I have been a bad bad blogger. A little over a year ago, I started this blog with the intention of posting a couple times a week. And then a year ago this week, we announced we were pregnant with our third child. Life since then has well, been busy. I started a couple of posts but alas nothing I deemed worthy of forcing you to read.
Much has happened obviously. Matt is so busy, not only with work but trying to push through the last leg of his degree. Maggie is blossoming into a beautiful, funny, and smart young lady. We are currently getting her prepared to start kindergarten in the fall. Jack is truly a pleasure of a child. He is learning so much every day, starting to speak more and more (I feared he would never start), and loves nothing more giving hugs and making people laugh. And that pregnancy I announced? It was a pleasure, so easy that there were days I would never have known I was pregnant if it wasn't for the HUGE belly that prevented me from wearing socks and shoes that tied for the last 5 months or so. After a super easy labor and delivery, we were given the best surprise ever. Henry was born October 28th. He is just a lovely baby. His smiles and giggles are so addictive, thank goodness he seems to have an endless supply.
I feel like I am in control again of my time and so hopefully I will be consistant with this blog. If all else fails and no one reads it or people actually do but don't get anything out of it, atleast I will feel better for having poured my not always sane rants out.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
So Apparently Four Wasn't Our Lucky Number.
Years ago, I fantasized about being the woman who realized in a moment of panic and elation that she could not remember the last time she had a period and rushed to the store at 5am to buy a pregnancy test. See, I was a healthy 20 something who married my high school boyfriend and struggled for years with infertility and miscarriages for unknown reasons. Seeing multiple doctors and spending years in increments of 28 days (14 really, 2 weeks of meds and procedures and 2 weeks of waiting), I longed for that day that I would sit and wait 3 minutes to see the second line.
And then suddenly within weeks of my 30th birthday, it happened. My dad had passed in August and Matt and I had decided to take a break from the doctors. It was becoming a financial strain, I wasn't mentally strong enough for another miscarriage, and quite frankly we felt like we needed to start accepting that we just may always be a family of 2 (my 30th birthday had been an agreed cut off date to trying). The Monday after Thanksgiving, I just felt a need to test. No symptoms, nothing just a need to test. And it was positive. Now some may say, see you just needed to quit trying. I always hated that statement, it is ridiculous and almost cruel to say. The reality is I still had a large amount of drugs in my system and on top of that was taking out a lot of my emotions on the treadmill, eating healthy and taking my meds sending my hormonal levels into the healthiest levels I had ever been in. I was monitored for weeks and then sent on my way to a regular ob/gyn. This appeared to be a normal pregnancy and it was. Maggie Leigh was born in August 2007, full term, healthy, and clearly pissed that we made her vacate her warm and toasty abode.
3 years later, on my birthday I puked at an IHOP because of the pot roast picture in the menu. I had been ignoring the exhaustion and occasional nauseousness for about a week. I was stretched pretty thin with the holidays and thought I was just fighting a bug. But on the way home, Matt ran into the Rite Aid, bought a test, and we went home to get the best birthday gift ever. This pregnancy was not easy. There were problems in the beginning and I saw the Dr 3 times a week for shots, bloodwork, and ultrasounds. Once we were over that issue, more tumbled into our laps. If it could happen during a pregnancy, it happened to me. But we survived and Jack Thomas was born in August of 2010, full term but not healthy. My sweet baby boy lacked the ability to breath properly and they also suspected he had an infection. So he spent a week in the NICU, hooked to a CPAP and IV's, being poked and prodded as they looked for an answer. And they never found one and that is okay by us because he got better and we brought him home, happy and healthy ever since.
During that pregnancy, we decided he would be the last. It was a hard and long pregnancy and I didn't think I wanted to do it again. But it didn't take us long after his arrived (I think our 1st conversation on the subject was within hours of his arrival) to realize that we didn't feel done. So we opted to give it a year and a half and see what happens, no meds, no calendars, just live life. And if nothing had happened by my 35th birthday, we would call it and Matt would get the old snip snip.
So towards the end of February, I started to get all the symptoms. Keep in mind that I have been pregnant 7 times, I know when I am pregnant. So frankly I wasn't that shocked when on Feb. 28th, a day after Jack turned 6 months old, I got a second line. Although Matt may have had a minor heart attack. And yesterday at our 1st appt, we saw Baby Ziggy's little heartbeat, a great sign that greatly diminishes your chance of miscarriage. I am hoping for a great pregnancy. All of the problems I had with Jack will present themselves again but this time we will be prepared and that is half the battle.
How can I begin to understand why when most women are in their fertility prime, I couldn't get and maintain a pregnancy to save my life? And now, when my chances should be diminishing, I can't stop getting pregnant? I don't know, I don't want to know. I just want to enjoy the ride!
And then suddenly within weeks of my 30th birthday, it happened. My dad had passed in August and Matt and I had decided to take a break from the doctors. It was becoming a financial strain, I wasn't mentally strong enough for another miscarriage, and quite frankly we felt like we needed to start accepting that we just may always be a family of 2 (my 30th birthday had been an agreed cut off date to trying). The Monday after Thanksgiving, I just felt a need to test. No symptoms, nothing just a need to test. And it was positive. Now some may say, see you just needed to quit trying. I always hated that statement, it is ridiculous and almost cruel to say. The reality is I still had a large amount of drugs in my system and on top of that was taking out a lot of my emotions on the treadmill, eating healthy and taking my meds sending my hormonal levels into the healthiest levels I had ever been in. I was monitored for weeks and then sent on my way to a regular ob/gyn. This appeared to be a normal pregnancy and it was. Maggie Leigh was born in August 2007, full term, healthy, and clearly pissed that we made her vacate her warm and toasty abode.
3 years later, on my birthday I puked at an IHOP because of the pot roast picture in the menu. I had been ignoring the exhaustion and occasional nauseousness for about a week. I was stretched pretty thin with the holidays and thought I was just fighting a bug. But on the way home, Matt ran into the Rite Aid, bought a test, and we went home to get the best birthday gift ever. This pregnancy was not easy. There were problems in the beginning and I saw the Dr 3 times a week for shots, bloodwork, and ultrasounds. Once we were over that issue, more tumbled into our laps. If it could happen during a pregnancy, it happened to me. But we survived and Jack Thomas was born in August of 2010, full term but not healthy. My sweet baby boy lacked the ability to breath properly and they also suspected he had an infection. So he spent a week in the NICU, hooked to a CPAP and IV's, being poked and prodded as they looked for an answer. And they never found one and that is okay by us because he got better and we brought him home, happy and healthy ever since.
During that pregnancy, we decided he would be the last. It was a hard and long pregnancy and I didn't think I wanted to do it again. But it didn't take us long after his arrived (I think our 1st conversation on the subject was within hours of his arrival) to realize that we didn't feel done. So we opted to give it a year and a half and see what happens, no meds, no calendars, just live life. And if nothing had happened by my 35th birthday, we would call it and Matt would get the old snip snip.
So towards the end of February, I started to get all the symptoms. Keep in mind that I have been pregnant 7 times, I know when I am pregnant. So frankly I wasn't that shocked when on Feb. 28th, a day after Jack turned 6 months old, I got a second line. Although Matt may have had a minor heart attack. And yesterday at our 1st appt, we saw Baby Ziggy's little heartbeat, a great sign that greatly diminishes your chance of miscarriage. I am hoping for a great pregnancy. All of the problems I had with Jack will present themselves again but this time we will be prepared and that is half the battle.
How can I begin to understand why when most women are in their fertility prime, I couldn't get and maintain a pregnancy to save my life? And now, when my chances should be diminishing, I can't stop getting pregnant? I don't know, I don't want to know. I just want to enjoy the ride!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Cost of Goodbyes.
The father of a old friend passed away this weekend. It seems to be happening all too often these days, perhaps because we as a group are getting older or perhaps I am just more aware the events of home because of Facebook. Either way, it is heartbreaking. I hurt for them because I know the pain they are feeling and I hurt for myself because it forces me to relive my own father's death. Often it is expected, the end result from terminal illness and just as often, it is a shock. An accident, heart attack, or just a tragic line up of events. I can't really say if I had to choose, the chance to say goodbye or not having to watch a parent waste away, which it would be. I have only experienced one way and so can not possibly claim to know which is more painful.
I personally watched my father fade away for 10 years. I lost count how many times we could have lost him because he was too weak to fight a cold or the great debate on what to do because the chances of him surviving the surgery to fix his hip were minimal at best. I lived in fear of the call in the middle of the night, the rush to be at his side and to support my mother, the call I answered several times. I grew so weary of the goodbyes that towards the end, I refused to say it. The January before he passed, we all rushed to New Mexico because his embolism (which they could not repair because he was not strong enough for surgery) showed signs of a leak. It healed (an uncommon occurance from what we were told and not permanent by any means) and luckily we brought him home a week later. One by one the siblings headed home, each one taking a few moments to say their goodbyes. 1st Chris, 2nd Shane, 3rd Gwen and finally me. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I told him goodbyes were too final and I didn't care for that. I would see him in a few months as soon as I could get back. He called me horribly optimistic and stubborn to boot. Luckily Matt and I did make it back for a visit before the last time, the day I held his hand while he died. We had a great time but it was quite evident that Dad was losing steam quickly. The day they dropped us off at the airport, he was tired but insisted on making the drive up to El Paso but he didn't get out of the car. As I walked up to his window to say my see ya later, he grabbed my hand, stared at me with tears in his eyes for what seemed like forever, pulled me into the window, said "good bye Copper Sue", and kissed me. One of only 3 times in my entire life I can remember him kissing me, including my wedding day (the photographer made us) which we had made a joke about because my Dad and I were so similar in many ways including an inability to show emotion unless it involved screaming. I knew it was the last time I would see him and cried all the way to the plane (atleast on the inside, remember inability to show emotion). A little over a month later, they found that along with all his other problems, his lung cancer was back and they probably wouldn't be able to do anything about it. They opted for chemo as a last resort, hoping it would atleast get him to the point where he could come home to Findlay to finish out his days. But at last we never found out, the embolism starting leaking again and like we had been warned, there was no stopping it this time. I rushed back to New Mexico, this time alone. 7 hours to think, to decide what I was going to say to him. But the doctors had him heavily sedated to ease the pain of bleeding out. My mom tried to wake him when I got there and told him that I had arrived, he opened his eyes looked her and said "Oh", rolled his eyes to me and fell back asleep. And that was it. Several hours later, I sent my mom away because we had no idea how long it was going to be and she had not so much as used the bathroom or ate in 24 hours. And in the hour she was gone, I sat in the dark room holding his hand and saying nothing. And in that hour, he let go.
So goodbyes, like most things, come with a price. Are they worth it? I don't know. I know people have said if I had only known, I would have done things more different. I would have spent more time with them, would have nicer, would have said I love you. But I can tell you that my family carried the knowledge that my father was ill around for 10 years, for so long that there were times that we would forget that his outlook wasn't good. And don't get me wrong, there were some great memories made in that time. There were also plenty of fights, large gaps of time when no one could seem to find the time to even call each other let alone get together, and unfortunately regrets (but that is a different post in itself).
I didn't intend to start off my blog with such a somber undertone. But this is life and alas, it is not always rainbows and unicorns. This is how I feel today and so this is what I share with you.
To my friends who have experienced the death of a parent, I know what your path is like, whether it has been years, months, weeks, or even hours and I am sorry. And to my friends whom I know are dealing with a parent with a terminal illness, I think of you daily.
I personally watched my father fade away for 10 years. I lost count how many times we could have lost him because he was too weak to fight a cold or the great debate on what to do because the chances of him surviving the surgery to fix his hip were minimal at best. I lived in fear of the call in the middle of the night, the rush to be at his side and to support my mother, the call I answered several times. I grew so weary of the goodbyes that towards the end, I refused to say it. The January before he passed, we all rushed to New Mexico because his embolism (which they could not repair because he was not strong enough for surgery) showed signs of a leak. It healed (an uncommon occurance from what we were told and not permanent by any means) and luckily we brought him home a week later. One by one the siblings headed home, each one taking a few moments to say their goodbyes. 1st Chris, 2nd Shane, 3rd Gwen and finally me. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I told him goodbyes were too final and I didn't care for that. I would see him in a few months as soon as I could get back. He called me horribly optimistic and stubborn to boot. Luckily Matt and I did make it back for a visit before the last time, the day I held his hand while he died. We had a great time but it was quite evident that Dad was losing steam quickly. The day they dropped us off at the airport, he was tired but insisted on making the drive up to El Paso but he didn't get out of the car. As I walked up to his window to say my see ya later, he grabbed my hand, stared at me with tears in his eyes for what seemed like forever, pulled me into the window, said "good bye Copper Sue", and kissed me. One of only 3 times in my entire life I can remember him kissing me, including my wedding day (the photographer made us) which we had made a joke about because my Dad and I were so similar in many ways including an inability to show emotion unless it involved screaming. I knew it was the last time I would see him and cried all the way to the plane (atleast on the inside, remember inability to show emotion). A little over a month later, they found that along with all his other problems, his lung cancer was back and they probably wouldn't be able to do anything about it. They opted for chemo as a last resort, hoping it would atleast get him to the point where he could come home to Findlay to finish out his days. But at last we never found out, the embolism starting leaking again and like we had been warned, there was no stopping it this time. I rushed back to New Mexico, this time alone. 7 hours to think, to decide what I was going to say to him. But the doctors had him heavily sedated to ease the pain of bleeding out. My mom tried to wake him when I got there and told him that I had arrived, he opened his eyes looked her and said "Oh", rolled his eyes to me and fell back asleep. And that was it. Several hours later, I sent my mom away because we had no idea how long it was going to be and she had not so much as used the bathroom or ate in 24 hours. And in the hour she was gone, I sat in the dark room holding his hand and saying nothing. And in that hour, he let go.
So goodbyes, like most things, come with a price. Are they worth it? I don't know. I know people have said if I had only known, I would have done things more different. I would have spent more time with them, would have nicer, would have said I love you. But I can tell you that my family carried the knowledge that my father was ill around for 10 years, for so long that there were times that we would forget that his outlook wasn't good. And don't get me wrong, there were some great memories made in that time. There were also plenty of fights, large gaps of time when no one could seem to find the time to even call each other let alone get together, and unfortunately regrets (but that is a different post in itself).
I didn't intend to start off my blog with such a somber undertone. But this is life and alas, it is not always rainbows and unicorns. This is how I feel today and so this is what I share with you.
To my friends who have experienced the death of a parent, I know what your path is like, whether it has been years, months, weeks, or even hours and I am sorry. And to my friends whom I know are dealing with a parent with a terminal illness, I think of you daily.
Friday, March 4, 2011
You will regret the day you told me that I should write my thoughts down.
A friend mentioned yesterday on Facebook that she was thinking of writing a blog. The thought has crossed my mind many times, but like a lot of stuff I intend to to do, it never got very far. But all day the idea has stuck around. I do have a lot to say and who wouldn't be interested in my semi sane rambling. And if no one reads it then fine. Atleast it may prove to be therapeutic, right? Perhaps a challenge to follow through with something will be good for me.
So this shall be my blog. Life in This House could be misleading, I do not intend to give you a minute by minute play of what my kids do on a daily basis (they will come up, after all they are my everything). Think of this house as a summarization (that may or may not be a word) of me as a whole. I may share a story with you about my little family, relationships, my thoughts on current going ons, a memory, or perhaps something I just made up. I don't want to set a theme because I don't want to be limited.
I will promise you (and myself) that I will write in here 2 days a week, perhaps more and never less. I promise to be as honest as I am capable of being. And I promise to never intentionally attack someone just for the sake of being mean. I may or may not be able to keep that last one but I will try.
I do not promise to use proper english and use spell check on a regular basis. Please don't point out my mistakes, I don't care. I do not promise to keep it clean. Anyone that knows me knows profanity is a daily struggle. I will not just write an unnecessary string of curse words just for giggles but it's going to come up here and there.
And so here we go. To everyone who has ever told me that I should write that down, I hope I don't disappoint. And to everyone else who just happened across this, I hope you stick around.
So this shall be my blog. Life in This House could be misleading, I do not intend to give you a minute by minute play of what my kids do on a daily basis (they will come up, after all they are my everything). Think of this house as a summarization (that may or may not be a word) of me as a whole. I may share a story with you about my little family, relationships, my thoughts on current going ons, a memory, or perhaps something I just made up. I don't want to set a theme because I don't want to be limited.
I will promise you (and myself) that I will write in here 2 days a week, perhaps more and never less. I promise to be as honest as I am capable of being. And I promise to never intentionally attack someone just for the sake of being mean. I may or may not be able to keep that last one but I will try.
I do not promise to use proper english and use spell check on a regular basis. Please don't point out my mistakes, I don't care. I do not promise to keep it clean. Anyone that knows me knows profanity is a daily struggle. I will not just write an unnecessary string of curse words just for giggles but it's going to come up here and there.
And so here we go. To everyone who has ever told me that I should write that down, I hope I don't disappoint. And to everyone else who just happened across this, I hope you stick around.
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