unexpected inspiration

Preface: As I was looking through my drafts that have never been published, I found this little gem. It was written in September of 2011. I'm not sure why I never published it. 

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was somewhere in the middle.

I feel like over the past few months I've been experiencing something in the middle of life's ups and downs. Most days are good. Some days are bad. Today was half good, half bad.

This morning I took Blake to a park we don't usually go to. It's usually crowded so I prefer another park. With all the rain we've been having I was hoping there wouldn't be a ton of kids around. And I was right. It was a wonderful hour spent at the park. Blake ran through puddles, went down a few slides, and I threw away all the trash he picked up and handed to me. All with the Manhattan skyline in the background. As I looked at our beautiful backdrop I thought, "See, I don't hate everything about this place. What a unique experience I get to have right now. I never would have imagined that I would be playing at a park with my 1 year old son with Manhattan in the background."

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I thought maybe I was rising out of this slump I've been feeling lately. The sun was shining for the first time in days. The cool breeze felt nice as I watched Blake play. 

Fast forward to this afternoon.

After making a trip to Costco, and let's be honest, that right there can ruin a perfectly good day, I was still in need of one ingredient: poppy seeds. Apparently New York doesn't believe in poppy seeds. Against my better judgment but out of desire to provide a great lunch for the women that make my life easier on Sundays, I decided that I'd walk a few blocks from Costco to see if any smaller supermarkets carried them. 2 stores and 19 blocks later, still no poppy seeds. And that's where my good day turned bad.

I know it seems so ridiculous. How could a little thing like poppy seeds ruin a perfectly good day? Well it's not just the poppy seeds. It's the fact that I feel like life in Brooklyn is so much harder than I'm used to. Nothing is ever simple. Everything has to be difficult to do. And time consuming. 

When we got home, I slammed the door and broke down. I stood there sweaty from huffin' it 19 blocks with tears streaming down my face. Blake just stared at me. I held out his sippy cup and said, "I'm sorry. I just hate this place. Everything is just so hard." He took his sippy cup and ran off to play. I drank a glass of water and composed myself. 

Fast forward to tonight. 

A few friends posted this article on facebook. I was intrigued because it was written by this guy, and I thought, "I'd like to read what he thinks about 9/11 and the years after." As I read, this brief sentence hit me like a ton of bricks, "But we are forgetful." And the flood gates opened. 

Why has it been so easy to forget all the wonderful things I have been blessed with and only focus on the difficult, trying times in my life? Why has it been so easy to forget my commitment to God and just go through the motions? When did that become who I am?

The article goes on to talk about our commitment to God. And his commitment to us. His unfailing commitment to us. As I continued reading I had a very clear image in my mind of how my Father in Heaven sees me:

I confidently choose a path and embark only to meet a few stumbling blocks. Maybe I fall off that path as my commitment to Him wanes. I trip and stumble and stop to sit on a rock and wonder, "Why me? Why do things have to be so hard for me?" All the while my Heavenly Father is there, watching over me. And He thinks, "Nope, not that way. That's not the way you need to go. But I'll let you go that way because I know you're trying. And you're forgetful. But when you remember, you'll dust yourself off and get back to where you need to be."

So in the midst of reading this article, an article meant to be about spirituality after 9/11 and how ten years later many have forgotten how they turned to God in those difficult times, I realized something not related to September 11th at all.

I have forgotten how good my life really is. How blessed I am to have the things that I have. And how without commitment, going through the motions is just a waste of time.

And while this realization doesn't make me want to run into the streets and profess my love for NYC or make day to day life here any easier, it does allow me to step back for a moment and just take it all in. These "afflictions shall be but a small moment."  So I should probably stop letting them feel bigger than they really are. 

Now if only I could find some poppy seeds...

the saddest words ever uttered

Ok, so that's kind of dramatic.

In the almost 2 years (feels more like 5) that we've lived here, the majority of my time has been spent dreaming about when we get to leave. As much as I've tried to embrace where we live, it's proven difficult. On good days I can handle unfamiliar city life without many complaints. On bad days I entertain the idea of just packing a bag for Blake and me and catching the next flight out of here (of course Evan would join us as soon as he got home from work). At one point I had decided that we needed to move away as soon as possible. I encouraged Evan to look for a job elsewhere and I even started looking for jobs for him.

But with Jerky McJerkFace living downstairs, we decided moving now (instead of waiting to move until we officially leave NYC) was the best option for us. We were able to find an apartment that better suits our needs even if it is a bit smaller than our current place.

As we walked to the subway after signing our new lease, Evan said, "Let's face it. We aren't going anywhere any time soon." His statement almost took my breath away. And then I realized he's probably right. And it's probably time for me to stop thinking otherwise.

It's exhausting to spend your days dreaming of being anywhere than where you actually are. So I have to face it. We're going to be here for a while longer. Not forever. Just a while a longer.

1 year

1 year ago today, Blake looked like this:

Evan looked like this:

And I looked like this:

1 year ago today, Blake and I started our adventure in Brooklyn. I was naive. I knew life would be different, but the New York I was picturing was not the New York I would come to know. A few days ago I was standing in my kitchen washing dishes and I thought to myself, "I've finally decided that I hate it here."

Over the past year I've tried really hard to love Brooklyn and NYC as a whole. And while I haven't seen all of NYC, I can definitely say I do not love this place. And some days I really do hate it. And other days I don't hate it as much. And still other days I don't mind it and think it's not so bad. So how do I feel about New York? Well, I've decided it's an awesome place to visit, but not such an awesome place to live. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy with my life. As difficult as it is to admit, I do believe that one's circumstances don't determine the level of one's happiness. (Sometimes I have to repeat that to myself several times a day...)

Some days I feel like I'm still "new" here. I don't feel like I have mastered city life. But I don't know if I'll ever feel that way (and I don't really want to be here long enough to.) And even though if I could choose to live anywhere it wouldn't be here, I do feel that Brooklyn has taught me a few things:

1) I can do hard things (such as lugging a 25+ lb baby in a 9lb stroller up and down subway stairs...or running to catch the train with that same baby in the same stroller.)

2) Target is not the same everywhere.

3) I should probably learn Spanish...or Chinese...or Russian...

4) It's ok to display good manners when they seem to be in short supply.

5) I'm glad I don't have a Brooklyn accent but chuckle when I hear people speak who do. (And then laugh at myself when I try to imitate them.)

6) The church is the same anywhere you go (well, kind of.)

7) The pizza here is pretty good. ;)

Who knew a year ago that Blake would look like this:

Evan would look like this:

And I would look like this:

Oops! I mean this:

Ahh, much better.

Here's to another year in Brooklyn!

Sunday

Sunday morning. 6:30 am. Shower. Get ready for church. 7:00 am. Feed Blake. 7:30 am. We're supposed to be ready to leave for early church meetings, but we aren't.

Ok, so I'm going to be late. That's ok. I tried really hard to get to my meeting on time.

7:40 am. Open door to a torrential downpour. There's no way I can go out in this weather. There's no way I can stay dry. I guess I'm going to get wet because we have to leave now. Here we go.7:42 am. Rain lets up a bit. Right shoe soaked after stepping in a huge puddle.

7:44 am. Stupid wet hands. Stupid metro card stuck in my wallet. Stupid heavy stroller filled with too much stuff. 7:45 am. Stupid train I just barely missed which means I'm really going to be late for my meeting. Wait, no, with all due respect, this is not how it's supposed to work, Heavenly Father. I went out into the rain. I decided it was more important to go to church wet than to stay home and be dry. I made that sacrifice. Ok, so it wasn't a huge sacrifice, but still. You were supposed to make that train wait for me. You know the, "We are being held by the train's dispatcher" thing they always say when the train stops for no reason or stays in the station longer than usual. Ya, I was supposed to be on that train. That was my blessing for walking in the rain.

7:47 am. Cue tears. Awesome. I'm crying in the subway. Ok not crying, just trying not to let the tears roll down my face. Oh who cares. My make up and hair are already ruined anyway. I was supposed to be on that train. Why am I upset about missing that train? So what if I'm late? It's not that time of the month, so why am I being so emotional?

7:58 am. It's going to be another 10 minutes before a train comes. I tried. I tried my best to leave on time. 8:02 am. Train is coming. Ok good. But don't be disappointed if you miss the other train you need to catch because the way this day is going, that's exactly what's going to happen.

8:11 am. Ok, I'll run for the next train, but don't be mad if you miss it. Running up first set of steps. Hear the train coming to a stop and doors opening. Running down next set of steps. There it is. There's the train I need. I'm not going to make it. 8:12 am. I made it. "We are being held by the train's dispatcher." Of course.

8:17 am. There's actually a chance I could be on time for my meeting. 8:31 am. Here's our stop. Ok, only a few minutes late. 8:32 am. I walk past the Bishop's office door just as Evan is coming out. Right on time.

8:33 am. You can be happy on the days that go your way. But can you be happy on the days that don't?

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Still workin' on that one.

shouldn't be surprised

I knew it would happen again. And after I dispose of this one, another one will come along and almost reduce me to tears. But I refused to cry when I found one this time. Luckily it was already stuck to the glue trap on the floor, so I didn't have to chase it down or anything. Still, the thought of something else living in my apartment other than my husband and my son makes me 1) sick to my stomach and 2) angry. Why do disgusting insects have to exist? Why do they have to bother me so much? Why can't they look like cute little cartoon bugs so I could nicely shoo them away instead of wish I owned a bazooka so I could blast them all to h...yes, h. Why do they have to be so stinkin' huge????

I need to go start dinner, but I have to get up the courage to go in the kitchen. I know it seems ridiculous. I'm still way bigger than the stupid thing. No, but seriously, it's big. So I'm deciding on whether or not we should move somewhere else, farther from the subway. It's only the beginning of spring. I don't know how many more of these things I can handle.

(Yes, I'm talking about a roach. Also, I found ants on our bed today after they found a way in through the window. I hate bugs. I worry about finding them so much that I think I've given myself a phobia.)

tooth fairy

First, I thought it was a cold.

After a few days I was convinced it was croup. He developed the classic barky cough that's associated with croup.

It went away.

Next was the allergy theory. I was almost certain after 2 days of watery eyes, runny nose, and a ridiculous amount of sneezing that my son was now allergic to something in our apartment. It was going to be mold. I just knew it.

Next came the coughing spells with gasps for air in between. Pertussis. Yep. He fit the description perfectly. Starts out with cold symptoms, then 2 weeks later the whooping cough appears and antibiotics were going to be needed.

Lots of snot, one doctor visit, and $40 later I learned what my son had come down with: a nice pair of 2 front teeth.

(In my defense, he's been sick for over 2 weeks AND the nice nurse on the 24 hour nurse line recommended I take him to the doctor.)

no where to go

When I lived in Utah, I had a nice little place I liked to go when life was getting a little too crazy. It was up Provo Canyon at a place called South Fork Park.

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There's a stream that runs through the park and I would often sit and listen to the sound of the water running. Even though the problems of life never went away after going up into the mountains, they seemed a little easier to deal with.

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I don't live in Utah anymore, but sometimes I miss it. I miss the serenity of the mountains. The day before I left Utah to move to Brooklyn, I strapped a sleeping Blake into his car seat and drove around the town where we had been living for about 9 months. For the first time in my life I actually felt like I was going to miss Utah. Everything was so wide open and beautiful. I guess I never took the time to fully appreciate the beauty that surrounded me until I was leaving.

Now I live here.

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And to be honest, I have a hard time finding the beauty in it. Maybe it's the trash that piles up on the sidewalk or the smell of cigarette smoke whenever I go...anywhere, even when we are sitting in the comfort of our own apartment. But worst of all, I have no where to go. I don't feel like I have a place where I can go to get away from it all. Sure, there's the Green-Wood cemetery which has probably been the most serene place I've been in Brooklyn. But the effort it takes to get myself there just doesn't seem worth it. It's no South Fork Park.

Quit complaining, right? I have a roof over my head and clothes on my back. I think it boils down to this: I'm not a city girl, and I'm probably never going to be one.

woe is me

I always heard a lot of things about motherhood before I was actually a mother:

-It's the hardest thing you'll ever do.

-It's the most rewarding thing you'll ever do.

-It's exhausting. It's whatever 1 million times exhausting is.

-You don't know what love is until you hold your baby for the first time.

-Your life will change in ways you never imagined.

And on, and on, and on. But, I don't think in all the descriptions of motherhood I have heard over the years anyone ever told me that it was a lonely job. And honestly, I don't think I would have believed someone if they told me it was. It doesn't really make sense. How can you be with another human 24/7 and be lonely? See, that doesn't make sense.

Maybe it's the winter, maybe it's living in a new place (I know, I've been here 7 months-ish, so it's not soooo new.), maybe it's just me and no other mothers out there are lonely. I don't know but frankly I'm tired of it. Not motherhood. Just the loneliness that's associated with it.

Ya, ya, I know, life could be a lot more difficult for me. I'm grateful for the things I do have. I just don't know how to not feel lonely sometimes.

Actually, I do. Service. It's usually the answer to most of my "woe is me" problems.

So, service it is.

Dear designers of panty hose,

Seriously!? You do realize these things are meant to be worn by humans, right?

Sincerely uncomfortable,

Whitney

made late by a roach

The day started off like any other day: Wake up, feed Blake, go back to sleep with Blake, put Blake in crib, shower, get ready, feed Blake again, talk to myself about the things I need to take to my doctor's appointment, see a roach...wait, a roach?

The following is the conversation I had in my head upon seeing the...you know, all with Blake watching from his crib:

Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh...ok, it's on its back so it must be dead. What kind of roach just likes to hang out on its back? Ok, so it's dead. I'm gonna grab my camera and take a picture of it so I can show my mom and sister just how big these things are. I mean, it's dead, it's not going anywhere, right? Zoom in, snap picture. Maybe I can just take care of it when I get back from my appointment. No, because if it's not really dead and I come home and can't find it, I will throw up. Ugh I'm going to have to pick it up with a paper towel and throw it away. Wait! I'll get the broom, sweep it into the dustpan, then throw it away. Ok, here we go. Careful, careful, (audible scream). It's not dead! It just moved! Oh gosh it's not dead! I'm going to have to step on it with my shoe. The last time I stepped on one of these the crunch was so loud I can still hear it in my mind. Maybe I should put on one of my snow boots. At least I'll be protected from anything roachy up to my calf. No, just do it with the shoes you have on. Ok, just do it. You can't let this one get away. I hate you, you stupid roaches! I won't let you ruin my liiiiiiiiiiiife! Ok, 1, 2, 3...I can't do it! Wait, I'll get the Raid! Yes, yes, the Raid! Point and spray....die you disgusting roach! DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!! (audible scream) Ewww it's twitching! Ok, now I'll sweep it into the dustpan, put it in this plastic bag, put it in the trashcan, and throw the trash away on my way out. Ugh you disgusting roach! You are making me late!

Yep, I took a picture of it. And yep, I thought about putting on one of my snow boots just to kill it. And yes, that stupid roach made me late to my doctor's appointment. But at least it's out of my house.

What did I learn from today's events? I have to take care of roaches a lot faster than I did today. It took me 10 minutes just to remember that I had a can of Raid in the kitchen. So here's the plan for future sightings...because I know there are going to be future sightings (shudder):

1) Scream
2) Grab can of Raid
3) Spray
4) Spray some more
5) Spray more just for good measure
6) Clean up mess

Now if only I could find a Raid holster to wear around the house...

honesty of the brutal kind

Yesterday Blake didn't nap very well. While I don't have a rigid schedule of when he eats and sleeps, he generally follows a pretty set pattern:

wake up at 6:30 and eat
go back to sleep until 9:30
eat and play until noonish
short nap
eat lunch and play until 5ish
nap
eat dinner and play until bedtime

The times in his schedule aren't really set. I just try to watch him and when he gets fussy and shows signs of being tired then I put him down for a nap. I know not everyday will follow that schedule and I don't expect it to (especially on Sundays). But yesterday my little one didn't go back to sleep in the morning like he usually does and hardly napped at all the rest of the day. He was awakened by a neighbor who had locked himself out and rang our doorbell. Then later in the day he just decided he only needed a 20 minute power nap.

He finally took an almost 2 hour nap last night, which ended at 8. So you can imagine that when his bedtime rolled around he was pretty wired and I was ready to sleep for 3 years. And of course this morning he decided not to go back to sleep again, so I figured today was going to be about as exhausting as yesterday was. In all honesty, that's when I thought I'd be crazy to have another child. I don't know how my mom did it and I don't know how anyone else has more than one child. I felt bad thinking that, but it's truly how I felt. And I always wanted to have a big family!

But then as I was typing this blog I noticed that Blake was unusually quiet. When I looked down at him, this is what I saw:

And then I honestly thought that I'd miss that cute little baby when he was a big boy and would probably want another baby after all.

memories

Have you ever had a bad memory pop into your head and you feel like you're experiencing it all over again, with all the associated emotions? I hate that. It happened to me this morning as I was lying in bed.

I was waiting for Blake to wake up and started thinking about my teaching days and how the end of the school year played out for me. I was returning for the last two (long) weeks of school after having Blake. Evan had already moved to New York and I was still dealing with all the emotions of a new mother, which included recovery from a c-section and a failed attempt at breastfeeding. To put it lightly, the last place I wanted to be was with a group of 4th almost 5th graders who were trying to get used to their old teacher. I really loved my students, but I had a little baby at home who needed me and a husband across the country who hadn't held his son since he was a week old.

My students were excited to see me, but after the third, "When our substitute was here she let us (fill in the blank)" I was ready to head for the door. I politely told my students that I knew all about what they were allowed to do and that informing me of said activities was only going to make me cranky (or something like that). I was surprised at the new attitudes that had formed when I was gone. I couldn't tell if some of the students (mainly girls) were angry at me for being out longer than I had planned, or if it was just a result of growing up.

By the second to last day of school I had been totally offended by one student and jumped all over by a fellow teacher for not awarding her student a medal for winning a relay race. (Not even kidding.) The last day of school was bittersweet. I was so excited to have survived my first year of teaching AND pregnancy (which I do not recommend doing simultaneously), excited to be reunited with Evan, but sad to say goodbye to my students (well except the one that was so rude to me).

So that's why this morning I was so annoyed that I could only remember the end of the school year and the bad memories that were associated with it. I thought my first year of teaching went as well as it could have and I wanted to be remembering the fun times with my class, not the icky moments that made me question my career choice. And as much as I tried to remember the good times, my mind just kept going back to that one student and her thoughtless comment, and that one teacher who seriously needed to take it down a notch or two.

Now I'm wishing I had actually kept a teacher journal during my first year so I could look back on the good times. Because I know there were some really good times! (And if I remember them I'm going to compile them and blog about it.)

giving up*

I feel like giving up and I haven't even really started. I liked being able to tell people that Blake was sleeping through the night most nights when he was about four and a half months old. He still woke up sometimes, but I could usually get him to go back to sleep. I don't know where that baby went. Blake slept through the night 2 nights last week. Every other night he was SCREAMING at 2 am and wouldn't go back to sleep until he had a bottle. I tried to let him cry a little, but this was not just his usual "I woke up and am going to fuss" type of crying. He was literally screaming like someone was trying to kill him. Do babies have bad dreams? Every night? Maybe he dreamed that every time he tried to drink from his bottle someone took it away from him. I guess that would make me scream too (except replace bottle with brownies). This morning I noticed he has some nasal congestion. He was really congested and slightly feverish when his bottom teeth came in so I'm hoping he's getting more teeth. I need an explanation as to why he's not sleeping. I can deal with the situation better if I have an explanation.

Due to the recent middle of the night awakenings going on at our house, I've been researching different methods for helping babies sleep through the night. That's where the giving up before I've started part comes in. I think it's made me feel a little anxious, like I should have been sleep training him 3 months ago and every night that he wakes up is just creating a pattern that will be harder to break. I really don't want to sleep train Blake. I just wanted him to naturally grow into a pattern of sleeping until at least 6 am. Not sure that's going to happen. I also am conflicted as to which method will work best for us. I'm not sure how one "expert" can claim never letting your baby cry and still being able to get them to sleep through the night is a successful method and another "expert" can say that letting them cry for increasingly longer periods of time will be the right way to teach them how to sleep. (And in all honesty, I can let him cry and fuss for a little while as he learns how to go back to sleep on his own. But recently it's not just crying, like I said, it's screaming.) So I'm just praying 2 little teeth pop out of his upper gums so he can get back to his little ol' sleeping self.

Any advice (what worked for you, what didn't work for you) would be helpful.

*I was going to write this post one morning at 2 am when I was up with Blake. It's probably better that I didn't. It would have probably contained my getaway plans and all forsaking of motherhood. It's been a rough week. Let's hope this week is better.

trials

The nights are going to be the worst. I've never liked nighttime. I feel better when it's light outside and I know other people are moving around and doing things. When it's late at night and I'm still awake I feel like I'm the only one in the world that isn't asleep and I hate that feeling. So the nights will be the worst.

Evan left for New York a day ago and it's been just as hard as I imagined it would be. I guess when he got the job in New York I didn't have a helpless infant and thought, "Oh ya, we can be apart for 2 months. It will stink, but I can manage." Little did I know. Ha, very little did I know.

It all hit me March 23, the day Blake was born. I had an appointment to be induced at 7 am a week after my original due date. Of course we ended up leaving late and hit traffic. We drive to American Fork every morning at that time and there is rarely any traffic. But of course, the day we are supposed to have our baby there is traffic. We got to the hospital around 7:15 am and within 5 minutes of being there I had changed into my gown and had an IV in my arm. Those nurses were not messing around!
As I laid in the hospital bed I thought to myself, "Ok, now all I have to do is dilate to 10 cm, push, and then we'll have a baby!" I knew it wasn't going to be that easy, but I had faith that my body would do what it needed to do. Prior to being induced I had only had a few mild contractions. I wasn't even dilated to 1 cm when I got to the hospital so I knew it was going to be a long day. But I tried to stay optimistic. The last thing I wanted was a C-section. But oftentimes in life the last thing you want is what you actually get.

After 4 hours of labor I asked for an epidural. The contractions weren't terrible, but I was afraid if I waited any longer it would be really hard for me to sit still while someone stuck a needle into my spinal column as the contractions got stronger. I had the epidural, which wasn't bad at all. I thought it was going to be really painful, but it wasn't. The IV they put in my hand was a lot more painful. After the epidural I was numb and just sat in bed waiting for my body to do its thing.

After about 6 hours of labor I was dilated to 3 cm. Progress, but very slow progress. At that point the baby's heart rate started to drop and the doctor became concerned. He stopped the pitocin to see if the baby's heart rate would go back up. Eventually it did, but I didn't make any progress for 2 hours while I was off the pitocin. When the baby's heart rate was stable, they started the pitocin and said that if the heart rate dropped again a c-section would probably be necessary. And that's the last thing I wanted to hear.

The baby's heart rate stayed pretty stable, but my body was not making the progress it needed to. At 7 pm that night after 12 hours of labor the doctor said I was only dilated to 5 cm. I knew what that meant. He told me that I would need to have a C-section. After the doctor left the room I looked at Evan and couldn't hold back the tears. For some reason I didn't want to cry in front of the doctor that was about to slice me open. An anesthesiologist came into my room and explained what he would do to numb me so I wouldn't feel anything. He told me there was a 95% chance I wouldn't feel anything. But, there was a chance that after he increased the epidural medication that I would be able to feel the doctor cutting me. He said if I did feel anything to let him know and that there would be 10 seconds of pain and then I would be out cold. I was scared.

Within 10 minutes of being told I was going to have a C-section they had Evan in scrubs and were wheeling me to the operating room. I wanted so badly to call my mom, but I didn’t really have time and I knew I would totally lose it if I had to tell her what was happening. I hated that Evan couldn't be with me the whole time. He had to wait until everything was prepped before he could be in the operating room. He had been with me the whole day and at the moment I really needed him he couldn't be there. I knew he desperately wanted to. It was just me, the baby inside of me, and a team of doctors and nurses. I felt alone. Very alone.

As the nurses wheeled me into the operating room, they asked me if I could move myself onto the operating table even though I was numb. I thought they were crazy. I couldn't feel anything from my waist down and they wanted me to move myself. But, somehow I did, which really scared me. I thought, if I can move myself onto the operating table then surely I'm going to feel the doctor cutting me. The anesthesiologist then pumped me full of numbing medication. As I laid on the operating table I prayed. At that point that's all I could do. I prayed that everything would be ok, that at the end of this C-section Evan and I would have a beautiful baby boy to hold and love.

Right before they started the surgery Evan came into the room. He came and held my hand and told me everything would be ok. One of the nurses asked Evan to take off my wedding rings and put them in a bag for safe keeping. Then the doctor asked me if I felt him pinching me and I couldn't. That was a good sign. Next the surgery started. Evan had already decided he wasn't going to look as they cut me open. He wanted to be conscious when the baby was born. All I really could feel was pressure. I couldn't hold back the tears. I've watched too many TLC baby shows and know exactly what happens during a C-section. I couldn't stop myself from picturing what they were doing. The anesthesiologist asked me if I was in pain because I was crying. I shook my head no. All I wanted to hear was the baby cry. I knew if I could hear him cry I would be ok.

Then I heard it: Blake's first little cry. He was out! The nurses took him over to clean him up and check his vitals. Evan went to take pictures of him so I could see him. Then the doctor told me there was going to be an incredible amount of pressure. I'm not sure what they were doing, but I thought my lungs were going to pop out of my mouth. They must have been pushing down on me with all of their strength. That was the worst part of the actual surgery.
As Evan took video and pictures, I laid there trying to take it all in. I could hear Blake crying. I was a mother. It didn't really go the way I had planned it, but I was a mother. Evan brought over pictures for me to look at and instantly I thought Blake looked like a Wilding. I don't know who I thought he looked like, but I thought I recognized him even though I had never seen him. He definitely had my nose.Finally a nurse brought Blake over to me so I could see him. He was so peaceful. He just stared at me. I just stared at him. I kissed him on the cheek and they took him to the nursery to do some more tests. I wouldn't see him for another 2 and a half hours. I wanted Evan to go with Blake to the nursery, but Evan really wanted to stay with me. After what happened in the next 2 hours, I'm so glad Evan decided to stay with me. I'm not sure I would have been able to handle it on my own.
While I was still on the operating table, one of the nurses removed the epidural catheter from my back. Unfortunately she removed it before the anesthesiologist put in the pain medication I would need after the surgery. When I was all stitched up and returned to the room where I would recover, the anesthesiologist tried to give me the pain meds through my epidural catheter...the epidural catheter that was no longer there. I distinctly remember him saying to the nurse, "Oh, you already took it out." And the nurse said, "Oh, I thought you already gave her the medication. It says here you gave her the medication." Note to the anesthesiologist: work on your poker face. The look on his face told me that what just happened was going to be very bad for one person: me.

He gave me the medication through my IV. But, that didn't do anything. I told the nurse my pain was getting worse. It went from a really painful ache on my right side to an intense burning sensation. My pain went from a 6 to a 10 in about 15 minutes. The nurse gave me morphine. When that didn't work she gave me more morphine. When that didn't work she gave me something that started with a T. When that didn't work she gave me Demerol. That worked. I was in incredible pain for about 2 hours. After each dosage of medicine I had to wait 15 minutes to see if it would take affect. The whole time I squeezed Evan's hand. I squeezed it so hard I left nail marks in his hand that didn't go away for a day. All I could keep saying was, "Please make it stop! Please make it stop!" Evan gave me a blessing which helped me deal with the pain. Unfortunately that wasn't the worst of it.

As I lay writhing in pain, the nurse came over and told me she had to push on my stomach-the same general area where they had just cut me open, pulled a baby out, and stitched me up. And then the screaming began. I'm not usually the type of person that lets people know I'm in pain. I just quietly deal with it. Not this time. On 3 separate occasions the nurse had to push on my stomach. And each time she pushed I squeezed Evan's hand and screamed.

Finally the pain medication started working. I had no sense of time while I was recovering. All I was aware of was that I was in excruciating pain and that I had only been able to see Blake for 2 minutes. They wheeled me down to the mother/baby floor and I was finally reunited with my baby. I had gotten out of surgery at around 10:30 and Evan brought Blake to me around 1 am. I didn't want to put him down. I was so exhausted from the day, but all I wanted to do was hold him. I figured I'd think my own baby was cute, but as I stared at him I knew he was beautiful and not only I would think so. He was perfect. He was more perfect than I could have ever imagined. I thanked Heavenly Father that night for 3 things: an amazing husband who was at my bedside throughout the entire experience holding my hand and comforting me, an angelic baby boy that had only passed through the veil hours before and brought with him a piece of heaven, and pain medication that worked.
I held Blake for an hour or so. I can't remember if I fed him that night or not. Then his Grandma Jordan was kind enough to rock him for 2 hours while Evan and I slept. It was around 4 am that I realized Evan never gave me back my wedding rings...but that's another story for another time.

In about 8 weeks Blake and I will be moving to New York. In the meantime I'll be caring for my beautiful baby with help from my family. And unfortunately I'll be returning to work for a few weeks. I'm not sure how that is going to go. I imagine it is going to be the worst few weeks of my life because Evan won't be here and I won't be with Blake most of the day. But, life is full of really hard trials we have to go through. And Heavenly Father has blessed me with so many wonderful people in my life to help me through this.

On a much cuter note, Evan told me that he woke up this morning holding his pillow like a baby. He really misses Blake.

blessings

39 weeks...and still working. I'll be honest, I haven't complained much through out this entire pregnancy. I really haven't had any reason to complain. First trimester nausea wasn't terrible. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't a nightmare. (Well throwing up cold milk that hadn't been in my body long enough to warm up was interesting.) Second trimester brought a surge of energy. But now as I approach D-day, I'm really starting to feel it. My back hurts, my legs hurt, my face has decided it's back in high school and I have a lovely array of pimples. And the tears flow nightly as I struggle to get my substitute plans in order. I can't even wrap my brain around the fact that Evan will be leaving at the end of this month AND that I will have to go back to work in May. Wow just typing it out makes me want to scream about how unfair life is. But I can't do that. Because life hasn't been unfair to me. In fact, it seems I've been blessed more in the last 9 months than in my entire life. Here are a few examples:

1) I actually got a teaching job at a time when there are not any teaching jobs to spare.
2) I teach at a really great school.
3)I think my job has kept me from gaining unnecessary weight during my pregnancy. I stand for about 6 hours a day.
4)I don't think I could have a desk job. It is so uncomfortable to sit for long periods of time. I have to lay down or stand to be comfortable.
5) Evan recently got a job in New York...yea East Coast! (yikes, I'm going to live in NY!)
6)I have so many friends and family members who are so excited for the arrival of our baby. I can't imagine if people weren't excited!
7)Despite not having insurance prior to my job, Evan and I have been relatively healthy.
8) I get to be a mom. I've always wanted to be a mother, and now I get to have that opportunity.

I know there are many more blessings I've received. Those are just the ones that circle through my mind each day.
So I can push through these last few days (hopefully it's days) and do what I have to do for my family. I probably won't do it all with a smile (remember the nightly tears?), but I'll do it. Because I've been blessed.