Some days start better than others...

Some days, my husband has his first flight at 9 a.m. instead of 7, and he has time enough to sit in bed and read to me as we have our first cup of coffee.

Some days, my son asks to read a book first thing in the morning, rather than watch a movie or cartoon.

Some days, that same little boy takes that same book and impresses the heck out of me. He looks at the cover of his favorite book, Green Eggs and Ham, points to the word "Eggs" and says, "E right dere!" Smiling, I point out the G, and he says "gapes," remembering the picture of grapes behind the letter G in his alphabet puzzle. Same with the H: "heeppo!" I fall further in love with the way his little brain works.

Then, to top it off, he opens the book to a random page and says, shaking his head, "Not a box. Not a house. Not a fox. Not a mouse. Nope! Sam. No. No geen eggs and ham."

Some days, my heart gets filled up right from the start. Filled with gratitude and pride.

I think it's going to be a good day.

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.

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.

Birthday Day

{Alternately titled: Marriage Update: My Husband is Amazing}

My birthday isn't actually  until this Saturday - I'll be 26 - but we celebrated yesterday because the Hubs works weekends. Justin made an all day event out of it. He brought me some pre-breakfast yogurt in bed (cuz I was starving) and then brought me my first present: a gorgeous pair of brown leather boots. (The hunt for the right pair of boots has been a long-standing one - my poor Hubby has tried several times to get me the right ones, only to be foiled by my wide feet or my big calves or my distaste for synthetic materials. Sadly, yesterday's gift was another strike - big calves - but they really were gorgeous. He did a great job picking them out.)  For a full breakfast, he took me to the No Sweat. Mmmmm, the No Sweat. If you live in Helena (or within a reasonable drive, even) and you haven't had breakfast at the No Sweat, I'm slightly concerned about your mental health. Because you're crazy. It's delicious. It was the perfect start to my birthday celebration. We sat in one of the worn, wooden booths next to the glorious heater, ate big piles of freshly shredded hash browns and thick cut ham and melty, gooey cheese and sipped coffee and talked and laughed and sang along with the Motown tracks that were playing in the background.Yes.

From there, we loaded Drake into the backpack carrier and walked down the street to Sole Sisters to return my gorgeous boots. I tried on another size, but nothing worked. They were either too tight in the calves or too big in the feet. Poor Justin: he was seriously bummed. But it wasn't all bad! I strolled around the store, stroking and admiring the gorgeous selections of girly dresses and flowy tops and shoes that could be on display in an art museum more readily than worn on your feet. I found a soft blush dress with tiny grey polka dots that made me feel pretty.

From there, we took Justin to the chiropractor, then on to lunch at The Red Atlas, complete with an It's-My-Birthday-Beer.

And then! The highlight of my month: a 75 minute massage from Amy at Lazy Owl Massage. Glory. Completely relaxed on a massage table with a heating pad, sublime smells of massage oils and lotions, the [recorded] sounds of the ocean. In a word: heaven.

After that luxurious experience, Justin took me home for a lazy afternoon of lounging in bed with my two favorite men in the world, watching Midnight in Paris, and flipping through pictures of beautiful homes online - day dreaming about the kind of house we'll have one day.

My beautiful mother picked up Drake around 6 p.m. and I was free to get ready without distraction or time constraint. A hot shower (shaved legs!), blow dried and styled hair, full makeup - all in preparation for the culmination of my wonderful day: date night with my handsome husband.

He took me to the Mediterranean Grill and we stuffed ourselves with fresh and yummy food like lamb brochettes, caprese salad, swordfish with basmati rice and seasoned veggies, kunefe for dessert - all accompanied by a fabulous bottle of Earthquake Zin from my old hometown (Lodi, CA). We enjoyed the hell out of the food and the wine and each other's company. We talked about all the adventures we still want to have someday. We got sentimental and made toasts to each other. We promised to never let it get old.

Towards the end of the evening, we saw our good friends Jesse and Porter walk by and invited them in to finish our bottle of wine with us, then joined them a few doors down for a proper cocktail at Miller's Crossing. I blew $15 in the slot machines hoping I could get lucky on my birthday, we laughed at me and how easily I get tipsy these days, and then I started missing little mister. We picked him up and were home in bed before midnight.

The day was better than perfect. I am so grateful to be married to a man who will go to such lengths to make me feel so incredibly special. As much as life may change, as many children as we may have, as busy as it all may get, I hope we never stop doing this -taking a day to celebrate each other - because that's where it all began.

A long, looong overdue post

Hi. :}
Sorry about the extended absence. By way of simple explanation: my brain hurt. I was too tired to focus on writing anything coherent and, simultaneously, a little too worried about it. I felt myself worrying about updating my blog for all the wrong reasons - basically everything accept the original goal of keeping a sort of online baby book for myself and my son. So I gave myself a break until I got back to a place of wanting to post an update, not feeling like I had to.

We took a hike up by the Gibson Reservoir on Saturday - great day with my hubby and the puppies.

I'm 30 weeks! Sooooo crazy. 30 weeks and 3 days if we're being picky. I feel HUGE but am increasingly more and more ok with it - especially now that, thanks to my sister and wonderful friend Jaime, I have expanded my maternity wardrobe a bit.
Sleeping is, surprisingly, getting easier. I'm either just used to the discomfort or figuring out better positions for rest - possibly both. I get worn out easily (took a 30 minute light hike today, followed by an hour long nap) but the constant fatigue seems to be easing off a bit.
My son moves so, so, SO much. To be honest, some times it kind of grosses me out. Most times though, it's fun to be reminded of his presence in my day.
We have officially transferred care to the Birth Place in Bozeman with Stacey Haugland and will be going back for our second visit with her this Thursday morning. It feels really good to have found an avenue for my goal. Now, if everyone would just join me in the prayer that I make it past 36 weeks so I can deliver with her and have a nice, smoothly progressing labor so we can make the drive.... :) That would be greatly appreciated.
I'm more in love with my husband every day. This could be filed under "normal," "marriage," or "every day" but it seems appropriate in the baby blog, too. We are experiencing one of the most profound transformations of our lives - and we're doing it together. On this past Sunday - dubbed by my hubby "Sentimental Sunday" because he thinks he tends to think about things more on that day - Justin said to me, "I love you more and more the bigger your belly gets. It is a direct correlation." I smiled and asked him what would happen when the belly went away. He said simply, "It'll stay."

I am going to have some serious smile lines around my eyes when I'm older! :)

This guy

 

On  Monday, I will have been married to my best friend for two years and I still can't believe how lucky I got when he picked me. Prepare yourself - I'm going to gush for a moment now.

He's a sucker for me. 

That's what he has starting saying the last few weeks. The first time was during an animal shelter commercial on tv - I got my sad eyes, as I always do where animals are involved, and he shook his head and chuckled. "Oh Wife, you're such a sucker for everything!" (He's right here: the usual - orphans on tv, abused cats and dogs - but also - squished squirrels on the side of the road, the dead bird my dog drags in, a mouse stuck in a trap...) "I'm a sucker for you," he continued, "and you are a sucker for everything." He was poking fun at me, but it was also one of the most endearing things he has ever said. He can't resist me. Which, of course, makes me a sucker for him, too.

He's always, always there for me.

As a kid I had night terrors - nightmares that trapped me inside their terrifying worlds. Recurring dreams about being caught by some killer in a pink bubble gum trap, or lost in a giant black maze desperate for my mom, or hiding in the corner of complete blackness while giant voices boomed and a baby cried - and my parents couldn't shake me out of them.They sound silly now, but they were pretty traumatizing actually. As an adult, nightmares - twisted, intense, and oh so real nightmares - have continued to trouble me. I can wake myself up now, most of the time, but they still seem to have a grip on me. For several long minutes after I wake up, part of my brain and body remains seized by the raw emotion of the dream, whatever it may be. Fear. Anxiety. Sadness. And so, every now and again, I wake up crying and can't stop myself. But for the last two years, God has blessed me with something else that won't loosen its hold on me: my husband. The sound of my shaky tears wakes him up and he's instantly surrounding me. He lays there with me, no matter the time, no matter how tired, until it's over. Then he does his best to get my mind off of it. Make me talk about what I want for dinner that night - anything - until I'm calm enough to go back to sleep. This morning started exactly this way, which is a large part of what prompted this post.

Sometimes we fight, but we're never mean.

We got into a bit of an argument last night - a pretty rare occurrence, I'm grateful to be able to say. I'm a bit emotional these days, though, so it's not terribly surprising that I overreacted to some news he had for me. There was no yelling - just emotional and un-thought out responses. A few minutes in he said, "Geez, babe. I came home excited to tell you about this and you're kind of ripping me apart." My heart sank immediately. We've never been the kind of couple to beat each other up verbally. Even when we disagree - strongly - we care enough about each other to think through what we want to say. We never try to zing each other and I'm so, so grateful for that. I've known couples to say things for meanness sake, to fling purposefully biting words at one another in the heat of a fight. Most of them regret it later, apologize and makeup. But I'm a believer that those little wounds never completely heal. Words can not ever truly be taken back. God has blessed me with a husband too considerate, respectful and loving to take the chance, and I will fight like hell to make sure I never become the kind of wife who would. Needless to say, we took a pause from the discussion last night, took a few deep breaths, and then talked through it much more successfully.

He's going to be the best dad.

I've said it over and over again, because I believe it whole heartedly - and have since I met him four years ago. He just has a way about him. Gentleness - but the ability to be firm. Humor - without every failing to take the serious things serious. Responsibility - tempered by a strong sense of adventure. I couldn't be prouder to call him my husband and now, the father of my child. This morning, after I finished crying and telling him about the ravioli dinner I planned to make tonight, he gave me the most precious and unprompted compliment. Squeezing me, he said, "You're going to be the best mom ever." I might have leaked a few more tears at that point, but mostly my heart just swelled up.

And a 1,000 other things.... 

God, I love him.

I love you, Justin Waugh. I can't wait to turn our 2 years into 10. And then 20. And then 50....

Feeling grateful

Justin finally got to feel the baby kick last night. So far, every time he lays his hand on my tummy, the baby freezes. Or falls asleep. I’m not sure which. Justin says he feels ok about it – it’s probably a good thing for him to have a calming effect over our kids. But I have felt like I’m experiencing these tiny little miracles every day and with every bump and there is no one in the world I’d rather share it with. I felt supremely grateful last night when baby kicked its daddy good and hard. It’s inside of me, but it is part of Justin. And now he has experienced it too. I loved seeing the smile I've been wearing for weeks finally sweep over his face.

This morning he picked up his guitar for the first time in months. Over the past four years, I have loved listening to him play. His first Christmas gift to me was the lyrics to a song he wrote, pasted inside of a scrapbook intended to hold our future holiday memories. He proposed the next Christmas with a second song. The funny thing is, I have never liked those guys who play music to impress girls. Please don’t serenade me, you cheese ball. But one of the most endearing things about my husband is his humility and sincerity. There is not an ounce of cocky in him. And now this morning, he is quietly practicing next to me on the couch and I can just imagine him leading a sing-a-long with our kids and teaching them how to play.

How did I get so lucky to have this man?

I can laugh about it now...

But it wasn't really all that funny at the time.
I got into the shower with a stomach on the edge of nausea. A little voice told me to eat before I got in my shower but I ignored it [mistake #1], desperate for a hot shower that was too long in coming. And it was glorious - it really was - but by the time I got out, food had moved from a good idea to a straight up necessity.
Enter my devilish husband.
He comes into the bathroom and tries to seduce me! And, of course, it worked. [mistake #2] I can't resist a handsome man who loves me, can you?
Ok. Fast forward. (Let's keep things PG, shall we?)
I saw a movie a long time ago (aprox. 16 years old - parents out of town - Blockbuster Movie Rentals - me unaware that 'not rated' probably means 'way way worse than R rated') that included a love scene after which the young, no-longer-virgin girl begins to cry. I just couldn't understand it. How ridiculous, I thought. You just had sex with a totally hot guy! What is your deal?
If I didn't have pregnancy hormones to blame it on, I would now be asking myself the same question. But with good reason this time! I really outdid that girl. I didn't just leak a few tears. I sobbed. I ran to the bathroom sobbing. I hit the ground in front of the toilet - sobbing. I sat there, on my hands and knees, sure I was going to throw up. Naked. And sobbing.
Like I said, I can laugh about it now...