"Her father told his children to pray for patience, for courage, for kindness, for clarity, for trust, for gratitude. Those prayers will be answered he said. Others may not be."
____________________________________________________________
I had meant to put a blue carnation on the table this last Saturday, in remembrance of my little (too little) boy's "birthday".
Instead, last Thursday we made a manic, middle of the night, emergency dash the the hospital, in hopes that next year we will have a birthday celebration and not remembrance. I have been here in the hospital since then, and was not at my table Saturday to place his flower.
I am trying to be steady and brave. I am trying not to focus on the scary part--there will be increased likely hood of the "ifs" that come with risking your heart on a child anyway.
I am looking around me and only letting myself think it went so well this time; my daughter has a chance. I am trying not to dwell on the anger of knowing maybe had we figured out then what we know now, my son would have had a chance too. But last Thursday night was not the first time I have felt I had to put the memory of the boy I lost aside to focus on the girl I need to save. When they told me what was happening to her, and that is was likely what had happened to him, I had to be glad of the findings and move forward, when I wanted to cry and ask why no one had thought of this when he may have been helped too.
I am humbled by the stories of other mothers --to think they have the strength to go on and hope when their babies are smaller, weaker, or their child is sicker, and suffering over and over--Because of them, I am trying to be only grateful for the few extra weeks of safety the discovery and intervention gave my new child, for the few extra days the antibiotics gave her time to stay and grow, for the technology they have to sustain her when she gets here, for the little ones who came before her and taught her doctors what to do, and for her strong little heartbeat that hasn't wavered on the monitor since they started watching it Thursday night.
In a few days, there will be a new person on this world that will have as much of my love and worry as my first daughter does. It's hard to imagine there could ever be another person to enter this world that could make me love that hard again. I can only imagine how it will feel to have my heart become that much bigger.
I am amazed. I am blessed. I am trying to put Grateful before Terrified.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Redemption Cookies
Sunday afternoon the Rocky theme song started playing in my head and I thought to myself, “I can do this.” I announced to Ryan that I was going to bake a batch of cookies. I said it firmly. He was very supportive.
I am not kidding, that is in fact Ryan, and I am not makin’ this up, he is giving me a supportive thumbs up on making the cookies. You know, cause despite his experience with my baking, he believes in me.
I got my workstation ready (I don’t have a printer so I had to put my laptop up to give me the recipe).
And I piled all my ingredients together…I have tiny counters so it’s not like I can “lay them out” like some people. I will confess I was missing vanilla and I was fully prepared to substitute by using some vanilla hot chocolate in lieu of some of the cocoa powder in the recipe but I actually admitted this to Ryan prior to attempting this and he took me to the grocery store by force. He really feels strongly about vanilla I guess.
As a side note, it was his idea to document the "time I make really good cookies" and suggested I take these pictures as I go. I said that I was worried about doing so in case...but he said, "Hey! Don't even say that" and he got all Yoda like with telling me how I could totally do this. As if that awesome thumbage were not support enough.
He was not ALL the support I had though. I had a little other help.
My liquid aide:
I also busted out my new toy. It’s called a “mixer” or an “egg beater” or something like that. My grandma gave it to me recently…it goes in a black case and has little metal attachments for it. It’s what the pros use. I might seem like I am joking, but I am getting quite the collection of kitchen gadgets I never thought I would personally own.
Then, I did like this:
And I got this:
And they were moist an hour later, and still soft and chewy the next day! And I took some to work, fed them to the same bunch I assaulted with my last batch, and no one spit them out or threw them at anything. One guy even asked if there were more later in the day...only they were gone. And that was weird, because the batch I took to work was not smaller than the one a few weeks ago, but a few weeks ago they sat untouched for days.
Anyway, it’s clear. I can apparently…sometimes…bake a freakin’ batch of cookies.
Also, just adding to the pride, I had my regular Tuesday kitchen lesson from my mother...I mean she calls me every Tuesday and walks me through some dish or other...and today happened to be St. Patrick's Day. I am getting better at this, I think. If you care to click, Here is my lovely St. Patrick's Day spread...Ryan, Elsa, and I didn't eat nearly this much but it was totally pretty, right?
I am not kidding, that is in fact Ryan, and I am not makin’ this up, he is giving me a supportive thumbs up on making the cookies. You know, cause despite his experience with my baking, he believes in me.
I got my workstation ready (I don’t have a printer so I had to put my laptop up to give me the recipe).
And I piled all my ingredients together…I have tiny counters so it’s not like I can “lay them out” like some people. I will confess I was missing vanilla and I was fully prepared to substitute by using some vanilla hot chocolate in lieu of some of the cocoa powder in the recipe but I actually admitted this to Ryan prior to attempting this and he took me to the grocery store by force. He really feels strongly about vanilla I guess.As a side note, it was his idea to document the "time I make really good cookies" and suggested I take these pictures as I go. I said that I was worried about doing so in case...but he said, "Hey! Don't even say that" and he got all Yoda like with telling me how I could totally do this. As if that awesome thumbage were not support enough.
He was not ALL the support I had though. I had a little other help.
My liquid aide:
And my other fan:
I also busted out my new toy. It’s called a “mixer” or an “egg beater” or something like that. My grandma gave it to me recently…it goes in a black case and has little metal attachments for it. It’s what the pros use. I might seem like I am joking, but I am getting quite the collection of kitchen gadgets I never thought I would personally own.
Then, I did like this:
And I got this:
And they were moist an hour later, and still soft and chewy the next day! And I took some to work, fed them to the same bunch I assaulted with my last batch, and no one spit them out or threw them at anything. One guy even asked if there were more later in the day...only they were gone. And that was weird, because the batch I took to work was not smaller than the one a few weeks ago, but a few weeks ago they sat untouched for days.
Anyway, it’s clear. I can apparently…sometimes…bake a freakin’ batch of cookies.
Also, just adding to the pride, I had my regular Tuesday kitchen lesson from my mother...I mean she calls me every Tuesday and walks me through some dish or other...and today happened to be St. Patrick's Day. I am getting better at this, I think. If you care to click, Here is my lovely St. Patrick's Day spread...Ryan, Elsa, and I didn't eat nearly this much but it was totally pretty, right?
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Oh Utah, How I Love Thee
Driving home yesterday afternoon, the date was MARCH NINTH for the record, I saw this view from my window. Despite having already brushed the snow from my car, it was coming down hard enough that as I hit the freeway on ramp, I had to roll my window down and re-brush snow off my side mirror so I could see well enough to merge in to traffic. I thought to myself, “Ok so think positively Self. You love this State. You love the old buildings, the mountains, the hikes, the cool late August nights…”
But sometimes I have to admit. This state is a giant tease…it’s MARCH!!! There was sun and warmth last week. I wore pink and sandals!
According to the calendar I have, the first day of spring is March 20th. I guess I can abide a little snow till then. But if this were a proper state, I would have tan lines from my sun dresses by now.
But sometimes I have to admit. This state is a giant tease…it’s MARCH!!! There was sun and warmth last week. I wore pink and sandals!
According to the calendar I have, the first day of spring is March 20th. I guess I can abide a little snow till then. But if this were a proper state, I would have tan lines from my sun dresses by now.
P.S. I was totally planning on posting this way before I saw your post Ryan! Which kinda stole my thunder really. Umn... you post once every 6-6,000 weeks and you have to steal my topic? Don't make me write a dissertation on RLS now!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Things that CRACK ME UP at 4:30am
T-shirts, and post card type things with humor on them. Humor you can wear. Or send in the mail for low postage:
And This Website:
And This Website:
(I won't like, I love this one even when I am wide awake in the day time!)
I wish more people had blogs of picture they just took cause they were nifty. Could people start doing that? I think I will be up at 4 a lot for a while.
Thanks.
I Go Walking in My Sleep
Pregnancy is a ridiculous state of being and that is all there is to it. We don’t let children handle delicate materials or play with our electronics, yet for some reason we have to give them full access to our internal organs for like ten months. I had a friend at work, whose wife is in a similar predicament as I am in, sum it up best, “I mean, you have rib cage to protect delicate things and babies live under it.”
I would not be such a complainer except that I had it so easy the first round. I was in my early twenties, I was strong, and so were my internal hip muscles, joints, belly and back muscles—at least they must have been because I don’t remember the agonizing pain that accompanies walking with a person in me that I am experiencing now. And I don’t remember Elsa being such a cruel occupying force. Little miss whose-it, as my grandmother refers to her, is a much less considerate tenant than her charming sister.
And I have two states of hunger: “No thanks I am fine and ingesting food may only lead to pain” and “Give me the cheese over something hot and buttered and maybe you will live”, the latter state also only leads to pain after though.
And I have the pleasure of being up blogging at three thirty am because I do not have side of my body on which I can currently lay that can take the pressure of the belly weight I would put on it, so I have to lean back sitting in the computer chair for a bit. This is becoming a nightly ritual. I don’t mind though, I needed to sit up to drink the gallon of water she has suddenly demanded. This happens frequently too, somewhere around midnight to 4 am, no matter how much fluid I consumed the day before, I NEED about 5-8 cups of water before I feel like a normally hydrated person again.
To add insult to injury, I just passed the bathroom mirror and I have a half-outie, which means by the time this is over, I am sure I will get to closely examine what is normally the floor of my belly button, as I am sure it will stick out a good 3 inches.
Ridiculous I tell you.
That said, now that the scary stuff is over, as over as scary stuff can get when you start to love a frail creature no one can promise you will be ok, I am sitting here thinking about 3:30 am a few months from now, when I am up and alone in the world with a ticking clock and angry, hungry, little beast against my skin, making my arms all sweaty with her heat.
I loved the deep night with Elsa, when I had adjusted to a state of unending sleep deprivation, and I had learned how to sooth her screaming and she, and I would recline on the couch and she would lay on my chest, and we’d breathe together and we were all that there was in the world. And I would try to imagine that little, tiny, red and yellow squirmy thing as a little girl, I would try to imagine her at 5, and think that that age was so, so, so far in to the future. I paused by Elsa’s door on the way from my bed to my desk a little bit ago, to confirm she is breathing (she is). Five seems so, so, so long ago.
I know that times are hard, and there are some horrible things going in it, but this world is so amazing to me. I can’t believe how amazingly lucky I am to have been given, for a little more effort this time than last, but it’s minimal compared to the gift at the end, another little creature that makes me feel this much love (and terror, and anxiety) again.
I would not be such a complainer except that I had it so easy the first round. I was in my early twenties, I was strong, and so were my internal hip muscles, joints, belly and back muscles—at least they must have been because I don’t remember the agonizing pain that accompanies walking with a person in me that I am experiencing now. And I don’t remember Elsa being such a cruel occupying force. Little miss whose-it, as my grandmother refers to her, is a much less considerate tenant than her charming sister.
And I have two states of hunger: “No thanks I am fine and ingesting food may only lead to pain” and “Give me the cheese over something hot and buttered and maybe you will live”, the latter state also only leads to pain after though.
And I have the pleasure of being up blogging at three thirty am because I do not have side of my body on which I can currently lay that can take the pressure of the belly weight I would put on it, so I have to lean back sitting in the computer chair for a bit. This is becoming a nightly ritual. I don’t mind though, I needed to sit up to drink the gallon of water she has suddenly demanded. This happens frequently too, somewhere around midnight to 4 am, no matter how much fluid I consumed the day before, I NEED about 5-8 cups of water before I feel like a normally hydrated person again.
To add insult to injury, I just passed the bathroom mirror and I have a half-outie, which means by the time this is over, I am sure I will get to closely examine what is normally the floor of my belly button, as I am sure it will stick out a good 3 inches.
Ridiculous I tell you.
That said, now that the scary stuff is over, as over as scary stuff can get when you start to love a frail creature no one can promise you will be ok, I am sitting here thinking about 3:30 am a few months from now, when I am up and alone in the world with a ticking clock and angry, hungry, little beast against my skin, making my arms all sweaty with her heat.
I loved the deep night with Elsa, when I had adjusted to a state of unending sleep deprivation, and I had learned how to sooth her screaming and she, and I would recline on the couch and she would lay on my chest, and we’d breathe together and we were all that there was in the world. And I would try to imagine that little, tiny, red and yellow squirmy thing as a little girl, I would try to imagine her at 5, and think that that age was so, so, so far in to the future. I paused by Elsa’s door on the way from my bed to my desk a little bit ago, to confirm she is breathing (she is). Five seems so, so, so long ago.
I know that times are hard, and there are some horrible things going in it, but this world is so amazing to me. I can’t believe how amazingly lucky I am to have been given, for a little more effort this time than last, but it’s minimal compared to the gift at the end, another little creature that makes me feel this much love (and terror, and anxiety) again.
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