAVIH09CjYS2_wp29MJVwuF8zo27mk0g7FLDlzjLlCA1r4wzvPsJXcxixhvLwrtSDGbd6Pek5qAeNxmBmhc5rC8lme9Dbnj3hv83k/s1600/100_0264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9p8nduHArTn2Y1EZlTDwn-KDh6QW17RHsIJMMQaYfAVIH09CjYS2_wp29MJVwuF8zo27mk0g7FLDlzjLlCA1r4wzvPsJXcxixhvLwrtSDGbd6Pek5qAeNxmBmhc5rC8lme9Dbnj3hv83k/s200/100_0264.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
Sound:<br />
I hear your sweet babble from the backseat of the car, doodoo's and dada's and mama's and baba's.<br />
I hear your big hearty laugh that sounds too old for your body, and your squealy giggles that sound like a 10-year-old girl at a Justin Bieber concert (who's Justin Bieber you ask? Oh nevermind. I'm sure you can google it)<br />
I hear loud, whiny cries at my knees, asking to be picked up and snuggled and hugged.<br />
I hear big baby toots that go unnoticed by you, making them even funnier to me.<br />
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Smell:<br />
Your hair. Oh, child, your hair. It smells like heaven after a bath, fresh and clean. It smells like dirty little boy, playgrounds and leaves, old milk, cheerios, and summer. Sunshine and barefeet, flowers and rainy days. Your hair smells like all of that, separate, distinct, and all at once.<br />
I smell your warm breath as I snuggle you while you nap, milk and applesauce.<br />
I smell poop! You've pooped in the tub, you've pooped on Dad and I, on the carpet. I've smelled sick, constipated, breastfed, and whole raisins. It's just the business of babies.<br />
I think I will always want a package of baby wipes in my house, just because the smell will bring you back - all of you.<br />
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<br />
Touch:<br />
I rub my cheek against your wispy blonde hair, so fluffy and soft.<br />
I caress your silky smooth back, and pat your squishy tushy.<br />
I'm wet with your big slobbery kisses and constantly-running nose.<br />
I ache with head bonks, bit nipples, clawing at my arms, the weight of carrying you up the stairs (and your stroller, and bags of groceries on my arms)<br />
I've felt the sting of a fever on your forehead, the sweat of your brow and back.<br />
I melted into a puddle the very first time I felt your little body crawl into my lap and hand me a book to read to you.<br />
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<br />
Taste:<br />
Salt. Everything with you is salty.<br />
Your big salty tears linger on my lips as I kiss them away.<br />
I taste fingers shoved in my mouth, covered in dog hair and who knows what else!<br />
Salty boogers smeared all over me.<br />
Raisins and animal crackers shoved into my mouth, evidence that you are learning to "share."<br />
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This is what it physically means, what it physically feels like to be your Mommy. It's a completely encompassing experience - using all 5 senses.<br />
But of course, it's more than that. And this last one is even more overpowering than all the other senses combined; it's what I feel in my heart. The joy, the heartache, the exhaustion, the utter pride, the hopes, the dreams.... The Love.<br />
<br />
It's the most <b>real</b> thing I've ever known.<br />
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<br />
You've taught me so much, and not just the typical things that kids teach a first-time parent. Not just the things that having any kid will teach you, but the things that having <i>Axton</i> as your kid can teach you. Important things like seeing others around me as equals, and not judging them according to their looks. You, son, will smile at <i>anyone. </i>You will make anyone else smile back at you. People I would have, in my rushing and my judging, passed without a second glance. You take the time to brighten others' days, <i>no matter who they are </i>- old, young, pretty, ugly, grungy, fancy, it doesn't make a difference to you - and I've not only learned that it's worth it to take the time to do so, but that that's what Christ would do. That's what is so special about you: I see Christ in you. I catch glimpses of the powerful spirit you were in Heaven before you came to me and I wonder how I got so lucky, so blessed.<br />
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I carried you in my belly for nine months. Felt you move and stretch before anyone else ever saw your face. Axton, I may have made you (with a little help from your father), but you....you've <i>re-</i>made me. I'm becoming who I was meant to be by raising you. And it's the highest privilege God could ever have granted me, to be your mommy.<br />
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Happy First Birthday. I am so glad I get so many more birthdays with you!<br />
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Love,<br />
Mommy<br />
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Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3879932368193780710.post-87486202115427721332013-05-16T22:32:00.001-07:002013-05-16T22:32:17.485-07:00A Day in the Life<i>*I got this idea from a lady in my ward. She says every year for Mother's Day she writes out the complete script of an entire day - conversations her kids had, what they did, what they ate, etc. She says she's loved doing it because each year it provides a little snippet in time of what her children were like at that age. I decided to give it a try this year, and even challenged myself to not only write, but also photograph, our day. This day happened be a strange one for us, (mostly because Axton slept in extremely late) but I chose it and I stuck with it, even though it was atypical. It is also the day before my son turns one, and is therefore especially significant. It may be a little dry to you, but this is a little piece of our life, a single day in my first year of raising Axton and is beautiful to me.<br /><br />ps All photos are unedited, except for white balance and converting from RAW to JPG</i><br />
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The day technically started at 1am, when I finally finished editing photos and headed to bed. Just as I shut the door, I heard Axton start to cry. This is unusual for him these days, so I wait to see if he will go back to sleep. When he doesn't, I go into his room, a (third) pacifier in my hand. I put it in his mouth, pick him up, and rock him. He settles for a minute, but is soon arching to get out of my arms. <i>Okay, I won't cuddle you then. </i>I lay him back down, cover him back up, and walk out. I don't hear from him again.<br />
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7am - I awake to Adam getting ready for work. He eats cereal, gets dressed, lets the dog out. I slumber off and on, he comes in and says a prayer with me before leaving. He blows me a kiss goodbye at the door, I stretched my legs and point my toes, and say, "Don't be jealous," referring to the fact that I'm still in bed and he's heading to work.<br />
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8am - I'm officially up, checking email, facebook. I lounge around waiting for Axton to wake up. Finally, I decide to write some emails I'd been putting off for Primary. I even figure I might as well actually do my hair and make up for the day, while I've got the time.<br />
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First photo of the day: Proof that Axton slept in long enough for me to get ready.<br />
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I eat breakfast - cold cereal and milk, not wanting to make any unnecessary noises that could wake up Axton.<br />
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It's now 9:30am, and Axton's been sleeping for 14 hours straight - again, so strange for him. I'm wondering if I should at least peek in on him, but don't want to wake him. I text a friend, call my mom, start working on more photos. Once I'm on the computer, I hear him start to grunt. He finally wakes at 10am. He's never slept in that long.<br />
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He squints at the bright light of the camera and waits for me to finish before standing and reaching his arms out for me.<br />
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I pick him up, only to lay him back down again and change his diaper. I dress him in a once-white-now-gray, eighteen-months onesie and jean shorts.<br />
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He nurses, and I try to get the only shot I've ever taken of him nursing me. The whole time he is holding on to my lens cap, trying to put it back on the lens for me. This child has an obsession with putting lids back on.<br />
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We go to the patio door, open our blinds and let the sunshine in - something we do every morning. While he looks out the window and pounds on the glass, I notice the giant boogies hanging out his nose. Looking around for a tissue, and finding none nearby, I spy the dirty shirt he wore yesterday lying on the ground. <i>Meh, it's already dirty</i>. And use that to wipe his nose.<br />
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Then, like every morning, it hits me:<br />
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What are we going to do today, little bud? (Besides continue to try to put my lens cap back on for me)<br />
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(This is the whiny face I see everyday, tugging at my pants and wrapped around my knees. He's lucky he's cute!)</div>
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Instead of coming up with an exciting adventure for us to have, I sit down at the computer and start typing up notes for this blogpost. While I do, he stands in front of the desk next to me and pulls down every scrap of paper in sight. He pulls on a plastic piece on the printer - the same piece we've told him not touch countless times before - and gives me a big grin as he does so. I do what we've learned to do: turn the printer to the side, unplug the cord so he can't even reach it.<br />
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I text my friend Kim to see what she's got going on for the day, and she tells me they are having a Mommy get-together at her place. When I hang up, I remember I left Axton's carseat in the car and therefore can't go anywhere in a car today. I'm bumming until I come up with a genius plan: Axton desperately needs a new carseat anyway, his feet have been hanging over it for weeks now, and he's got to be getting close to the weight limit. I decide to walk to our nearby Target and just buy him a new carseat. My friend Alisha agrees to pick me up at Target.<br />
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I get Axton strapped into his stroller, and push him out the door. Then I remember: Adam said he <i>might </i>come home for lunch today. Do I sit around and wait in case he does? Or do I go and miss the opportunity to eat lunch with my husband? I decide on a selfish medium - I'll go, but at least I will leave him a note. Axton is already out in the hallway, so I rush back inside, looking for a pen and paper, leaving Axton outside.<br />
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<i>Taking too long. </i>Something says in my head. <i>This will take too long. Bad decision, mommy. </i><br />
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So I rush back out, pull him back into our doorway, and start writing the note. Axton is now screaming because he thought we were going outside and then I tricked him and now we're not going outside. I scribble a note, tape it on the door.<br />
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<i>Adam, I'm at Kim's. Sorry if I missed you. See you at 4. Love you</i><br />
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With my diaper bag swung over my body like a messenger bag, I hoist Axton and his stroller up, and carry him down my three flights of stairs. He's still a little whiny, and angrily turns away when the bright sun hits his eyes, but he gets over it when we pass a lady walking her dog. He might have even waved at the dog, but I can't remember.<br />
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At Target, there is, of course, way too many options so I just give up and pick one of the cheaper ones. It has cup holders, that's what sold me.<br />
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Putting Axton in his new, big carseat is so strange to me. He looks so toddler-ish in it, and I want to rush out and buy him a sippy cup to put in the cup holder, but I refrain. Alisha picks us up, and we are on our way.<br />
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At Kim's house, Axton hangs out with his buds, 3 other babies who are all about 6 months apart from each other. He does things like read Dora books<br />
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Make car sounds while pushing this Turtle on Wheels (nothing cuter, really)<br />
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Eats food pouches, his first hotdog (which he gobbled up. A whole giant hotdog!), some dried blueberries<br />
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Opens and closes the door (a favorite pastime of his)<br />
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Plays with his buddies, Oliver, Jonathan, and Rylee<br />
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Puts this piece of plastic on his head and on Mommy's head like it's a headband (it's a game I play with him. Sometimes I say, "Look how cute he would be as a girl!" and Adam never likes that)<br />
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Chews on his thumb (because he's got some serious teething going on)<br />
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And, as always, whines at Mommy's legs<br />
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We try to take a few group shots, but Axton hates being on his back. I give him a phone to play with, but it doesn't help much. All da babies are getting tired by this point.<br />
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I try several times to get Axton to take a nap on my lap, but he's too distracted - the tv is on, everyone else is still playing and talking. Eventually I take him into another room and rock him asleep, and then lay him down in their sleeper. He is way too big for it, and he looks so silly in it that I just have to smile.<br />
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An hour passes, and I think I hear a noise in the room. I walk in to find him wide awake, and he kicks his legs with joy when he sees me.<br />
"Hey little bud, you just been waiting for me to come get you or what?"<br />
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When Kim's husband is home and they hint at a date night, we all disperse to our own hubbies. By this time, Axton is quite cranky and not happy to be back in the carseat. When we get home, he cries when he's on my lap, he cries when I walk away from him, he cries playing with his toys, he cries reading his books. Daddy comes home, and Axton gives him a fleeting smile, and is back to his grumpiness. I tell Dad, "Take your pick: Entertain Axton or make us dinner." He chooses Axton, and pushes him like a race car in his stroller, the dog barking and following right behind. He teaches him how to play "I am a Child of God" on the keyboard.<br />
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I soon realize we need a trip to Wal Mart <i>before </i>dinner, even though it will be late and everyone is hungry. We pick up a few last-minute items for Axton's party tomorrow. At the checkout line, we have to wait 15 minutes for a price check on charcoal, but Axton is <i>rolling </i>with laughter at the cashier playing peek-a-book with him. I can't even get him to laugh like that!<br />
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On the way home, I ask Adam if he has any desire/plans of weaning Axton off his pacifier, now that he's turning one. He says Nope, not at all. And I agree.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ylqET2NDre09nlamstV-jWdDsJxRqShZlUD27sXOIPFodeFiMnvJ3gCWApSv_5sWHLqTcDAyFTjJsHoc62dSkv1FHc2pn08slfn77xxNDIaEgm3X1yrzKl7ulyxL48JWAtQuP_nJKOSq/s1600/DSC_2753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ylqET2NDre09nlamstV-jWdDsJxRqShZlUD27sXOIPFodeFiMnvJ3gCWApSv_5sWHLqTcDAyFTjJsHoc62dSkv1FHc2pn08slfn77xxNDIaEgm3X1yrzKl7ulyxL48JWAtQuP_nJKOSq/s640/DSC_2753.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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*Sadly, this is where I stopped taking photos. Dinner/bedtime just got busy.<br />
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When we get home, I whip up some egg burritos (Axton loves eggs), and within twenty minutes the missionaries and someone interested in becoming a member of our church is at our house. Axton is all smiles for them, the food and the company erasing his crankiness. He walks between them and us, zombie arms out and falling in between steps. The missionaries can't help but smile and laugh at him trying so desperately to get their attention. He shows off to them, squirting out of my lap and crawling/sprinting along the inside of the couch, squeezing behind the investigator's back. I apologize, worrying his activity is disrupting what should be a spiritual lesson. Around 7:30, he starts getting cranky again, arching his back when I try to hold him still in my lap. We are about a half hour behind our usual bedtime schedule, so I excuse myself from the lesson to give him a bath.<br />
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He plays with the bath plug, putting it on and off, watching the water drain and I tell him, "Bye bye bath! There goes your water! You better hurry!" He shows me Eeyore and Duck, and I show him the sea turtles. Sometimes he tries to drink the nasty bath water and when he's down there he discovers a body part sticking out from under his belly. He pulls on it, and tries hard to see what it is but his big round belly is hiding it and he just can't quite get there, but it's funny to watch him try. It was like me when I was pregnant, couldn't see anything down there!<br />
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He drains his own water, and slips in the now-empty tub twice, and that means he's ready to get out. I wrap him in a towel and brush his two tiny teefers. We squeeze past the missionaries, go into his room, and close the door. It's dark and quiet and I give him a pacifier while I dress him in his jammies and diaper. A choke rises in my throat: <i>It's your last night before you turn one. This time last year....</i><br />
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But I swallow it down, sit in the rocking chair, and he nurses. I spike his wet hair, and watch him. He likes to suck, suck on me, and then take a suck, suck on his pacifier, so I take his pacifier from him until he is done. In between sides, he lifts up my shirt, looking for his paci. <i>I know it's around here somewhere, Mom! </i><br />
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When he's done nursing, he takes his pacifier back and does his usual sleepy moans in between sucks. I want to hold him and snuggle him just a little longer, but he is already resisting, ready to go into his crib. I kiss his face and lay him down, putting an extra pacifier into his outstretched hand. He grabs onto it and relaxes while I put his blankies over him.<br />
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<i>Good night sweet boy. In the morning, you'll be one. </i>Meghanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00805328186197471875noreply@blogger.com2