On this National Day of Rememberance for pregnancy and infant loss, I wanted to tell you about someone near and dear to me that lost a baby girl. Her story is similar to mine. She spotted throughout her pregnancy. Then some time after 5 or 6 months her spotting got worse and she had to go to the hospital. She ended up going into labor. Her doctor offered something for the pain, but said it may harm the baby, and if that happens you will blame yourself. So she went through the pain of delivery--knowing that the baby likely wouldn't survive due to the extreme prematurity. She delivered her beautiful baby girl who was alive. The baby lived for a day and a half. Yet, she never got to hold her precious baby. You see, it was 1952, times were different, and that woman is my Grandma Rose. After she delivered, Grandma said, she propped herself up so she could see her baby and she was very pretty. However, they didn't let her hold her. My grandma said that there is not a day that goes by that she doesn't think of her Beverly Ann and wonder what she would be like, where she'd be, and how many children she'd have. I know that while my grandma's arms have been aching to hold her baby girl for 56 years, Beverly Ann has been resting in the arms of Jesus, along with Faith, and all the other babies that spent too little time here on earth.
Grandma, while this is a journey that I never wanted to take, I am honored to travel it with you.

Beverly Ann
June 21, 1952-June 23, 1952

Aging

I've noticed a few things lately. I'm getting older. For example, this morning I debated between style and comfort when picking out my shoes for work. Much to my relief, I did choose style, but five years ago there wouldn't have even been a debate. I'm pretty sure five years from now I'll be showing up in my Birkenstocks--or as Clinton and Stacey call them "Birkenstops".

Last weekend I realized that my childhood home wasn't "home" anymore. Rori and I had a girl's day out up where my parents live. My parents were in Florida, but I had to go up there for a haircut, and brought Rori with me because I knew she'd love to go to the farm up there. After we were done at the farm, I knew we had an hour drive back home and frankly I wasn't interested in using the purple port-a-potty in 80 degree weather. I called my peeps and asked if we could use their house since it was a short distance away, and use their bathroom.

When I let us in, it was really weird because my parents weren't home. It truly felt like I was a guest in their home. I haven't been in their house without them there since I've been married. It was really strange and made me sad. I had lived in that house for 23 years and always thought it would be "home." I guess it's a good thing that my home with Bill and the kids is my new "home" but it really made me nostalgic and feel "grown-up."

On another note, today is the National Day of Rememberance for pregnancy and infant loss. Please say a prayer for those who've lost a child at any age--whether it be at 8 weeks of pregnancy or had to bury an adult child.

New Look

Don't you just love my new blog design?! If any of you that I've been telling to start blogs, ever do, I highly recommend Danielle! She did a great job--above and beyond what I had hoped for! She was totally patient while I picked a design and then she really listened to the things that I liked. She even retouched the photo of Faith's footprints so they look much better. She's very affordable and frequently has sales or donates portions to charity. She's a great designer--can't recommend her enough! Having a beautfiful blog is great motivtion to keeping up with it :) Do it! You know who you are ;)

911, What's your emergency?

For the 23 years that I lived at my parents house, I never called 911, nor did anyone else in my family--to the best of my knowledge, anyway. Well, in the last year and a half, 911 has been called at my house 4 times!

The first time I called 911 was when I witnessed "the ucky man" (aka the creepy cat man that lives a few doors down) yelling and screaming and threatening the lady that lives behind me. I wasn't about to go out there because Liam was a small baby at that point (small meaning age--as he's never been small in size ;) ). So, I decided the best thing to do would be to call 911. They didn't end up coming out because the situation diffused itself by the time I was done talking to the operator.

The second time I called 911 was a time when Rori woke up and she was fairly lethargic. She just didn't seem like herself. All she wanted to do was lay on the couch. Then she started to shake a bit and gagged and some foamy phlegmish stuff came out of her mouth. It was very scary to me because our precious dog, Leia had died from some kind of seizure and that topped with my "awareness of the fragility of life" (see previous post) I freaked out. So, I called 911, and this time they came out. They came with a fire truck and ambulance. I had told the operator that I thought she was fine, but they wanted to check her out anyway. While I was waiting for them, I called Bill and my mom. Bill immediately told me he was coming home. The paramedics came and were super nice. They checked her out for about 15 minutes and she was indeed okay. So, we all went on the couch and snuggled. Then I saw Bill racing up the driveway and flying through the house. And I thought to myself, "oops, I forgot to call him and tell him everything was ok." Yeah, I was a little stressed, and thought somehow he knew. I still feel badly about that. Sorry, babe.

The third time 911 was called, Rori had gotten her leg stuck in the baby gate. My mom was watching the kids and Rori had somehow slipped and gotten her leg stuck in the gate, which was metal. She was getting hysterical, which made Liam hysterical. My mom couldn't get her leg out and thought it might be bleeding so she called 911. She got her leg out before they came, but again, they were very nice and checked her out.

The fourth time was yesterday. Rori and I were out at the farm we had gone to the previous weekend and Bill was home not feeling well. His mom was watching Liam. She brought him back for his nap and by then Bill was feeling better. After Liam's nap, Bill and Liam were playing. At some point, a police officer showed up at the door. He asked if someone had called 911. Bill said, "no." The officer asked if someone had been playing with the phone--as Bill was holding Liam. Bill realized that Liam had been playing with the phone and must have dialed 911! The officer said they thought that was the case--Liam must have been babbling to the operator, but they had to check it out anyway. Although, frankly, Bill said that Liam hadn't played with the phone for like 15 minutes so it took them a long time to come check it out. What if Liam had been one of those kids that knew to call 911 in emergency, but wasn't able to talk yet? Fortunately everything was alright :)

So, I'm starting to think we are developing a relationship with the 911 people. I wonder if we should add them to our Christmas list?

Awareness

First--I'm sorry that I've been lacksadaisical about my posts lately. I'm actually working on getting my blog redesigned, so I've been thinking about that lately and forgetting to post :) Anyway, lately I've been wondering how losing Faith has changed my personality. One of the biggest things I've noticed is that I am now completely aware of how fragile life is. I think that this can be a good thing, but it can also be a bad thing.

I remember the night Bill and I came home from the hospital after losing Faith. Jenna, Ryan, mom, and dad were at our house waiting for us. Everyone, except my dad was planning on spending the night. I don't remember why my dad was planning on going home, but he needed to. The weather was terrible and snowy. As he was getting ready to go, something inside me just freaked out. I was terribly aware of our mortality and realized my dad could get into and accident and DIE. I started to sob and begged him to stay (which he did). And I think that was the beginning of my awareness that bad things can and do happen.

Most of my life I went through hearing about bad things happening--but they always happened to other people. When we told my mother-in-law that we were pregnant and that my parents had bought us a bib and rubber ducky, she said, "Well, I'm not going to buy anything right now, in case something happens." I brushed off her remarks, because I thought, "nothing's going to happen--that stuff doesn't happen to us." Obviously I was wrong.

I think it's a good thing that I am aware of the fragility of life now, because I cherish moments so much more. I make a conscious effort to hold on and remember each good moment as it comes. But this awareness also comes at a price. I know that life can be taken in a second, so my worry is probably worse than it would have been before Faith. For example, yesterday Liam took a two hour nap--which has been highly unusual lately. I had to go check on him after an hour and a half because, even though he is well beyond the age of SIDS, I have heard of SIDS-like things that happen to toddlers. The percentage is teeny tiny, but now I know that I can be in the teeny tiny percentages. It's a scary thing, knowing that you can be in the teeny percentage, where unusual tragedy's can occur. I've realized, somebody has to be the person to make up the percentage, and there's no reason that it won't be me. I just have to trust that God's plan for my life is His good and perfect one. I know that I need to not worry--because the Bible comes right out and says, "And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?" Easy to say--but not easy to put into practice!

Anyway, on a totally other subject, I wanted to say that I used to hate dinosaurs. I made a big stink out of how much I dislike them and how I was going to have to learn to like them since I was going to have a boy. Well, you know something kind of funny? These are my favorite pajamas of Liam's :)

Bravery

I was told, once, that since I was a worrier, my kids were going to be worriers. Well, I think I have done a good job, so far, of hiding my levels of worry from my kids. They are pretty brave. This weekend we went to a farm by my parents house where they have fun activities for kids. Rori went down this slide with no trepidation whatsoever.

She also rode a pony

Her brother climbed the giant hay stack

So, I'm pretty sure they are much braver than their mother--who worries about everything and didn't ride a roller coaster until she was 16 :)

Noah was also there and he had a ton of fun playing in the sandbox that was filled with corn. He really likes corn--to play in and eat (he had not been feeling well, but did great at the farm and ate corn on the cob like he'd never seen it before) And a big thank you to Grandpa for buying us donuts!

Happy Birthday Bill

Today is my dear hubby's birthday and I want to honor him with 10 reasons why I love him.

1. He loves his birthday as much as any five year old child :)



2. He helps pick up the toys every night.



3. He watches "the hills" with me and rubs my feet during it! He sends me spoiler information that he finds on any of the shows that I watch.



4. I love the fact that he would rather spend time with his family than do anything else in the world.



5. I love that he lets me sleep in and gets up with the kids.



6. He supports me in anything that I want to do. He never tells me no, or says I can't do something.



7. He lets me call him 10 times a day and ask when he's coming home. When he gets home, he immediately gets involved with helping me with the kids--sometimes even completely taking them so I have time to myself.



8. He takes out the garbage every Thursday night--I rarely help.



9. He told me I wasn't fat when I gained 60 lbs during my pregnancies.



10. He is an even better father than I had expected--and I expected a lot. He doesn't shy away from changing diapers, he lets me go out with friends and puts the kids to bed by himself, he grocery shops, cleans, and cooks.

I truly believe that I got the better deal when Bill and I got married. So, happy birthday, my love!