Ashamed

I'm sitting here misty eyed right now because my husband loves me even when I screw up so badly.
We got our tax return early last week. It was long awaited and desperately needed. We had talked about the things we intended to do with it, and it wasn't going to go nearly as far as we wanted it to. But things have been so tight for so long, and retail therapy is such a very real thing for me...
I spent $600 in three days.
You guys, that's so much. And it was on well-deserved things! Much of which you could even put in the "need" category for the family. A few things for the kitchen, an Easter outfit for Drake and myself (on clearance, at an outlet store), Easter basket goodies (and I don't believe in buying 99 cent toys - if you are going to get them something, better to get one or two things that will last than 10 things they will never play with), some groceries... I don't know. I can't even tell you where it all went. Oh, I went to lunch with a friend, too.
And that's the problem. I can so easily justify any of it. And in a different situation, no one would judge me for purchasing the things I did. They weren't extravagant.
But our budget is extremely tight. Justin is the only earner in our family right now, and we just bought a house last summer. Between that, the astronomical price of gas for Justin's huge commutes, and our other monthly bills... well, that's all there is. And then there's the house that is still very much a construction zone. And several buttons on my computer have stopped working and it threatens to crash daily. And Drake still doesn't have a crib. And, and, and.
And so the tax return had very specific tasks to accomplish. And I messed it up.
And I knew it. And my heart sank and my face reddened once my husband knew it. I could see he was upset - angry, even. This isn't the first time I've messed up like this. I don't know how he puts up with me.
Most of it was un-returnable. There was nothing I could do to fix it. So I took my application to our favorite local bar/restaurant - desperate to be able to tell my husband I was going to help. (So far, I haven't heard from them.) And I made sure not to spend another cent.
That's why, when I ran out of my prescription, I didn't say anything. Not because he would have said no. He would never say no. But because he's already stressed and it isn't fair.
He just found out that I've been out for three days. And he's sad at me for not saying anything. And I'm sad at myself for creating this whole mess.
Why can't I break this cycle? Please tell me someone else out there has struggled with compulsive spending and found a way to break the habit (not just started making more money so you could afford your spending... that may not be an option for me).
Lord, help. I want to be a better wife than this. My husband so deserves it.

The great, and the not-so-great

I struggle.

I struggle with my promise to be real with you guys, and my fear of being a whiner. I know my life is good. It's blessed - so blessed. And I'm so, so grateful. But it's also hard. Being a stay-at-home Mom is hard. And I get tired of it sometimes. We didn't go to church today because I am tired of the solo Mom gig. I am tired of driving the 40 minutes each way to show up alone with a baby who has missed his morning nap because it falls at exactly the same time as church. And I want to complain. My husband is never here. He works all the time and when he's not at work, he's at school. And when he's not at school, he's flying. And I miss him. And I want to beg him to find a different job so that we can have Sundays as a family and go to church together. But then I remember that he is tired, too. And it's hard on him, too. And that these sacrifices are just for a season and it's a way of investing in our family's future and creating the kind of life we want in the long run.
*sigh*
And then I remember my sister, whose husband works in the oil fields eight hours away from her for 6 weeks at a time. She stays home alone with three girls. She packs them all up every Sunday and always makes it to church. And, oh yeah, she's pregnant with number four.
And I remember my best friend who really is doing the single mom gig. She has three girls and she runs her own business.
I really can't complain. My life is beautiful. But sometimes.....
Sometimes I want to cry. I want to cry when I feel so, so tired and the baby wakes up in the middle of the night and I have to drag my butt out of bed and sometimes I get angry that my husband doesn't even hear the baby and never, ever gets up with him.
But then I remember. He did get up with him the entire bad week. And he drags his own butt out of bed four days a week at 4:30 in the morning to go to work and provide for us.
Ugh. And then I feel like a selfish brat.
So you can see my struggle. I don't want to be a liar, but I don't want to be a whiner.
I don't want to get on this blog every week (how I wish I could say every day, but let's face it - I'm not even close to that regular) and tell you other mothers out there that my life is soooo perfect. That I skip around all day and pick daisies and sing songs. I mean, we do some of that, but it's not all that. Not even close. But I don't want you to think that I don't see it either. That I don't see that, truly, I have it good. That I have been blessed and should be grateful for what I have. Because so many people have it so much harder. I know these things, and I'm going to try my darndest to remember them when writing here.

I love you all for listening to my rambling.

Taking Care of Momma

You hear it everywhere: you have to take care of yourself to be a better mom and wife, not to mention you owe it to yourself, plain and simple. But hearing it repeatedly doesn't make it any easier to implement. For me, parenthood was such an adjustment - with so many new requirements on my time and energy - the first thing to go was me. Between school, pregnancy, and our eventual move to Three Forks for Justin's flight program, I have been unable to dance (my first love) with any consistency for almost three years now. Without it, I have quickly put on weight, lost strength, flexibility, and plenty of self esteem. After losing a pregnancy and being forced to quit nursing last month, my body image has deteriorated further. But it has also worked as a kick in the pants. I want to be a mom - I want to get pregnant again. But I want to be excited about it when it happens. A huge part of that for me is feeling physically ready - strong and healthy. So I am determined to use last month's tragedy as a motivation to do better from here on out.
I'm starting from nothing - truly. Without dance, my physical activity has been strictly limited to chasing my son around the house. I'm in the worst shape of my life. So I'm going to do this slowly. I know myself, and if I overwhelm myself with daunting tasks, I just won't do them.
So here's the plan:
On Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays I'm trying (I say trying because I've only been successful at this about half of the time so far) to get up at 6 am to head out for a walk/run. I've never been a runner, nor have I ever enjoyed running (I seriously think it was a case of PTSD from my asthmatic run-the-mile days in grade school) but I'm convincing myself that this is something to look forward to. It's actually kind of working. Those are the mornings that Justin doesn't have to get up at 4 am to leave for work, which means I can leave Drake with him and head out on my own. Looking at it as some alone time for myself actually makes it quite tempting. Mental health: addressed.
On Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays I am doing some at-home calisthenic exercises. A few very basic things just to try to rebuild some tone in my muscles before I attempt anything more intense.
Sundays I'm taking off.
I'm overhauling my family's diet and getting back to counting calories. It's such an important awareness step. We use My Fitness Pal, which makes it so easy. They have an app for smart phones or tablets that syncs with the website so you can update your food and exercise diary from anywhere. Justin and I are also doing a gentle cleanse this week - just veggie and liquid heavy. Avoiding most dairy.
Beyond that, I'm setting aside Drake's first nap of the day as time to do something I want to do, but it can't be tv. Blogging, painting, sewing, reading. Something that reminds me of the parts of myself I like and enjoy.
I plan to write about the whole process here. I'm looking to you all to keep me accountable but I also may need some encouragement along the way. And if any of you would like to join me, I would so love to go on this journey with someone. Even if your plan is different from mine, I'd love to hear from you. Let's build each other up!

Taking Care of Momma, Week 2 (I didn't write about Week 1, so we'll just start here):
Running plan: walk 7 minutes, run 2 minutes - repeat 4 times. Walk 9 minutes to cool down. Total: 45 minutes. Stretch!
Calisthenics plan: 10 squat/knee ups (squat down and then as you stand you pull one knee up above waist level, contracting your stomach, switch knees on the next squat),10 calf raises, 5 push ups on toes, 5 push ups on knees, 10 chair tricep dips - repeat 3 times. Neutral spine exercises on the foam roller - 5 minutes. (these exercises were prescribed by my chiropractor to help with alignment and core strength. This site has some good images and explanations of the kinds of things I'm doing.)  Plank - 45 seconds. Stretch!
Weight: 139 lbs
Self Esteem: poor. Let's just be honest. I'm struggling.

Goals:
Running: Run more than I walk.
Calisthenics: Get through a more intense workout without feeling like I'm going to pass out or fall over. I'm hoping to be able to follow the workouts at Body Rock by Week 5. They have a huge variety of workouts and they can all be done in 12 minutes, which seems extremely doable.
Weight: 130
Self Esteem: healthy. I just don't want to feel this hate inside. Ugh - you're not supposed to say that - but  it's true. And I know it shouldn't be.

Here we go!

Like a bad country song...

Last week was one of the worst weeks of my life so far. I'm not saying that to be dramatic. It just happens to be the truth. If there was a record of my worst weeks - with weeks that family members died and boys broke my heart - this one would land somewhere in the top three.
I have been debating with myself a lot about how much of this story I'm going to tell you. It's an extremely personal one, and one that I think most people would not tell. But, with the space of a few days to clear my head, I think I'm going to share it. Number one: because that's what writers do. And once, I promised to be real when writing here on this blog. And number two: in case any one who happens to read this goes through the same thing some time in the future, I want you to know I understand and I'm here if you need someone to talk to.


*deep breath*

I guess I should start at the beginning...
I thought I was having my first cycle since my son was born (he's 14 months old now but we had been nursing the whole time). I bled lightly for three days and then it quit. It seemed normal and I thought nothing of it. But then four days later it started again, and this time it came with horrible abdominal pains. At first I thought, "Man, the first period after a baby really sucks." And I've heard that, for some, that really is true. But after two days of increasing pain - a pain that stabbed me like a knife if I bent over or tried to get up off of the couch - I had a sick feeling that something wasn't right. I asked my husband to bring home a pregnancy test when he got out of classes. It was positive.
This is where it gets really hard for me to tell...
I sank down onto the side of the bathtub and rested my head against the sink, crying. It escalated and escalated until soon I was rocking back and forth, thumping my head into the sink, sobbing and saying, "What did I do? What did I do?" That's how my husband found me.
A million fears and pangs of guilt had overwhelmed me in an instant. I had missed a few doses of my birth control pill around Christmas. I forgot to get it refilled before the holiday weekend and when my husband and I were impatient, I said a quick prayer, "Lord, only if it's Madeleine."  You see, that's my daughter. I've seen her. I know what she's going to look like and I know she's mine. So I said the prayer that I would only get pregnant if it was time for Madeleine. I didn't feel ready to be pregnant again already, but if it was her time, I was willing. And that's where I should have stopped. In that place of faith and trust - that's where I should have rested. But instead, as soon as I could get my birth control refilled, I started taking it again. And all of that is running through my head as I'm reeling from the collision of facts: a positive pregnancy test, bleeding, and severe abdominal pain. "I feel like I've lost my baby girl," I choked out.
Here is where I have to tell you that my husband is a super hero. He stepped up in that moment to be everything I needed him to be and said everything I needed him to say. Not that it stopped the crying, but I don't know how I ever would have faced last week without him there.
The next morning my  husband woke me up at 8 am with a cup of tea and some good news. He had woken up early, cancelled his entire day (a practice flight, a stage check with the head instructor, and three classes) and made me an appointment with my doctor in Helena. "We leave in an hour," he said. When I asked how he could afford to miss all that, he simply said, "You need me today."
We loaded up the car with some "just in case" over night things and started out for Helena, just in time to get a message from my doctor's office that she would have to cancel the appointment. She had gone into a delivery. So instead, we pointed the car towards the small clinic here in Three Forks. The Nurse Practitioner - I remember her name was Kristin - did a brief exam and asked me several questions and then gave me the list of things we could be facing. And that was the first time I heard it: ectopic pregnancy. It hadn't even occurred to me. Kristin said, "Every time I hear 'stabbing pains' I worry about it a little bit."
I was so naive, I asked, "What happens if it is an ectopic?"
"Surgery." The word punched me in the gut. Of course. I knew that, didn't I?

She sent us to the hospital in Bozeman for an ultrasound. On the drive in, I tried desperately to stay calm. It might not be an ectopic. But it could be a miscarriage. Or it could have been a false-positive test and all of this could be an overreaction. When I started hoping for the last option, that's when I lost it again. What if I really was pregnant? How could I sit there and wish it away? But I wasn't ready. I didn't want to be pregnant yet. I was just feeling like myself again. Drake is sleeping through the night most nights. I have energy and wanted to work out and be strong before my next pregnancy. And I wanted to enjoy my marriage again. To share a bed with my husband and actually be able to snuggle up next to him without a belly in the way. I wanted to get out with my family this summer and maybe actually do some of the things we love and miss so much. But if there was a baby inside of me, I couldn't imagine anything worse than losing it. I was so conflicted I felt like I might fly apart. My husband just held my hand and kept trying to remind me, "We don't know yet."
The ultrasound was a two-part test, on the belly and internal. Which is humiliating, by the way. To lay there on that bed with all the worry and fear and then have someone...... it's horrible.
She was too quiet. And she kept looking at the same area over and over. And it hurt. It really hurt. And then she brought in the radiologist and my suspicions were reinforced as she pointed to the screen and said, "See? This area here."
He asked her to show him more angles and take a few measurements and then he said it, too. "Ectopic pregnancy." But he wouldn't commit to it. It could be an ovarian cyst, he said. He sent me to the emergency room for a blood test.
I am supremely grateful for the phlebotomist who was on shift that day. I have a severe needle phobia. Really. I pass out half the time. But the man who drew my blood was such a bright spot in the middle of one of my darkest days. He made me feel so comfortable and he made me laugh and he was so, so kind. I saw him several times that day but, sadly, never got his name. If anyone knows the tall phlebotomist at Bozeman Deaconess with reddish brown hair and a kind smile, please tell him thank you for me.
I layed in the hospital bed for almost five hours before we had any real answers. In the end, my worst fear was confirmed. Ectopic. A pregnancy in my right fallopian tube. And there is no saving it. The baby can't survive it and, if left untreated, often, neither does the mother. Those were the cold hard facts. Thank God for an OB/GYN who managed to share all of this with me with some warmth in her voice and manner. But "manage." That was the word they used. We had two options on how to "manage" the pregnancy. The first was medicinal - a dose of a chemotherapy drug that would dissolve the tissue. The second was surgery, in which case I could lose my fallopian tube and have decreased fertility in the future.
I was incapable of deciding. I was physically exhausted, mentally hazy, and emotionally raw. I couldn't form words to tell someone how to... how to... I still can't. A large part of me wanted to just go to sleep and have it be over. I told Justin I needed him to make the decision. He said that, for the sake of my health and our future children, we needed to do the medicine.
About thirty minutes later, a nurse came in with an extra-large syringe full of a yellow fluid. She said it had to be inter-muscular and had me roll on my side. As she slowly pushed the medicine into my body, I cried and squirmed. The moment she was out of the room, I lost it again. The medicine burned like evil. I felt like I had an enemy inside of me. I tried to escape it, clutching onto Justin, crying, "I don't want it! I don't want it! I don't want it. I don't want it. I don't want it....
When I finally stopped, I told him I wanted to go home, and he did everything he could to push the nurses to get me discharged quickly.
Over the next several days, I was weak and nauseous and in pain. I cried at the slightest reminder of what was happening, which was often since my body told me every minute. My mom and sister came to stay with me that first night, but after that it was just the three of us, trying to recover. And again, I have to tell you that my husband is a gift from God. He never went back to work or class that week, and he took care of everything. Which was a lot. When I list it all for you, you'll understand why I said it was like a bad country song: I was just trying to recover both emotionally and physically while also sick with a cough and head cold. Drake had a really bad relapse with his anal stenosis and was crying and screaming again as he tried to go the bathroom. (In fact, the first bad episode happened while I was having my ultrasound at the hospital, and Justin had to try to comfort both of us.) Then Drake got my cold. His first cold, poor baby. A fever and a cough and everything. On top of that, the chemotherapy medicine that was coursing through me made it necessary for me to wean Drake once and for all. It was harsh on both of us - like an insult to injury. Justin started getting up with him at night, both so that I could rest and so that Drake might not be so mad that I wasn't nursing him. Then, as a final straw, our boxer, Sadie, ripped open her foot and it got infected. It was so swollen, it was nearly twice the size of her other paws. Justin had to take her to the vet and brought her back with a cone on her head and two types of medicine she would need to take for seven days. Yes, even the dog.
The bright spots in the week were the time we got to spend together and the friends who reminded us how much they loved us. I had friends stepping up to watch Drake and offering to do anything else we needed. I got some beautiful flowers from my B's and a card signed by my dance family back home. I got a lot of sweet messages from friends and family offering their support and love. And we got through it. Thank you all.

Today, I'm feeling like a survivor. I still feel sad sometimes, but I feel stronger. I started working out the day after the doctor gave me the go-ahead this past Monday. I am determined to let this serve as a reminder of what is important. I will be strong for my next baby. I will be grateful for each day I get to spend with my husband and my son. And hopefully next time I see a positive pregnancy test, I'll be ready.
I still don't know how to resolve the fear that I lost Madeleine. Justin says my faith has to be bigger: that if I believe that God has shown me my daughter, I have to believe he will give her to me. I'm working on it. I'm praying a lot.
In the hospital that day, I said another little prayer just before the nurse gave me the shot: "Back to your care." And of at least that much, I'm sure.

38 weeks

I’m tired and emotional. I want to cry but I can’t pin point why. Just seems like it would feel good. Or awful. But either way it’s tempting. It’s just all this sitting around. All this waiting. I try to do things to take my mind off of it, but they wear me out quickly. Too tired to do anything, too bored to just sit here, too uncomfortable to sleep. Gosh, I hope I’m right about him coming on the 10^th… Justin told me not to get my hopes up but I totally have. If I go past due I don’t know what I’ll do. Doing everything I can just to keep it together right now. And nothing is really wrong! I should remember how blessed I am – a complication free pregnancy. My baby is healthy. I’m fine. I’m just so damn tired. The thing of it is that that won’t change once he gets here. I’m kidding myself if I’m looking toward his arrival as a physical relief. But my hips and back don’t agree. They can’t wait to be done. And I shouldn’t complain – I know that. But just for a minute, I’m going to. And then I’m going to go back to practicing being a stay at home mom. I will find some way to clean some more. I will keep organizing and decorating his room. I will wrap Christmas presents early and send birthday cards and make the best of this time – this blessing! – of being able to be at home. I will. In just a few more minutes. Right after I have a good cry.

I have to take a moment to express my gratitude

I intended to write a different post this morning. I intended to write something light and funny. But now I can't. I've just read the most heart wrenching post from a woman who has been through so much in the past couple of months. I won't attempt to tell her story for her - her own telling is so real and raw and beautiful - but she is on my mind and heart in a big way this morning. Alicia Stucky, I am praying for you.
It has left me feeling so supremely grateful and so, so lucky. My husband is sitting here next to me reading The Jungle and enjoying a cup of coffee, like we do most every morning. My son is tumbling around in my belly, perfectly happy and healthy so far. My pregnancy is going smoothly. No major upsets. No traumas. Thank God. But how easily it could be going the other way.
So I just have to take a moment to say, "Thank you, Lord. I don't know why I deserve to have it so good right now, but I promise you I won't take it for granted. Every moment I remember how blessed I am to have this amazing man as my partner and friend. Every day I will cherish the life growing inside of me. And every day I will praise you for all of it."

Trying not to stress

But I have nothing to cling to when the worry creeps in. The four weeks between each doctor's appointment feel endless. I am already yearning for the next one so I can hear my baby's heart beat and know that it (really hate using this word as a pronoun. Ready to trade it out with either a 'he' or a 'she'.) is alright. That's all I have to go on right now. I'm so anxious for the day that I can feel my baby move and kick inside of me so I can have reminders that all is well and it is safe.