Musings of a Facebook User

So I have a confession to make: I am a facebook creeper.  Oh don't kid yourself, you know you are too.  I meet someone, we have mutual friends, they pop up on my feed and I check out their photos.  Nothing too in depth, I don't go back to 2013, I'm not that creepy, but I am curious about people.  And what is so common in the land of social media--I make judgments. 

So it had recently come to my social media attention that a woman I don't really even know but have been introduced to before is pregnant.  Congrats!  Me too!  I find out via a picture of her wearing a super cute maternity outfit.  I find myself jealous: I need a super cute maternity outfit like that.  Also, why is she so glamorous with her smile and her makeup?  Oh, it's because it's her first kid.  I start thinking to myself, "Well girlie, let me tell you, when you are several kids in and elbow-deep in toys and sippy cups and bodily functions, the cute hair and makeup will be part of your past.  Unless it's not... then maybe you should reconsider your priorities."  

Ok, so maybe I am more than a facebook creeper.  I am a judgmental creeper one as well. 

Fast forward a week or two and I see the same girl at a holiday party.  The same holiday party that I quickly got dressed for, including doing some lunges to fit into the pre-maternity pants one more time.  I throw on some makeup and curl my hair, which quickly uncurls in the Florida humidity.  On the glamour scale-o-meter I was probably ranking a five or a six, maybe a seven so I was feeling OK about myself.  Then I see her, the girl I don't even barely know.  She shows up in a maternity gown.  A freaking gown I tell you.  And she is glamorous and beautiful and the ugly green monster rears its ugly head:

"Dear God," I pray, "can this woman please inherit a baby that has colic? Yes she is glamorous and beautiful now, but at 3 am when the baby is crying and she is pacing the floor, life won't be so glamorous will it?"

And immediately I feel it.  Why oh why do I judge someone's outsides and base all of my insides on it?  This beautiful, pregnant woman had no idea of the vindictive thoughts that went on inside my head.  The truth is, I look at people in a brief snapshot and I immediately assume their lives are perfect.  I don't know if:

• This girl and her mother are estranged during the Holiday season
• The woman that I think "has it all together" just found out her father has been diagnosed with cancer.
• The man with the successful career deals with depression
• The woman who lives a carefree life with the magazine-picture home cries herself to sleep at night because she can't conceive
• The college student who travels around the world is fighting the heartache of love lost

Over and over again I am reminded that those around me have their own struggles.  No one is exempt from the trials of this world.  No one is exempt from hurt. 

And in between all of it, there are times of beauty and peace.  Maybe this woman that I noticed, maybe her life is going really well right now.  That is great too. 

I am nowhere near arriving, but I am thankful for the reminder that everyone, everyone has their struggles.  It may not be at the same time, or in the same way, but we all do.  And maybe, maybe instead of judging and assuming and wishing them to feel the struggle like I do, maybe I can "rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those that mourn."

Praying about that.  In between Facebook posts, of course.
 
Who knows?  Maybe I can end up really befriending those people I start by judging.  And maybe we can go maternity shopping together.

Kate's Birth Story: Part III--Keeping on Keeping On

   My due date was all set for Wednesday, February 26th.   However, with my son being "late" and my Mom not really going early on any of her births, I did not expect to go before my due date.  A couple of days before I had some contractions that started in the early evening and ended a few hours later.  The first night it happened (Sunday) we were at my parents house two hours away.  We rushed home to Lakeland only to be finding ourselves twiddling our thumbs asking, "anything... anything?"  In the meantime, we had called several people and let them know what was going on.  A well-wisher had put something on the internet which led to an onslaught of "baby yet?" comments.  Lesson learned.  When labor really started we were keeping our big mouths shut until Kate arrived.

Feb 27--Thursday Morning and Afternoon

    At around 7 AM I started feeling some cramping.  Contractions were coming about every 6-8 minutes.  I texted Josh at work to give him a "heads up" that things were different and were possibly starting to roll.  He called me back asking if he could just please come home.  At the time my brother Michael was living with us.  He promptly got put to work making me my favorite omelet.  Hey, a woman has to have fuel for the hard work of pushing a baby out, right?  Josh eventually came come not too much later and my Mom was called to make her two hour trip toward us.  She arrived around 11 and it was so fun to see her.  I felt like it was the start of a fun, somewhat uncomfortable, soon to be painful party.

   Other activities that morning included: buying and setting up a new toilet seat for our toilet.  I knew one of the strategies midwives used was having a birthing Mom sit on the toilet to labor for contractions.  It sounds gross, but I guess there's something about the way that sitting like that opens up your pelvis, etc.  I was able to find out all about that in the future, but for now, I had a toilet seat that kept sliding off.  Trying to stay on a toilet did not sound like a fun activity in the middle of a contraction.  Michael was sent out for a new toilet seat at Lowes.  He was also sent out for donut holes from Hole in One Donuts.  Again, fuel for labor.

 The afternoon continued on.  Me, bouncing on a ball or stopping briefly for contractions, my Mom or Josh helping timing them on my smart phone with a contraction app, and us all hanging out/resting.  At this time contractions were painful and I was stopping to breathe through them.  My Mom would announce, "that was a good one," and not going to lie, I felt proud.  I was doing this.  I was doing this labor thing.  I fully expected Kate to arrive that evening or at sometime that night.  Oh, naivety.

  Earlier that morning I called my midwife Melissa just to inform her that things were "cooking."  She asked just to be kept up with what was going on as she had clinic that day until five.  Around that time, I texted her that she should probably come by after work to check on me.  Melissa and Michelle (the midwife-in-training) arrived, performed a cervical check, and observed me during a contraction.  Melissa then very carefully informed me that it looked like I was in this for "the long haul."  At that point, after contractions for most of the day I was still only at one centimeter and was not quite in "active labor."  I wanted to inform her then and there that I was for sure in active labor, didn't she see that I was in pain?  Her recommendation was for me to try to get as much rest as possible.  She also recommended that I take two calcium, two benadryl, eat a good meal, take a bath, and try to sleep.  At this point contractions were still around 6-8 minutes apart.  I was super bummed but tried to keep my spirits up.  Side note: my mother and father in law were watching Jackson during this time.  It was such a relief to know he was being well cared for and I was not worrying about his everyday needs.

    After following Melissa’s recommendations we headed to bed.  All throughout the night I would wake up around every ten minutes, stand on the side of the bed, tell Josh to start the contraction app, breathe through each contraction, and then climb into bed.  Josh would hold my hand while I was breathing.  I would say to him, “tell me nice things,”  he would whisper, “ugh good job.”  Other times by the end of the contraction he would fall back asleep.  Don’t worry, he will more than redeem himself later on in this story.  Around 11 PM I went to the living room so that Josh could sleep more restfully.  My brother was out there on the computer..  I’m not sure how comfortable he felt with me every ten minutes getting up from laying on the couch and then pacing during a contraction, but he kept quiet about it and his presence was calming.  

Friday Morning and Afternoon

    Friday morning Josh and I decided to go on a walk around the neighborhood.  It must have been interesting for the neighbors to see a waddling pregnant lady leaning on her husband’s arm trying to make their way around the neighborhood. A couple of neighbors called out of their homes, “When are you going to have this baby?”  And we would respond, “Hopefully soon, we’re in labor now!”  There were several contractions during this time that were quite intense.  I was getting excited that things might be moving along. Sometime late Thursday morning Melissa stopped by to check on me again.  Things were around the same.  Contractions were between 6-8 minutes apart and still (for me) somewhat heavy intensity (or so I thought).  She recommended for me to try to get my mind off of labor and that I still had a way to go.  That was not really what I wanted to hear. Melissa advised that I put the contraction app away, try to get out of the house, and maybe grab a smoothie or something.  At this point, I did not have much of an appetite, but it was probably good for me to get some more fuel for labor.  

Off my Mom and I went to smoothie King.  While in line, I had several “good” contractions.  I didn’t want to freak anyone out so I tried to act as normal as possible.  Not quite as easy as I thought.  We had been thinking about going to Hobby Lobby, but after trying our outing at Smoothie King, it didn’t seem very fun.  Nonetheless, we ended up at the plant nursery down the road from our house.  There weren’t many people there, so I didn’t feel the pressure to act like I wasn’t in labor, though I was being rocked with contractions.  Every couple of minutes I would stop at a particular plant, act like I was interested, and breathe through.  The fresh air and beauty, not to mention the Carribean way smoothie were good for reviving my spirits.  

    Also good for reviving my spirits was my friend Annie.  She knew I was still in labor and I texted her when I was discouraged.  She without a beat sent me several jokes to my cell phone.  One was a shared joke whenever we have a rough day we remind each other: “If Britney Spears can make it through 2007, you can make it through today.”  It was so good to laugh and was much appreciated.  I also pulled up my pinterest and looked  through my “funny stuff” album.  The images, jokes, and pictures lifted my spirits as well.  Laugher is great medicine.  I knew all that time on Pinterest was good for something :)

  Another pick-me-up came from my sister Amy.  She called and related a dream from the night before.  She she was playing in a field with Kate several years from now.  It was one of those scenes from a movie, where they were running through a field of wildflowers.  Amy said, “Kelly, she was so, so beautiful!”  Later on, when I was in the throes of labor I would tell myself, “you have to get through this.  You are having a beautiful girl.  Amy said so.”  

Friday Evening

    Friday evening Melissa and Michelle came by to check me again.  At this point, I had been in labor something like 36 hours.  Though my contractions were not necessarily coming closer together (maybe sometimes as soon as five minutes apart), I had had some intense ones all afternoon.  I thought surely I was making some strong progress and that Kate would be coming soon.  They did a cervical check and… I was only three centimeters.  I was crestfallen.  36 hours of contractions and I was only three centimeters?  They asked if I would be willing for them to “stretch” me a little and I quickly agreed.  The next contraction came and they “stretched” me to four centimeters.  That was not my favorite, but I was hoping that progress would be made.   My body was tired.  I had very broken sleep the previous night.  More than my body being tired I was emotionally spent.  At this point I told Melissa I did not know how much longer I could go.  I told her that I could do this maybe for another 24 hours, and then I would go to the hospital.  After all of my plans for a VBAC and all of my hours in labor,  I really did not want to go to a hospital, but I was worried that maybe my body just maybe was not working like it was supposed to.

 Melissa and Michelle ended up staying for a little while longer and hung out.  We joked that, “hey, maybe you will go home and then have to turn right around.”  I hoped and hoped that it would be true.  Not convenient for them, but true.  Melissa again recommended the benadryl/calcium combination so that I would rest as best as I possibly could. I took one calcium, but didn’t want to be looped up on benadryl just in case Kate decided to make her grand debut during the evening. I was hopeful yet skeptical that she would ever come.  Maybe I would be in perpetual labor forever. 

Kate's Birth Story-- Part II: Preparation

And the saga continues....

Part II- Preparation for Homebirth

    So now it was time to prepare: physically, emotionally, spiritually.  I was halfway hesitant to tell people about my decision.  I feared their immediate reaction was to think that I was trying to be a hero, or weird, or some “one with the world and all my feelings and thoughts” mother.  I also have come to realize that with motherhood, opinions are like buttholes, everyone has one, and it’s all best if we keep ours to ourselves.  (Not sure if that is the best analogy, but it feels right right now).  Nonetheless, it was kind of fun to see everyone’s reaction when I told them about my decision to birth at home.  Other people looked at me as if I had two heads when I told them my decision and some practically did back flips.  Still some were curious.  My husband was supportive but hesitant.  After all, I had decided to be induced with an epidural last go round and wanted all natural this time--a complete switch.  His words: “I’m going with you, but if it turns out badly I get to choose next time.”  He also informed me that if I was doing this, he wasn’t going to let me back out if it got tough.  He was in my corner though, and that is what mattered.

    One of my biggest fears in preparation was wondering if I would be strong enough to handle labor.  There’s this (mostly) joke among family members that I complain to everyone around if I get a bug bite.  Maybe it’s mostly (ok all the way) true.  The first go round with Jackson I was in labor for several hours.  It was brought on with petocin (hello 0-60 mph contractions in about 10 minutes!), and with very little break in between intense contractions, I quickly asked for an epidural.  Shortly thereafter I needed a C-section due to my son’s dropping heart rate, and then I had surgery and the recovery thereafter.  Side note: I never known about the high correlation between induction and C-sections.  My husband swears he mentioned it to me.  I have no memory of this.  I digress.  

    I was curious how this whole natural labor thing would go.  Deciding that research and knowledge were one of the best ways to prepare, I asked for book recommendations.  One of the most forefront midwives and proponents of natural birth is a lady by the name of Ina May Gaskin.  She is gifted with knowledge from her many years delivering babies on “The Farm”-- oh you know, a hippie commune her and her husband started in the 70’s.  The first half of her book Ina May’s Guide to Natural Childbirth was a collection of birth stories designed to inspire, while the second half included the more scientific descriptions of how it can and will all go down.  Some of the stories inspired me, some scared me and some not going to lie, weirded me out (If you’ve read Gaskin you probably understand).  Nonetheless, over time I was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe I could push a baby out of my vagina and live to tell the tale.  

    I asked friends about their birth experiences.  I asked my Mom, an awesome woman who had six natural births--three of them with babies 10 pounds and above, how she did it.  They were all so very encouraging.  “Natural birth is gradual, there are breaks between contractions, when you think you can’t go on you’re almost done”-- I heard these words time and time again.  If women all throughout the course of history have given birth, I could probably too.

    The visits to the midwife were so wonderful.  Melissa and the rest of her staff were a world away from the impersonal doctors office appointments I had experienced with Jackson.  I looked forward to these appointment, the measurements and the heartbeats, the talks and the encouragements. More than one appointment I sat with Melissa and Michelle and cried--sad tears and happy tears.  They at times cried with me.  It was better than visiting a therapist.  The level of prenatal care I received with them was superb.

    The time came for a sonogram.  My sisters Lindsay and Rachael came to visit for the occasion.  It felt like Christmas, having family around and finding out good news-- we definintely wanted to know the sex of the baby.  After the technician initially being hesitant to announce, she eventually confirmed: we were having a girl.  I was ecstatic-- ribbons, and pink and painted toenails were all in my future!  I loved my boy.  I was so excited to love my girl--soon agreed to be named Kate.  

    During the middle part of my pregnancy I experienced awful hip and lower back pain.  The kind that would leave me knocked out on the couch halfway through the day just wanting to lay horizontal.  With several months to go, and a very active three year old boy to wrangle, this was not looking to be much of an option.  Enter in the wonderful practice of chiropractic in addition to yoga at my local gym.  Between those two I started to feel close to normal again.  I fell in love with yoga and remained a faithful participant several times a week until the last couple weeks of my pregnancy.  I’m sure the instructors at the end were worried that my water was going to break in the middle of downward dog, but hey, it didn’t.  Bonus: I was able to keep up with some of the 60 year old ladies in the room!  For someone who wasn’t very active to begin with, along with the fact that I had a bowling ball strapped around my middle, I considered this quite the accomplishment.

    Toward the end of my pregnancy I had a couple of hiccups in the road to my home VBAC.  One was at a checkup my midwife Melissa checked for the baby’s positioning.  At this point I only had a couple of weeks to go and the baby was supposed to be head down.  It seems like she might have flipped according to “feeling around.”  After putting it out to the good ol’ facebook prayer chain and waiting a couple of days, I headed to one of the clinics that my midwife worked at for a sonogram.  Praise God, Kate was head down, locked and loaded and ready to go.

    The other hiccup I experienced was that I had to visit a hospital to have a doctor sign off that I was a candidate for VBAC.  I headed to Winnie Palmer in Orlando with a friend at week 38 to the high risk clinic.  I was angry because for wanting to push a baby out of my vagina I was considered high risk.  Ridiculous.  At the visit the doctor got all my medical information, along with previous birth experience, and Kate’s medical records so far.  All indicators that I was a perfect candidate for a Trial of Labor (TOL).  The doctor told me that she would “let” me try for a VBAC.  She would “let” me go until my due date until they cut me open.  Or they would induce me on that day if I would like (nothing like a scarred uterus getting some petocin!).  I thanked her for signing my trial of labor paper and then informed her I was not planning on birthing there.  She thought I was going to be her patient!  I’m sure she would have “let” me be her patient.  She informed me she could not endorse a home VBAC, and I told her that I was not asking for that, I was simply asking her if I was a candidate for a trial of labor.  I was.  And I thanked her for her time, left, and promptly called up my midwife with the good news that my paperwork had been approved. I also thanked her for believing in the whole process of birth and “allowing” my baby to pick her own birthday.  

    As time went on, I consolidated my birthing team which consisted of my mother in law, my midwife, the midwife in training, the birthing assistant from the practice, my friend/birth photographer, my Mom, and my husband.  I was thinking about putting out an “open house” sign whenever I was in labor for whoever else wanted to come but decided against it.  On a side note, I asked my Mom to work alongside my husband Josh to function as a birth coach/doula.  I figured after six natural births she probably knew what she was doing.  I was nervous though.  I wasn’t sure how I’d handle the pain.  Would I scream?  Would I cry?  Would I curse like a sailor?  I wanted to make sure that no matter what I was free to birth however my body felt comfortable.  My Mom joked that she would only make small tally marks each time I yelled an off-color word.

    On the emotional/spiritual side I took one morning about two weeks before I was due to sit down and prepare.  I looked up blogs of other mothers who used Scripture verses to meditate on.  I wrote down and prayed through Scripture verses about endurance and pain and childbirth.  One in particular stood out to me: Romans 8:11-- “And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you.”  I would come back to that verse again and again during the hard stages of labor.  

    The time was running out.  We ran through a trial run of birthing tub in the living room, birth supplies were purchased and laid out, and we were read and prayed up.  All we needed now was a baby.  I tried putting on a weightlifting belt around my belly and doing lunges to no avail.  Kate was coming in her time, and like anything of lofty value, she was worth waiting for. 

 We all had our own ways of preparing

Kate's Birth Story--Part I: The Decision for Homebirth

Disclaimers: 1.  This is my story.  This is what worked for myself and Kate and our family.  Decisions we made are not to belittle other Moms or Dads or babies.  Everyone has their own preferences and choices. 2.  Also realize that with birthing stories there are details that some may not want to read (blood, boobs, vaginas, etc.).  That’s your choice.  I’m not going to be overly gory, but I’m not going to shy away or use substitute words.  3.  Unfortunately, as a self-proclaimed writer I like words.  A lot.  This is long.  So read it all, or don’t.  No hard feelings.

Well it’s been six months.  Long enough for me to regain some of my sanity from the newborn days.  Long enough for me to forget some details.  I wanted to write the story the most empowering experiences of my lifes so far: Kate’s birth.

The Decision for Homebirth

    I’m not normally the hippy dippy, crunchy, granola, etc. type.  In fact, if I could choose between essential oils and traditional medicine for pain relief, I will lunge for the valium every time.

However, my birth of my first son Jackson in 2010 threw a wrench in my plans.  He had been induced (my own request), and a host of other interventions including a epidural (reverse the curse!), ended up with his heart rate dropping and ending up in an emergency C-section.  I was healthy, my son was healthy, so I did not expect to end up in surgery.  However, ignorance was somewhat bliss in that situation.  I was happy to finally see my baby and happy that I wasn’t going to have to go through labor any longer.  Gratefully, the surgery went well and Jackson arrived in his 7 lb, 8 oz glory.  He was adorable.  I was exhausted and unable to keep my eyes open during the surgery.  Little did I know the recovery that awaited me.  I stayed in bed for twenty four hours, with my husband eventually helping me to walk to the restroom.  When the nursing staff asked me to walk around the hospital I cried.  Turns out pain meds are helpful for the ability to move around after surgery.  It was two weeks of painful recovery, of crying in the bathroom because my intestines needed to get back to normal after being rearranged in my body, of trying to get out of bed to get to my crying newborn without the help of working abdominal muscles (surprisingly needed), and trying to manage the equilibrium of hormones, etc.Thankfully my body recovered, my son was healthy, and I was healthy. I was all the more inspired, however, to try my hardest to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) on the next go round.  

Fast forward to summer of 2013.  The magical plus sign appeared the weekend after we moved to Lakeland.  We were ecstatic.  Now came the “fun” part: picking a care provider.  Even though statistically for most women it has been proven that a VBAC is safer, many doctors are not on board and either out of convenience or fear, chose to push repeat C-sections.  The local hospital around here is “willing” to do VBACs but if you cough wrong, go past your due date, get too snippy with the nurses, etc. they want to cut again. (Edit: lately I have been hearing more VBAC stories from this hospital: yay!)  My choice was to travel to Tampa or Orlando to try at a bigger hospital, or go to a midwife locally.  Friends of ours who tend to be more holistic had home births with a midwife and sang her praises.  I viewed them as some sort of superhero and crazy Moms.  Sure they can have pain-med free births, but I was not sure that was for me, I appreciate (and I thought needed) a good epidural and what about safety?  

On a whim, I decided to interview one of the local midwives, Melissa.  I came prepared with a list of questions.  She answered every one.  Her statistics for delivery were amazing in her ten years of practice.  I was convinced that baby and I would be monitored carefully for safety.  If anything went wrong they had medicine on hand and were not afraid to call an ambulance.  In fact, in case anything was wrong they would call and prep the operating room while I was on route.  One of the concerns for a VBAC is uterine rupture.  Although the chances are extremely rare, it is something to be mindful of.  I told her, “This is not me.  I’m not one to go au natural.  I like pain meds.  I hate pain.  If I had a chance, I’d do an epidural all day long.”  However, her response clicked something in me. Basically, the safest way to do a VBAC is without an epidural.  If there was a uterine rupture I would feel that something was wrong.  I needed to be able to feel.  That sealed the deal.  If I was going to VBAC I was going to have to do it naturally.  If I was going to do it pain-med free, I was not going to be strapped to a bed, without food or liquids.  A birthing center was not an option, as their insurance does not cover VBACs. I  was going to do it on my terms. I was going to birth in whatever way was comfortable.  Me, complaining whenever I get a bug bite Kelly, was going to do a natural birth.  At home.  

I braced myself.  It was time to prepare.

Change-- Five Minute Friday

     So today is my ten year high school reunion.  I can barely believe it's been ten years since I donned the cap and gown, hugged family and friends, and embarked upon a new adventure.  Smilling from ear to ear, I could hardly contain my excitement of moving into a new season of life.  I was so ready for adulthood.  Oh, adulthood.
    What has changed?  Like the changing of seasons, it happens slowly and then you turn around and everything is different.  I've graduated college, started a career, bought a house, got married, had 2 kids, bought another house.  {Side note: I feel like you can "pretend" to be an adult for quite some time.  Even with one kid, life kind of goes on.  Two kids?  I'm definitely promoted to "adult" status).  I've gained weight, lost weight, gained it again.  I have developed a couple of grey hairs and the start of wrinkles (hopefully more "smile lines" than "furrowed brows").  My level of independence has grown, and yet shrunk, because others depend on me now.
   I think about my beliefs.  My political convictions are not what they were.  Spectrums shifted to become more liberal or more conservative.  Like a muscle, my faith has been strengthened and challenged and shifted and adjusted.  Hopefully it will continue to do so.  
  And yet tonight when I meet the other members of my graduating class I'm tempted to put on a face, to make my life seem that is has become oh, so glamorous in the past ten years... and it has.  I have a husband that I can't imagine life without, two beautiful children who light up my life, and my life is filled with love from family and friends.  Sure, many days are not as glamorous--filled with spit up, whinny kids, and a husband who well, sometimes needs a helpmate more than I would like.  However, the change in my life has been oh, so good.   For that, I am eternally grateful. 
   

Five Minute Friday: Messenger

It started off with a little red dot on the corner of the infamous Facebook logo.  I had a message.  It could have been from just about anyone, but starting in the summer of 2009, my heart leapt at the possibility of words from him.

Two teachers, the summer and lots of time to kill.  Facebook messenger soon became worn out with frequent conversations.  They over the past several years had separately and coincidentally started teaching, bought houses, and rennovated.  The conversations started about those simple subjects and graduatally evolved into ideas about faith, family, stories about our upbringing, and all matters of serious and silly thoughts of the heart.  Eventually they found out that they both had spent time in the same South African country, in the same small town, with the same kids of an orphanage only a summer apart.  Oh, and they both liked pineapple on our pizza.  No ham.  Only pineapple.   They were obviously a match made in heaven.

Facebook messenger turned to emails, then to phone calls.  Phone calls turned into a blissful first date, a second, a third.  They were soon inseparable even during a semi-long distance relationship.  Talks turned to a summer wedding.

Then one day a new messenger appeared.  In the form of a faint plus sign, the couple learned they would not only be husband and wife soon, but father and mother.  Life would never be the same.

It's been now five years almost to the day of that first facebook message.  I am so thankful this upcoming holiday for the wonderful man that is Father to my two beautiful children.  Together we have grown and changed and cried and laughed and enjoyed life together.  In all of this, my wonderful husband, and "baby daddy" is the best messenger of the Heavenly Father's love.  For that I am eternally grateful.

Five Minute Friday--- Nothing

There are days when I feel like I can’t go on.  

Those are the days I have been up more times in the night than I can remember.  I’ve cleaned up too many toys, washed too many dishes.  I wait, again, for my distracted son to get his shoes on/get dressed/put away his dishes/follow instructions.  I already took lunch to my loveable but forgetful husband this week.  My 3 month old has had two blow out diapers today and I have been spit up on at least three times.  

I’m out of nice.  I’m out of patience.  I’m just out of everything.

Nothing more to give.

But then my littlest one smiles and coos at during our 3 AM feeding, our sacred, quiet time together.

I see a facebook message about an aquaintance’s son in the hospital...  And my own son runs to me and clutches my leg and begs me for the millionth and a half time that day to “please color with me.”

My husband and I catch eyes across the room.

And I find it. The love that comes from above springs up within me.  

I pick up my baby and set her chubby self on my lap.  I grab a crayon with the other one and lean in to my boy over the table decorated with papers waiting to be decorated.

 

I find it.  Something out of nothing.