tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40846372949036451962024-03-13T10:42:44.208-07:00A story unfolding...Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.comBlogger151125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-24519379581416616382014-07-03T21:15:00.002-07:002014-07-03T21:19:42.438-07:00They said whaaa?<br />
<br />
<br />
This morning Davis woke up with a case of the "seasonal allergies." I knew right away by looking at his runny nose because I had woke up during the night with itchy watery eyes, and the same runny nose. This morning was also the morning that bright and early my husband was to drop his work truck off to be serviced, so I was going to follow him down to the shop. I quickly got Davis dressed and realized that his runny nose came with a case of the <i>grumpies. </i>In case you are not familiar with the grumpies in a two year old, they are quite unpleasant as there is no reasoning with the cute tiny being.<br />
<br />
Heading into town, I thought to myself, I will accomplish all I need to do while I am out! Our dog, "Kenai," needed a new collar as his was about toast. He is a large breed, Border Collie and Lab mix, which doesn't sound BIG, but he is on the large 100+ pounds side. But skinny... oh so slim. So in my grand scheme to run all of my errands, I decided to bring Kenai along for his first trip to Petco... cause you know, <i>"it's where the pets go."</i> And because I needed to be sure the collar that we bought fit him accordingly. <br />
<br />
It took both my husband and I to control our hundred pound mans best friend trying to try his new collar on. Standing next to the collars where we were standing, was... child sized shopping carts. It was like Davis had become magnetized to the real life, just his size, shopping cart. I offered to check out while he took the tiny shopper to the car. As me and the <strike>horse</strike> dog, walked to the register, you could hear the shrill cry of two year old devastation. I entered the line behind a elderly gentleman, and a younger woman.<br />
<br />
<i>"Someone never heard of birth control. You can tell by the screaming child," </i>the old man smugly says. <i>"Mmmmmmhmmmm,"</i> replies the young girl. I stood there a minute. An honest ten seconds before what had just come out of his mouth processed to me. Then, I was flooded with a rainbow of emotions.I was hurt. I was shocked. I was angry. That was MY child. MY son. And MY parenting these complete strangers were referencing so callously. I began to say something. Once upon a time I would have. Once upon a time I would have had so many of my own opinions to offer in retort to his remark. Today, I stood in silence. I held my tongue knowing that no matter what I said to that man it would not change his view on the subject. Knowing that it was not my job to scold, or condemn him for his ignorance.<br />
<br />
It made me think about all of the moms in the world. All of the ones, doing their absolute best at this very moment. All of the moms who find themselves on their knees at night, seeking God because of all of the failures they face. All of the moms who are trying while not knowing how to pray. The moms of two year olds facing a grumpy day. Or teenagers who are branching out and testing their independence. I thought of all of the moms who face this criticism on a daily basis because their child has autism.<br />
<br />
It hurts. The judgment from a complete stranger really does hurt. But don't let it discourage you. Because if you are truly fighting for your child, none of those comments matter in the end. Nothing a child does makes his life any less valuable. Especially if those things are normal developmental things.<br />
<br />
So maybe, as moms and dads, the next time we see a mom or dad trying their best in a store with a crying two year old, we can outstretch our love to one another. A kind smile. Or a sincere <i>"we have all been there at one point." </i>Maybe an outpouring of love will counteract the negativity that is in so many hearts. Let us lift each other up during this journey. <br />
<br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-27539611860451798112014-06-05T10:39:00.003-07:002014-06-05T10:47:49.629-07:00Teen years.<br />
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</xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">To my
dearest daughter, </span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>As we approach your tenth birthday,
I find myself feeling especially sentimental. I look back on the past ten years
of your life and it only feels like a second in time. If the past ten years
have passed this quickly, I know the next eight years will flash by with the
same momentum. How can that be so?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">Ever since I was pregnant, and we
discovered we were expecting a little girl, we’ve only heard defeatist remarks
on raising a girl; especially when it comes the teens. It sounded terrifying.
There we were, you hadn’t even taken your first breath and I already felt like
I had failed you. According to everyone, our fate was already set.</span><br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank">
</a>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>As the years began passing, I
refused to believe you had to act in such a negative way just because society
said you would. What if I didn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">allow <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>you to act disrespectfully? What if I didn’t
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">allow <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>you to sulk around all day, acting as
though the world owed you something? What if, just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what if</i>, I didn’t make excuses for you, always blaming your actions
on “being a teenager?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">Recently
in talking with a pastor at church, his words were deeply embedded on my heart.
He said, “the bible doesn’t use the word teenager. It talks about children, but
not teenagers. Teenager is a word humans made up.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I believe
that the transition from childhood to adulthood is not going to be easy. I
believe you will have good days and bad days. That is just human nature. I
believe you will make mistakes, need additional guidance, want to feel pretty,
and be trying to decide where you want to go in life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>As someone who cares about
everything you are about to embark on, I promise to never make excuses for bad
behavior. Being a “teenager” has nothing to do with respect. Ever. Under any
circumstance. To anyone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to listen to you. Really listen. To understand what you are saying through
adult perspective, not looking at you as just my child.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to never give up on you. I will always strive to raise an amazing adult, not
just a “happy teenager.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to say no. But not just no. I promise to communicate why I said no as well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to say yes too. All of my no's, will lead to some really great yes's.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to be your biggest fan, and your number one supporter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to go the extra mile to make you know you are pretty. But to also teach you
that your attitude determines real beauty. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to teach and enforce that rolling your eyes is not beautiful. It is also very
disrespectful. Use those brown eyes for something <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">beautiful.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to teach you how to act like a lady. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Modesty
reveals your dignity.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Dressing trashy
does not do anything good for your life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to teach you how to find true friends. I will always welcome your friends into
our home and lives, while still expecting you to find delight in spending time
with your elders. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to always make you clean your room. Trust me, it’s a good habit to have.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to take your driving privilege away if you cannot act like a responsible <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">adult.</i> Driving at sixteen is a privilege,
NOT a right. A child will not be allowed to control something that could
potentially kill someone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to always keep you involved in church, encourage prayer, and pray for you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
not to make insensitive jokes about very real things in your life. No, you don’t
have to be forty to date. I know it does not make you feel like you are being
taken seriously.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to also talk to you and educate you on these adult topics. I will be here to
help you make the right choices.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to not make my own dreams of what I want for you. But I do want to be invited
on the journey God has for you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to laugh at your jokes. Even if I don’t think you will ever master “knock knock
jokes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to make you go to all family events. You’ll end up having fun. You’re welcome.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to never allow you to constantly have a phone in your hands. You will miss out
on so much if you do. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to teach you there is nothing wrong with a good sale.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to treat you respectfully, and expect the exact same in return.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to teach you what you want in your future husband. And I will show you how to
be a good wife.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to push you hard in your schoolwork. Intelligence is also beautiful.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to tell you every day that I am so proud of you. You deserve to be confident.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to sing loudly with you, laugh with you, and cry with you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
to be strict and what some people call “controlling.” This is my job. You are
what I am pouring my life into. I refuse to fail you. You are not ready to
stand on your own yet, so I will hold you up until you can. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I promise
these things because I am your mom. Because I will tell you one day how
wonderful raising a daughter will be, and how beautiful the teen years will be.
Because I love you too much to let you act in any way that is unflattering to
the woman you are becoming. I have eight more years to have the privilege of
raising you. Three more years until you are officially a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">teenager.</i> I just know they are going to be great!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">And have
I told you today how proud I am of the young lady you already are?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">I love
you. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">Love, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";">Mom</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "KG Be Still & Know";"><br /></span></div>
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-75853823160917160662013-01-10T23:00:00.000-08:002013-01-10T23:15:28.074-08:00Celebrating your life.This blog seems so foreign. And not just because I hardly find time to write anymore, but because the content it withholds is, well, foreign.<br />
<br />
Today I stood in Davis' closet removing all of his baby clothes that no longer fit him; leaving only his winter ensembles labeled "12 months." I could not wrap my mind around the past twelve months, for it seems like they have passed so quickly. As where, when I look back on my year after Savannah was born, it seems like the months creeped by.<br />
<br />
I've discovered I am no longer the same person, who once wrote about her grief. I do cherish the fact that I took the time to write all that was on my heart while my memories and feelings were so fresh. As I read back, I almost don't recognize that pain and heartache.<br />
<br />
After Davis was born, he cried. Constantly. Sleeping was non-existent. Not during the day, and definitely not at night. The lack of sleep, and emotional stress of my newborn baby, whom I had dreamed such beautiful dreams of rocking while holding him tightly and staring at him while he slept because no one was coming to take him away were no where to be found. We assumed it was colic. All we could do was hold him while he screamed frantically, squirming and pulling his tiny wrinkled legs up to his chest. We tried gripe water. Homeopathic colic tablets. Mylicon drops. All to no avail. Of course, while I rocked, bounced, walked and snuggled my miserable little person, everyone had plenty of advice. <i>"You need to get him on a schedule, you both will be fine once you force a schedule." "You need to stop breastfeeding. He needs formula. You are passing your nerves and turmoil from everything that has happened through your breastmilk. It's what's upsetting his tummy."</i> Or my favorite, <i>"You never put him down, and he is spoiled. It's time to put him down, and let him cry it out."</i><br />
<br />
The only way Davis wouldn't be crying was while he was breastfeeding. For four very long and grueling months I went with, on a <i>good</i> night, three hours of sleep. I found myself miserable. Feeling very alone. Wondering, why on earth I deserved this madness. Holding him didn't feel healing in the slightest. It made me miss everything about Savannah. Everynight, around 2am, I would hold that sweet boy while he cried, and I would cry with him. Rocking. Watching, though not hearing, what ever I could find to turn on the television trying to distract my mind that all it wanted was sleep. I worried that I was on the fast track to post partum depression. I worried I was already dealing with the depression. It was nothing like I had imagined it would be. I took him to the doctor because I worried something was wrong. That one night, he would "stop crying." That he would never wake up to me again. The doctor assured me, "he was okay, and very healthy." I took him back to the doctor because all of his "symptoms" resembled an ear infection. He assured me, "his ears looked perfect." In one of my final nights of research, {because that's what I do in the middle of the night, is research anything medically related to everything} I discovered gastroesophageal reflux disease. More commonly referred to as "G.E.R.D." I took him to the doctor once again, and told him this is what he has. In trusting me whole heartedly, he ordered a prescription for a low dosage of Zantac. It didn't take 24hours, before Davis was calm. He began sleeping at night. I began enjoying my moments with him without anxiety and panic. I slowly slipped out of the depressed feeling, and for the first time, I began letting go of my worry.<br />
<br />
All through my pregnancy all I did was worry. I worried those agonizing four months after he came into the world. Thankfully my intuition told me that he was telling me something was wrong. But all of the worry I put myself through, was only causing more weight on myself.<br />
<br />
Shortly after Davis went on the Zantac I read a blog written by another mother who lost her son ten years ago. She mentioned, that in the beginning of her grief she talked about <i>her</i> pain.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b>"MY</b> pain.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b>MY </b>loss.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b>MY</b> story.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b>MY</b> tears.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b>MY</b> memories.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b>MY</b> perceived "lost moments".</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i>and...</i></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i>"What might have been's".</i></span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Every year -dates that tantalize me. </i></span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Draw me away to a place all about...</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b>ME</b>."</i></span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i> <a href="http://www.miraculouschaos.blogspot.com/2012/09/thoughts-on-new-chapter-in-this-thing.html" target="_blank">Link to this post.</a></i></span></span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span">These words. This brief paragraph, as I held my sleeping son in my arms, graced my heart and nestled deep into my soul more than anything anyone has spoken to me since Savannah passed away. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span">That precious girl, will always be loved. There will always be moments that I will miss her. Because I am human. I am a mother. But it doesn't consume me. I know now that letting go, does not mean that I am forgetting. It does not suggest I do not love my children. It means her life was never "lost."</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Although I wish I could go back and worry less, and absorb more, I now not to worry. For my children's lives are only under my control to a point. No matter what the outcome to my four living children, His plans are far greater, and I trust Him. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span">In a few short hours, my Davis turns one. He is entering into his toddlerhood, and will soon no longer be my "baby." He had a rough start. So much was endured through his pregnancy, and so much right from the start. But once again, a baby has shown me so much about this life I am living.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span">My prayer for you, Davis Emmett,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Is that you will learn early to trust in His ways. No matter what. That your heart be filled with faith and hope through any of life's struggles. That you always know you are loved, and worth more than diamonds. And finally that you live your life as happy as you have this first year of your life. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Happy birthday sweet boy,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjQkJ7RPUVacT0CojVU3F9XwfHS7b1Xj9nBnip5Rq_Yf8boL8zPTgdJX9BT4g-yWn3CSAwLjHIFztgamQasawXBmNDRSsw_NjpRy19BhERZ0VwtrC8lvwR1oezei_iwWfEzx0BX64_RA/s1600/DSC_0180-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjQkJ7RPUVacT0CojVU3F9XwfHS7b1Xj9nBnip5Rq_Yf8boL8zPTgdJX9BT4g-yWn3CSAwLjHIFztgamQasawXBmNDRSsw_NjpRy19BhERZ0VwtrC8lvwR1oezei_iwWfEzx0BX64_RA/s320/DSC_0180-001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Love, Mommy </span></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbGmJ9tAzPu7lYJHZ4_X8znR-26unifm_n7rX7KDz56epIclJ8fS5UTuFbSGf4BGlxwt4eUuoiEM9a8lCQz-YNZJRIhP6nyldDdpL5cc21LJdJcJ4Is6QxBuFVv8h5I-HXw8IT-k1jEw/s1600/DSC_0147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbGmJ9tAzPu7lYJHZ4_X8znR-26unifm_n7rX7KDz56epIclJ8fS5UTuFbSGf4BGlxwt4eUuoiEM9a8lCQz-YNZJRIhP6nyldDdpL5cc21LJdJcJ4Is6QxBuFVv8h5I-HXw8IT-k1jEw/s320/DSC_0147.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Savannah's "Angelversary" 2012</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /><br />
<br />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-10323966230407822412012-08-28T16:35:00.003-07:002012-08-28T16:39:12.076-07:00I'm that lady.<div class="MsoNormal">
Hi there. Remember me? I am that lady with the {almost} 8 month old baby and I still haven't updated his sonogram picture to your right. <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
I'm that lady that lurks in the shadows to read all of her favorite bloggers, and gives a sigh of relief that they have <b><i>only</i></b> posted a mere 4 times since the last time I had five seconds to sit down and bask in their inspiration.<br />
<br />
I'm that lady that while everyone counts their blessings that the school bus will soon be whisking their littles away, I sit strategically organizing our home school curriculum to be sure I am covering every subject not only required by the state of California, but also aspects that makes my heart feel like they will be well rounded adult individuals.<br />
<br />
I'm that lady that just finished making homemade organic baby food. Apples for dinner, why I'm sure he doesn't mind if he does. I'm the lady who is trying to type, and spell correctly, all the while staring at a little blue eyed face, who is showing signs of blogging displeasure.<br />
<br />
I'm that lady who cruelly forces three others to fold their own clothes and put them away. Yep that's me.<br />
<br />
I'm also that lady that celebrated a birthday five days ago. While the world hustled and bustled around us, we quietly lit a candle and blew it out for the one who could not <i>be</i>. I'm the lady who silently watches as friends and families have babies and birthday's on the 23rd of August. Ones who do get to blow out that same candle. I'm the lady who refrains from talking of these last few things anymore.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RkL5diNTBzkt5ywkvoxdb4G7qI8T4GL9Qiqc1Tqo1TkZCiTQX__OfFbw5QDtum5FUzbnke85lqE40SPWK44vwMO2Z24jqQBDEqFLq81wzb-nPJyIbCY3cP5Qgz7qGMT_p1OVGLj8GLE/s1600/Savannahs+Birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RkL5diNTBzkt5ywkvoxdb4G7qI8T4GL9Qiqc1Tqo1TkZCiTQX__OfFbw5QDtum5FUzbnke85lqE40SPWK44vwMO2Z24jqQBDEqFLq81wzb-nPJyIbCY3cP5Qgz7qGMT_p1OVGLj8GLE/s320/Savannahs+Birthday.jpg" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy 2nd Birthday Savannah.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
But I still exist in this blogger world. {As much as Davis dislikes that.} Still here even though I had forgotten my blog was green, and that in my absence playlist decided it won't play my "list" here anymore.<br />
<br />
<br />
I guess that just means, I should update. And write more. And change Davis' picture... Before he is in college and has developed a black and white complex. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0px none ! important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-31547891635630620002012-05-24T13:09:00.000-07:002012-05-24T13:11:09.094-07:00It's no fairy tale.Once upon a time, this blog space was used to write about, my daily mundane activities. Once upon a time I posted pictures with stories about how I gave the dog a flea bath, or how my back window is smugdy with fingerprints. (Google doesn't like the word smudgy. Oh google, you obviously don't have children...)<br />
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Then September of 2010, my blog grew a heavy heart. This became a place where I could share the story of my daughter, when the world barely got to know her. I hoped if anyone visited regularly, it'd be my family. So they might be able to understand what we were going through behind closed doors. That they might want to continue remembering Savannah with us. Along side us. And more than anything it was a place where I could write, and come back to, just so I could remember her. So I could remember her story. So I could feel her again and again and again. I wanted to shout from the highest mountain, and for people to not just hear me, but truly listen. "This is what a year without our baby was like." And quicker than I ever could have imagined, that year was gone. But incredibly, as a mother, as her mother, my grief did not stop there. Everyday is a new day. Everyday I am given reasons to smile. Everyday I wake to my beautiful children. The ones who wadded the storm with us, and the one whom followed our goodbye. Everyday is a reminder that God does love us. And everyday there is something out there that remind us of her.<br />
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The word "grief" will always hover. It will never be as suffocating as it was the first week, the first month, or the first year, but it will always be there. Because she very much does reside in our hearts. She will never ever go away. So you can think, that because I choose to still write about her, I have no hope. You can think that because her pictures still and will always hang in our home, that I need to let it go. You can worry about me, tire of me speaking her name, or smile awkwardly when I acknowledge my deceased daughter as my child. I am okay with that. But this is apart of my story, and you have never (or that I hope) walked in my shoes. You never kissed Savannah's tiny quarter sized hand. You never kissed her cold, yet still chubby cheeks. You did not carry her, deliver her, or love her anywhere near the way that I do.<br />
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I have never walked in any other mother's shoes. I don't know their grief. I know my own. And it will always be there. As long as I am her mother.<br />
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I received a junk email the other day. Asking me, "would you like to boost traffic to your blog?" It listed suggestions on how to do just that. Post everyday. Being my family, are usually the people who don't read my blog, no one really wants to hear that we went camping, were mauled by mosquitoes, and froze to death. And no one really wants to hear that my mothers day was spent mostly crying. -Post pictures in every blog. My blog is mainly about living life without Savannah. My pictures are limited. There will never be new pictures of her. I take a picture of her gravesite at every visit, but to others, one headstone picture is plenty.<br />
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A few days before mother's day, my mother-in-law finally got a chance to give us copies of the pictures she took of Savannah, when she came to see all three of us at UC Davis. I had never seen any of them. There were fifteen. The last "new" fifteen pictures I will ever see of my daughter in my life. So here you go junk email. A picture on my post. I really don't think it will boost my traffic though... <br />
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This mothers day was not easy for me. A week before I overheard a contest on the radio. I turned up the volume to listen.<br />
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<b>"Call in and tell us YOUR perfect mother's day.</b></div>
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<b>One lucky winner will get their dream day."</b></div>
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They then played an example "wish" from a caller. Not to be surprised, as mother's day is actually very superficial...</div>
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<b>"You see, I truly love my two girls....</b></div>
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<b>But I would love an evening with just my husband.</b></div>
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<b>We would take a helicopter ride over the city,</b></div>
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<b>and eat dinner at a restaurant we could never afford otherwise."</b></div>
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My husband asked, "what would your perfect mother's day be?"</div>
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I dunno I shrugged, and turned the radio down.</div>
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Obviously I didn't win. Because obviously I didn't call in. May 13th, I woke up and took a shower. Then proceeded to sob as I told my husband about why I was hurting so badly. I said, "that radio contest. They said to describe your perfect mothers day. If I called in all I would say would be, I just want my baby back. And you know what. I know they would never ever pick me as the winner."</div>
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Mother's Day is about being a mother. You are always acknowledged for the living children you have. Expectant mothers are even acknowledged. But mother's day is a painful reminder for mothers who are and always will be missing one. I am Savannah's mother too. And I will never have my perfect mothers day. Another example of how I will always carry this grief in my pocket. My mothers day, the mothers day for women who loved and lost, will never be perfect again. Because our lives? It's no fairy tale. </div>
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"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen, nor touched, </div>
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but are felt in the heart" </div>
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- Helen Keller </div>
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-10662490529036600932012-04-22T21:59:00.000-07:002012-04-22T22:15:14.913-07:00Rockin' my baby, cause babies don't keep.I read a blog post tonight. About a woman staring at the front door as her seventeen year old breezed past on the way to work. About how she would give anything to have one more moment of rocking her now large boy to sleep. To nurse him, and nurture him one last time.<br />
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As my three month old, blue eyed, snoring little man lay swaddled next to me I realized something. I do not have a seventeen year old boy yet. I don't even have a seventeen year old girl yet. But I do have children. And three of my four children do not require me to rock them, nurse them, and nurture them to sleep.<br />
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I also have heard many different parenting philosophies. "Don't hold that baby so much, your teaching them bad habits." As if holding your child close is like picking a wedgie... "Doesn't that child have a bed?" As if cradling a sleeping infant in your arms is an inconvenience to others.... I even once, believe it or not, was scolded for bringing my daughter to the dinner table. My first baby, and in carrying her swing to the table so she could be apart of our family gathering, was told that "it was strange and the baby should be in the other room." As if she was an unruly pet...<br />
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For me personally, I think everyone is entitled to their own parenting styles, and preferences. With the exception for child abuse or child neglect. Those are the only times I believe someone should step in. When in actuality, it seems more taboo to confront those types of situations, than it is for grandparents, random strangers even, to solicit advice to parents because they "hold their child/ren too much."<br />
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Last year, when the kids were attending a charter school up the road from us, Sarah one day came home and told me a little boy in her class didn't have a lunch and was hungry. Being she has such a compassion for others, she shared her lunch with this fellow classmate. It wasn't for a bit until I learned this was a regular occurance. I began packing extra food in her lunch box, and proceeded to mention it to the teacher. She told me she wasn't aware, but she would look into it. A week or so later, when I asked Sarah she told me he still was still sharing lunches with the kids in her class. How can a child go hungry for an entire school year, unnoticed?<br />
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I'm not saying my children have never cried, whined, or had a "terrible-two-temper-tantrum." They have. I have a Brody. And Brody can cry (even now) if he hears the sky is blue. Okay maybe that is a little extreme, but you catch my drift. I'm not telling you that "your way is wrong and mine is right." (Insert frantic finger shaking) Because my way isn't perfect. There is no such thing. I can't stand hearing people standing on their soapboxes shouting "my ideas and opinions are right, and if you don't agree you are a bad parent." All I am saying is time is short. Rock your babies. Because in a few short years they won't be babies. They will be venturing off on their wobbly, unsteady legs, ready to explore the world on their own. And every step they take is one more step away from needing your arms to be their everything. Like this mother's blog I read tonight, in what only seems like a few short years from those teetering legs, you will be left with nothing but a front door... As they drive themselves to work...<br />
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I think I am going to wake up my Davis now, just so I can rock him back to sleep. You know, because I hold him too much anyways. Goodnight all. <br />
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<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-10072968167794569072012-04-21T10:39:00.004-07:002012-04-21T10:57:52.124-07:00We do it with love.Yesterday, and for the very first time in my life, I met a blogging friend. Face to face. Charis (pronounced Ka-Reese) over at, <a href="http://www.charisscofield.com/" target="_blank">at the gate called beautiful,</a> has been so kind and encouraging as I wrote about life with Savannah. Or life there after.<br />
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See, her and her husband, just welcomed their fifth addition into their family. Hosea. Oh he is beautiful. Truly perfect. (Go visit her page, and you will see just how adorable he is!) She is truly a woman after my own heart, having five precious little ones, and a marriage that is few and far between these days. By that I mean, a genuine, real, true love kind of thing.<br />
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She made Davis the sweetest little crocheted hat when he was born. She sent some of her own little hand me down clothes, and really made me feel that Davis was loved; Treasured; Adored.<br />
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I know, I know. Isn't the hat adorable?! She took time from her own life... her own busy, pregnant, (at the time) mommy life, to make something, for my tiny (at the time) baby. </div>
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So obviously I couldn't resist to do the exact same. I made sweet Hosea a teal, and brown blanket covered in wide eyed owls. (Owls are in. And owls are cute. Just so you know.) At first I wandered aimlessly up and down the isles of Joann fabrics, looking for something with giraffes. You know, because giraffes are Savannah's thing. I wanted to share a piece of what makes me think of Savannah, a deep seeded piece of my heart, with this loved, treasured, adored baby to be. But just as I have come to find, "giraffe" is not so easy to find in "boy." It is right now, a very popular "girl" attire. And I will be completely honest, it breaks my heart over and over again, when I see the giraffy print girly things...Outfits, blankets, towels, socks, pants, pacifiers, bottles, nursery decor... trust me when I say, the list goes on and on. </div>
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There are times that I do though, want to share what made Savannah, Savannah, with others. And Hosea's blanket was definitely one of those times. Yet again, and not much to my surprise anymore, there was not a single giraffe fabric, that could even be "gender neutral." We spent at least an hour, my four children and I that is, examining every last fabric for the potential snuggled recipient. On our last rounds, feeling very much like Goldie Locks," I found the owls. And the owls found me. The owls were Davis approved. And baby approved is like a five star rating in my book. ;)</div>
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As I drove that blanket over to her house last night, I was giddy. And a little nervous. Here I was about to meet a friend, one I felt like I knew already, yet I had never once been in her presence. We pulled onto her street, and I instantly saw her mini van parked in the garage. (Minivan families unite!) I got out of MY minivan, and of course unloaded Davis from his car seat. My heart smiled as I walked to the door and could hear the voices of numerous little boys. Did I neglect to mention, all five of her children are BOYS?! </div>
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I. love. it!</div>
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We chatted for a bit, and I was thrilled to meet her family. I awed over the baby (*swoon*) and it felt just as normal in person, as it does from her computer screen to mine. </div>
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Her life is (as I know from experience) busy and chaotic. She probably finds herself humbled and at a loss for words when people ask her <i>"how do you do it all?!" </i>And like me, she probably just does it. Naturally. With lots of hugs, kisses, noise, grace, faith, and<b> love.</b> </div>
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Because that how mommies of five do it. </div>
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Congratulations Charis & Bill. ♥</div>
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-17793045227023385822012-04-19T14:15:00.001-07:002012-04-19T14:15:59.253-07:00Only a piece.I have begun writing this post at least five times now. Its been so long, I almost feel as though I should re-introduce myself to you all. But I wont. So don't worry.<br />
I'm laying on my bed, while my sweet, absolutely adorable three month old, naps in his bassinet next to me. Calm. Quiet. Surrender.<br />
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The past three months have gone by so quickly I feel as though I could possibly, and should probably still be pregnant. I am very much not pregnant, and his existence is very much real.<br />
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When I've sat down to write my thoughts and feelings, a piece of me struggled with what to say. I've been pushing through a writers block, that might be induced by absolute mental exhaustion, but I battled with the decision on whether or not I should return to the world of complete sentences, unfiltered thoughts, and on occasion misspelled words. (Cause I know I have those from time to time.)<br />
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When my blog really began reaching others, I was in the midst of the hardest trial, I'm sure one would ever face in a lifetime. The ones who could relate became my usual and regular readers. Not all mind you, but a vast majority. The death of a child. Those words look bleak even now as I write them. A few days shy of 20months...<br />
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I journeyed through my grief, and I overcame raw emotions as I anticipated and welcomed a little boy who will never be, nor could ever take the place of our Savannah.<br />
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It has almost been two years, since she left us. And though I'm sure we will always speak of her, and grasp onto the memories we have of her, I am not defined by her. I'm not just the face of infant loss. That is only a tiny pinprick of my story. <br />
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The weather here has been gloomy for five weeks straight now. We are lucky to get a overcast day and reach fifty degree temperatures. I have been cooped inside with all four of my kids, who also are going stir crazy, and daydreaming about springtime romps. Last night in an effort to spring clean minus the "spring" I started shifting through the clutter that is in our garage. And there it sat. A tub full of tiny pink clothes. A tub that is now our once upon a time. I brought it in, and set it down next to my husband. <i>"I think its time that we get rid of this stuff."</i> I popped open the lid, and began sorting through item after item of baby things. Still tagged. Still packaged. My husband told me he was okay with getting rid of her items. We stared some more at the outfits that only held hopes and dreams. He started to say, "I wouldn't tell anyone where they came from," but we both began to cry.<br />
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See our life will never be completely "pain free." Because in the end we did loose experience the death of a child. But our life is not consumed with sadness and grief. There is still laughter, and blessings. There is still beauty, and there will always be heartache. And that is precisely as life is supposed to be. I stepped away from the cyber world to remember exactly that. Though I may not talk about Savannah as much, just know she was only a piece of my, "story unfolding." Death is never the end, it is only the beginning. And one day we will all be together again.<br />
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Until next time I will leave you in awe of sure cuteness...<br />
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Our sweet Davis.</td></tr>
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<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-87529944924727215262012-02-20T13:58:00.000-08:002012-02-20T14:11:23.330-08:00Triggers or Sentiment?I didn't grow up living in one house. My dad worked his way up through chain of commands through the California Highway Patrol, and each promotion typically meant change for our family. A new home. A new school. New friends. Life as a highway patrol daughter, for me, meant adjusting to change. For the most part, I never really looked at my life differently from anyone else's. It was my normal. I never once thought that life for the time being was unpredictable.<br />
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Now my own children have moved throughout their lives. And they have adjusted. Just in the same ways that I did. My father retired as captain shortly after Sarah was born. They have a permanent residence. Grandma and Grandpa's home, has become that predictable permanent place for the grand kids. I dream of eventually having that house my children and my grandchildren call <i>home</i>. Where they know mom and dad's, or grandma and grandpa's hearts will always be. Where our walls are warm with memories and laughter and love are only a visit away.<br />
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After Savannah passed away, I acknowledged that our home never actually got to be hers. But I could feel her all around me. One morning after Savannah was gone, the kids asked me to sit in the gym at thier school and watch them during morning stretch. My heart was still broken; frail; fragile in every sense of the words. I knew I had to be a supportive momma. I knew their hearts were still broken; frail; fragile. So I agreed. And I mustered up the smiles any mother who has lost a child knows all too well. Let me try to describe this smile. You smile, knowing you are one moment away from throat burning, lip quivering tears. You feel as though behind that smile you are carrying around ounces of warm salty tears, knowing you have to hide them from the world. It's the most difficult and heartbreaking smile.<br />
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I walked Michael and Sarah across the parking lot towards the gym. The nights were beginning to become cooler, and dew glistened on everything. The sky was blue and the morning sun was already hot on our backs ready to heat the brisk feeling in the air. Nothing about these mornings had changed from the weather that greeted us every morning we departed from our room back to the hospital anxious to see our Savannah after a long night away from her.<br />
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I sat on the bleachers and Brody nestled into my lap. All of the students and teachers began their day, stretching and exercising to upbeat music to charge their bodies and minds for the day ahead of them. I watched as other mothers laughed, encouraged, and stretched right along with their own little people. None of them had heartache in their eyes. Michael and Sarah smiled and waved at me. My heart shattered into a million pieces. I knew they deserved more. More than I could give them at that very moment. As they stood working their little arms in circular motions, their big brown eyes never far from my face, a song began playing and danced across every inch of that gymnasium. <i>"The house that built me."</i> By Miranda Lambert.<br />
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I am a listener. I can't help but dissect a song word for word. The song didn't really pertain to me. A girl going back to her childhood home, just for a small taste of what made her, well her. Just so she could collect all of those memories in her heart and heal whatever heartache she was experiencing at that moment. I looked around at thousands of happy, smiling, eyes. Filled with their childlike innocence. And that was the exact moment I knew I would never get to see Savannah dancing. I knew I would never see her stretch her little arms. I knew her little brown eyes would never scan for her mommy again. I knew Savannah would never just need to come home. Savannah never came home.<br />
<br />
And my smile had faded. Brody and I got up, and walked slowly, hand in hand back to the car. And those warm salty tears glistened from my cheeks like the morning dew. I buckled my little man into his carseat. He stared at me in silence. Brody can be so good at acknowledging when no words are needed. I kissed him and climbed into the drivers seat. We sat there a little bit and I reminded myself that everything was alright.<br />
<br />
I heard that song today. Almost eighteen months since she stared back into my eyes. It triggered that morning at the kids school. I thought of future Christmases. One day, my kids will bring their husband and wives to my home. We will talk about memories, and create new ones with our grandchildren and son-in-law or daughter-in-laws. But she won't be there. Her husband will be absent. Her beautiful children will be nothing but a dream I had for her, once upon a time. But I will always think of her. I will always think of who they might have been. Savannah has made her permanent residence in heaven. And one day we will reside there with her. <br />
<br />
These triggers never seem to leave me. But it's also sentiment. Because for a moment... it brings her back home to me. <br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-36296381017206181182012-02-16T19:09:00.004-08:002012-02-20T13:11:57.355-08:00Days, Weeks, Months, and Years.Its always such a proud feeling. <i>"How old is your baby?" </i>Random strangers ask. It starts in days. Two days. Five days. Nine. As brand new mothers, we have a tendency to go by days. We don't say one week, we say seven days. Why is that I may ask? I think it is because days sound so brand new. Days sound so close to birth. Weeks? Now weeks sound like they have been here that much longer. Regardless one week or seven days, these little people have been here the same amount of time.<br />
<br />
Davis has already passed the days stage. And as we pass into the months verses weeks timeline, now as mothers, I count by weeks. I feel as though time is against me. I remember before I ever became a mother, I used to roll my eyes hearing "moms" talk about how fast time speeds by when you have children. <i>Time is just time,</i> I'd think. <i>The days are just as long when you have children.</i><br />
<br />
Then Sarah was born. And Michael. Brody. Savannah came and went. Now Davis. Time does in fact swallow you whole. Almost in the most unforgiving ways. The last weeks of pregnancy tick by at what feels like a snails pace. Then the instant the brand new human being is placed in your arms, they are already a month old. Once you being to wrap your mind around the month idea, you are planning their first birthday. And from there you suddenly have a kindergartener, facing their own form of independence.<br />
<br />
This summer, our oldest celebrates her eighth birthday. It seems like yesterday that she was Davis' size. Still adjusting to a new, confusing world. A time where I was adjusting to a new and confusing world too. We were learning together. There was no one else that needed my attention. All I had to wrap my mind around was one. I counted days, and weeks, and months. There were no other stresses. No other heart aches. I try to look back at my brief time, so it seems, before I knew what heart ache really was.<br />
<br />
I watch the clocks more closely these days. One week from today marks eighteen months. I should have an eighteen month old<b> as well as</b> a five week old. I should have two children in diapers. But I don't. And because I don't it doesn't mean I have stopped thinking of her. No, it's not as fresh. There are times that I go without having her in the front of my mind. After all it has been eighteen months.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>{After all it has been eighteen months.}</i> </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But eighteen months really isn't that long. Savannah would still be adjusting to a new and confusing world. The quicker time goes by with my earthside children, the more I feel time fading from the one I try to remember. In more ways then one, I realize that time will<b> <i>always</i></b> be unforgiving. I get caught up in everything I need to accomplish. So I am trying to reassure myself that as Davis reaches the five week milestone, Savannah spends her eighteenth month in heaven, Brody a fresh four year old, and Michael and Sarah approach seven and eight, that right now, this very second, routine is a four letter word. That dirty dishes, and dirty laundry never killed anyone. Time may be unforgiving, but at least I know my kids will forgive me when I can remember what these "days" felt like...</div><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-10688613541348663782012-02-05T19:39:00.000-08:002012-02-05T22:23:14.821-08:00It's not as easy as you think.I've heard from time to time people have said "rainbow babies" are replacements. Now having my very own physical rainbow, I would like to clarify based on my own feelings. Davis is a replacement. He replaced the feeling of having motherhood stripped from my arms. He replaced an empty bassinet and an empty seat in the car. He replaced a void, yes. But at the same time, Davis is NOT a replacement. Rainbow babies do not and cannot replace the human being we as mothers will always long for.<br />
<br />
I had children prior to my loss of Savannah. Though I always knew that I was grateful for each of them, I grew an understanding just how precious time can be. But it was different because they were the <i>before</i>. There was no after. The months of fantasizing about life with a new person never existed. I still had the before. Nothing had changed. Except the same life I was accustomed to had a gaping hole. Because all around my before were pictures reminding me of what we will always be missing.<br />
<br />
Then the prospect of having a newborn fill that emptiness became reality. I became pregnant with Davis. I knew he would bring healing. Healing in the sense of replacing the emptiness. I would finally feel the drain of waking repeatedly throughout the night. I would finally have the extra person in tow where ever I had to go. I would finally have a weight in my arms.<br />
<br />
What I didn't expect from these replacements, was the hurt it would also bring. Contradictory right? Healing and hurt.... But it is. Having a rainbow on the horizon does not guarantee life to be dandy and free from grief. Having a rainbow baby is all things wonderful first of all. But having a rainbow is also like tearing a scab. As mothers to deceased infants, we adapt to this lifestyle. We have no choice. We find delight in the friends we make as we travel the path of tiny caskets or palm sized urns, only wishing we didn't have to know any of them. We harden our hearts to the cruelty the world shows the best we can. Because we have to. We were given a lifestyle we had no hand in choosing. As we adapt to walking through life with a piece of our hearts missing, mustering smiles on the days when our hearts are crying, our skin toughens. Some of us, make the choice to try again. To have our "replacements" as some misunderstood people say... Let me share a few ways my Davis has <i>replaced</i> Savannah...<br />
<br />
He makes her facial expressions. The way he crinkles the left side of his lip. I see her, and wish I could kiss her cheeks. His big toes have the same indent in the skin that she had. Every time I see them, I want to rub her toes across my face. He battled jaundice. People mentioned the yellow color of his skin. Still acknowledging that jaundice and be very serious if not treated appropriately, I would be thankful his skin wasn't purple, and remember the distinct color of a living person with lack of oxygen. I breastfeed and miss every moment not getting to cradle her against my skin. To feel her touch. His skin against my skin is so warm, and I remember what those same chubby cheeks felt like ice cold. I wake every morning in disbelief that he is still here. Alive. Because I live in the world where babies just <i>die</i>.<br />
<br />
I am not trying to sound like a downer. Aside from all of these "Davis" things making Savannah real in a very distant way, I still cherish them as "Davis" things. I take in every moment I am given with this precious little boy. I dread the day when he does not smell of newborn baby anymore. I hate the thought of loosing that smell all over again, so I take in as much as I possibly can.<br />
<br />
Davis is my after. And though it is so beautiful to see "the rainbow after the storm," it is not as easy as one might think. Now I have my before and after... but I will forever have only the memories of my memory. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-78800518242341306882012-01-29T18:36:00.000-08:002012-01-29T18:46:38.862-08:00What I would give.<div style="color: red;"><i>To my Davis Emmett, </i></div><div style="color: red;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red;"><i>Though you have been apart of my world for a brief time, I want to take a moment to let you know everything you are to me. To try and let you know just how much I wanted you, love you, and would do for you. For now and always, but also for the entire time you were developing inside me. Because I never want to forget. And I never want to take for granted so many times during your pregnancy, we could have lost you. Someday when you think you know everything, you think I am unfair, or you just wish I would leave you alone, I will look to this letter and this exact moment when you are as big as my palm and reliant on me for everything; And I will know that you are my fighter. You have been stronger than me from the very get go. And I would do it all again just to have you. Even when I am "totally uncool" or "embarrassing." </i></div><div style="color: red;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: red;"><i style="color: red;">It's not uncommon or unusual for a women to sacrifice so much emotionally and physically for even the slightest opportunity to be a mother. </i><i>Over the past few years, it has been a pleasure to me to welcome many amazing women into my life through the death of your big sister. Many of these women lost children in many different ways than I, but in the end we all share the same common ground. And they have been by my side as we welcomed you. I would never compare to my pregnancies to the uphill battles some of these women faced. </i></div><div style="color: red;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red;"><i>Except with you little boy. And this is our journey. Just so you know, and I never forget.</i></div><div style="color: red;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: red;"><i>May 23rd, 2011 we found out we were expecting you. Our hearts were filled with so much delight, excitement and worry. Almost before we blinked, two weeks later mommy started bleeding. We thought we were going to be saying goodbye to everything we had already dreamed for you. Daddy took me to the emergency room where we discovered another medical diagnosis we never would have known existed otherwise. There was a subchorionic hemorrhage between the uterine wall and the placenta, and the chance of miscarrying you went up greatly. Mommy was devastated and tried her hardest to remain optimistic. I scheduled a doctors appointment right afterwards, and found out my doctor was leaving her practice of thirty years. She recommended the hospitals maternity center for my obstetric care, for the amount of high risk prenatal care available to me there. </i></div><div style="color: red;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red;"><i>I began having weekly ultrasounds to check your heart beat, growth and size of the hemorrhage. Also at every ultrasound appointment, I had my blood drawn to check my hormone levels. Each week they were going up exactly as they were supposed to. I was on moderate bed rest, and Dr. Perry told me every week that until I was thirteen weeks along, you were not out of the woods yet... No matter how good everything looked. I laid on the couch everyday overcome with worry that your heart would no longer be beating, a strong 170 beats per minute, at my next appointment. I was so afraid I was becoming too attatched to you and you were going to leave us before you ever really "were."</i></div><div style="color: red;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red;"><i>The doctor made plans for us to see the perinatologist from UC Davis Medical Center. She laid out our prenatal plans for everyone else to follow. Due to the blood clot I endured with Michael's pregnancy, she ordered a blood thinner injection. </i></div><div style="color: red;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEaqjBBzjLI256JjJfB14g_8-o6lwXVprlHQknXcnHXy-krcD93fQQi9Gwy0JQe_-hsqAr_xUaSyocEBgsEW21SR0zmLrZzeQySJoCUdkEvrIZOO2-XDOhb_Ju5Wmly0GON0TSr7cBxrA/s1600/DSC_0045-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEaqjBBzjLI256JjJfB14g_8-o6lwXVprlHQknXcnHXy-krcD93fQQi9Gwy0JQe_-hsqAr_xUaSyocEBgsEW21SR0zmLrZzeQySJoCUdkEvrIZOO2-XDOhb_Ju5Wmly0GON0TSr7cBxrA/s320/DSC_0045-2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Subcutaneous Lovenox Injections 40mg-1xdaily</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i>At 16weeks pregnant, I was to begin progesterone shots in concern for my history of 36week deliveries, early dilation, and preterm contractions. I began contracting during your pregnancy at 14 weeks. And so as ordered, at 16weeks I began getting weekly injections of progesterone, hoping you would stay put.</i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i>Things continued fairly smoothly after we reached the 13week mark, and the hemorrhage absorbed back into my body. Dr. Boe the perinatologist put in an order for a level II ultrasound to be performed also at UC Davis when I was 18 weeks pregnant. My worry and anxiousness finally lifted from the subchorionic hemorrhage to the thought that you could have some kind of congenital abnormality. </i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><br />
<i>September 6th, 2011 daddy and I drove to Sacramento to see who you were. To see if you were okay. We honestly thought we would driving home, knowing the little girl inside me. Much to our surprise, you were definitely not a little girl. You were a the most perfectly formed little boy, with very healthy organs. A handsome little profile. And ten fingers and ten toes. I longed for a little girl. A little girl to fill the void of the little girl who left so soon. </i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i>Davis you are so much more than a little girl could have ever lived up to. Savannah had your fighting spirit. I see it everyday that I look into your eyes. That same determination for life. Savannah fought for her life on the outside. You fought for yours on the inside. A strength obviously only a boy could obtain.</i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i>November 8th, 2011, 27weeks 2days pregnant, after our weekly routine doctors appointment, we were admitted to Mercy Medical Center. Premature rupture of membranes. A nitrazine strip had tested positive, as well as a microscope slide showing ferning for amniotic fluid. I was put on permanent hospital bed rest, meaning no privledges in getting out of bed what so ever. We were given two stereiod shots each given 24hours apart to speed up lung development. We met with one of the NICU nurses in preparation for life with a 27week preemie. But they were taking every measure into their hands to make sure that did not happen. For the next 72hours I was given intravenous fluids and magnesium sulfate. </i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2CPMl38L-nCLzrmDtulf0FLMtGW_uNOC-aE-XIJZAIDf-3hnO5MSKNAWJZJbaygu0WOYLAcUa0dAIl8VTtiNLPb1JutSCf9RW33iwTJvphRMcDPHg-Om73KH2yWomVCM86BBvm8eTdM/s1600/IV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2CPMl38L-nCLzrmDtulf0FLMtGW_uNOC-aE-XIJZAIDf-3hnO5MSKNAWJZJbaygu0WOYLAcUa0dAIl8VTtiNLPb1JutSCf9RW33iwTJvphRMcDPHg-Om73KH2yWomVCM86BBvm8eTdM/s320/IV.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fluids and Magnesium Sulfate</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="color: red; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i>It was and is not any ones idea of a fun medicine to be put on. I slurred when I talked, had lack of control of my eye muscles, felt like my body was burning, and found myself quite flushed and sweaty.</i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZtOJ_Ujk63aZ2R3oPQb0BVj-Oe6hgcmjbYoP5PnCquvKf3oUCIzeQC18DxvVNdu8iYCm6gftXWIAraHbBYUQDD5-d3v-Ua7htD6Bb_Sr2lYbWyy28VERkXpCHDuWfr29ymOgmvlo7O8/s1600/Mag+sulfate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZtOJ_Ujk63aZ2R3oPQb0BVj-Oe6hgcmjbYoP5PnCquvKf3oUCIzeQC18DxvVNdu8iYCm6gftXWIAraHbBYUQDD5-d3v-Ua7htD6Bb_Sr2lYbWyy28VERkXpCHDuWfr29ymOgmvlo7O8/s320/Mag+sulfate.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">72hours of Magnesium Sulfate.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="color: red; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i>Grandma took care of your big brothers and sister while we stayed in the hospital. Daddy had to go back to work, since they were doing everything they could to make sure you were not coming. I no longer experienced any leaking, and they could not prove again that my water had broken. It was you and I alone in our little hospital room. In the silence of being alone after everyone would leave, and everything I knew was at stake I'd find myself desperate to be home. To walk away from the medically sustained infant idea, that was all to real and raw. I remembered vividly, the feeling of wanting to open my eyes to only what you hope for as a bad dream. </i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: red; text-align: left;"><i>After the first 72hours, and for the next week, the nurses brought me 20mg of Nifedipine. (Also commonly referred to as Procardia.) It is more used for cardiac patients as it works to relax all blood vessels so the heart does not have to pump as hard. People with high blood pressure, or chest pains for example. It was not ideal considering mommy struggled more during the pregnancy with low blood pressure. So I was given many side effects to watch for, and during our hospital stayed they monitored my blood pressure regularly. </i><br />
<br />
<i>We were also given three ultrasounds to check the amount of fluids surrounding you. The first time, the doctors were concerned that the amount of amniotic fluid surrounding you was too high. They began running more tests. They told me that high amounts of fluids can sometimes signify congenital defects. In a instant every fear I had during the pregnancy was a possible reality. I didn't understand how a congenital defect was even remotely possible since we had a level II ultrasound. They also began blood work testing for the human Parvo virus. The test came back negative, and the following two ultrasounds showed normal fluid results. As did all possible congenital abnormalities that they double checked. You were still perfect in every possible aspect.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>We finally were sent home, and the premature rupture of membranes were diagnosed as sealed over. Light activity and pelvic rest were ordered until "full term" was reached. Mommy was so happy to walk away from the hospital with her tiny 27week baby still growing and thriving inside. I was happy at the thought of getting to hold you in your first few moments of birth. Getting to take you home, all together. To not see you hooked up to monitors and wires. To not be a "visitor" of the neonatal intensive care unit. To spend Thanksgiving, and Christmas at home with all four of my babies. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0U6In_N7BlpGjS163FUEJjABHf455HfXaChyphenhyphenbMRfx6Rqy4iwYCw7K7jTGLYBedxirayifgAQh5i0oXft9_QeyGiC-rmZIFURsBfA4yoeReSEGJLoWQWkro4PA28OZCi9_2CJSuWmG2dM/s320/DSC_0048-1.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">250mg Hydroxyprogesterone Injection 1weekly<br />
10mg Nifedipine, every 4hours</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I was discharged with a prescription of the Nifedipine, and was instructed I could take them as needed for any contractions every four hours. One pill consisted of 10mg. If the contractions weren't to be stopped with one pill, I could take up to two. And in the beginning I only occasionally needed the pills. I carried them with me at all times. It was almost like a drug addiction. They stayed in my purse if I left the house. They came to Christmas parties, and always sat perched next to the bed while I slept. I knew that if I needed them, they needed to be right there. Right then. I was determined to keep you inside as long as you needed to be there. And they worked. Every single time. Calming my stomach muscles. Washing away all trace of contractions.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Being released from the hospital also meant I was required biweekly Non Stress Tests. Where I had to go into the hospital and we monitored your heart rate, movement, and contractions. Since we lived an hour away from my doctor, I was able to transfer doctors and go into the local hospital for the monitoring. Each test you passed with flying colors. The nurses became accustomed to the mild regular contractions as a "normal" aspect of our weekly visits. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Things continued smoothly until 34weeks. The contractions were much stronger and a very regular. The nifedipine was not working this time. They gave me a shot of terbutaline to stop the contractions. And they did, for about 45 minutes before they were back the same as when they left. They gave me another shot. Same thing, only this time it lasted 30minutes. Though the doctor really didn't want to, a magnesium sulfate drip was ordered. This time, they brought in a fan and pointed it directly on me taking away the burning feeling, and keeping me quite comfortable. But the magnesium sulfate was working in the opposite as it was supposed to. The contractions were worsening and beginning to feel like true labor. They stopped the IV drip, and gave me another shot of terbutaline. I had dilated 2cm since I was first admitted that morning. And because the hospital I was in did not have a NICU, I was required to have an ambulance transport back to Redding. Every 30 minutes from then, until the ambulance arrived, and we made the hour trip south, the nurse gave me another injection of terbutaline. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Once we had arrived the staff informed us that their NICU was closed, so they really didn't want to deliver because then you would have to be transferred elsewhere. I was angry, and couldn't believe they hadn't told us before we had be transported and admitted. They gave me more Nifedipine, which still wasn't stopping the contractions, just slowing them slightly. The pain was overwhelming, and it was becoming overwhelming being I had contracted all day long, and I knew it was to have no prevail. They gave me Nubain, and I warned them of my high intolerance to IV pain medications. As she began administering the drug the room instantly began spinning. She assured me "I was supposed to feel like that." And I spent the rest of the evening throwing up. But the pain medication did manage to stop contractions at a dead halt. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>New years eve, we were discharged only with instructions to take two Nifedipine every four hours. No longer "as needed." I was told that at 36 weeks I could finally stop taking them all together. And so I did. And so you became. 36weeks and 3days. And it was over. The twice a week non stress tests. The every four hour pill taking. The many many injection sites. We had made it through all odds against us...</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I tell you this Davis, more for my sake. So I will remember every detail of how far my love for you began. So I will never forget that before I ever saw you, I would have sacrificed everything for you. One day you will probably drive me crazy. One day you will probably color on my walls, stomp on my flowers, come home late, or selectivly listen to my motherly advice. But I write this so you know, that even when you make mistakes, even when you really don't "like me," I would do it all over again. I would endure the heartache, the emotional stress, and the physical pains just to have you in my life. Through the good times and the bad, I love you. It's a love that you will never fully understand. I would give you my life. And I promise to give you all of my heart. Thank you for showing me strength. A strength I lacked during your pregnancy at times. You will always be my fighter, and I know because of that you are going to do very big things. I will support you, encourage you, and guide you. You have already made me so proud. Your pregnancy was only the beginning. The beginning of what I would give for you. I love you little one... With every beat of my broken heart.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwDHfC6G9ZYB0gimEtxiKCSqXChYQ_BX3tO9o3_aySMljlxlRmUqAdXuZm3rhicn8m8Qiwk9y9U1JWqKPDfOS1aCQdPr2dQ36bPiSHfClUdrolVS7_KRhlC_1KdlF3gpQAEonNsb9eQM/s1600/DSC_0014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwDHfC6G9ZYB0gimEtxiKCSqXChYQ_BX3tO9o3_aySMljlxlRmUqAdXuZm3rhicn8m8Qiwk9y9U1JWqKPDfOS1aCQdPr2dQ36bPiSHfClUdrolVS7_KRhlC_1KdlF3gpQAEonNsb9eQM/s320/DSC_0014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i></i><i>-Mommy</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div></div><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-25859077110164787912012-01-20T22:03:00.000-08:002012-01-20T22:29:48.200-08:00We've waited so long. {Written January 19th,2012}<div style="text-align: center;">He is officially here. </div><br />
Safe, healthy, and more handsome than my mind ever could have imagined. Today he is eight days old. And tonight, I am having a hard time with that. <i>Eight days old</i>. I look at him, this tiny helpless little person and remember what it was like to have to say goodbye after only eight short days. I cannot imagine telling him, how much I love him, and that I promise I will see him again. How did I do that once before? How was I ever able to let go of a little person I loved and still love so very much?<br />
<br />
I want a pause button. These past eight days have gone more quickly than I remember Savannah's time with us going. Maybe that was a gift to us? Feeling like time was suspended during those eight days so we felt like we were given a lot longer. I don't want my time to go so quickly. I already know I am not ready. I was not ready for him to be a week old. I am not ready for him to be one month old. I want nothing more than an opportunity just to push <i>pause.</i> I want to cherish this moment of him being so tiny and fresh to my world as I process everything he is and everything he means to me.<br />
<br />
He does not look much like Savannah. And I am perfectly fine with that. He does though, look like his older brother Brody. The night he was born and filled his perfectly formed lungs with beautiful scream worthy air, I knew that it wasn't just Davis. A piece of Savannah came back with him. Now I don't ever want to sound like Davis will always live in the shadows of his big sister. Because he won't. And he isn't. He is loved for just who he is. But he is much more than that. He was the first, and only person who fit right in the empty wounded spots of my arms.<br />
<br />
I anticipated January 9th, for my little one's birthday. My body naturally desires to give birth at 36weeks, and I didn't expect any different from the way this pregnancy seemed to go. January 9th, not only marked 36weeks, it was also the full moon (say what you want) and it was my birthday! I fully expected to have the best gift for my birthday! That morning I had my weekly non stress test at the hospital. The night before the contractions were fairly regular but not painful enough to where I felt the needed to go in. Now if you know me, regular contractions are not cause for alarm in my case, and even the ob nurses knew that was the case. I went to bed that night, knowing I had an appointment first thing in the morning and I would wait it out until then.<br />
<br />
Once I got to the hospital the following morning, and was hooked up to the monitors, sure enough the contractions were regular, every four minutes. The nurses all laughed being I had bonded with many of them, and knowing that I had predicted a birthday baby. After the 20minutes of monitoring, and making me drink a sugary drink to get Davis to move and groove like he usually did, the nurse called the on call doctor. My doctor was out of town for the holidays all the way in Europe. The on call doctor, also the doctor who delivered my Michael, said that being I was 36weeks, he would not give me anything to speed labor along, but suggested I walk. The nurse assumed it was getting close since Davis, our usual A+ non stress test achiever, had slowed down a lot.<br />
<br />
By the time I made it home, the contractions were stronger and getting closer together. My mom brought over my birthday gifts, and took me to the park for a walk. Considering we took her one year old terrier, it was more like a slow jog. And by the time we made it back to the car, I could hardly sit down.My husband had dinner and a movie plans for my birthday, and in not wanting to ruin the few and far between chances to be alone with all of his attention, we proceeded with the plans. I indulged with a vanilla Italian soda, at a quaint Italian restaurant, where the contractions stayed close by. Afterwards we went back to the park in hopes that another walk would be just what was needed, but the contractions remained the same so we drove over to the movie theater. With not much of a selection, and knowing my husband was interested, we sat down to see "War Horse." Before the previews even had a chance to begin, I said, <i>"maybe we should go."</i> Because just in sitting down to watch a movie the contractions got much more intense. My husband, said <i>"lets just wait and if you need to go we will."</i> Me being <strike>cheap</strike> "frugal," I hated the thought of watching 15minutes of a movie only to have to leave and <b>not</b> be refunded our money. Haha! So knowing my husband really didn't <i>want</i> to leave, I endured all 146minutes in pain.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">YES, </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I AM THAT LABORING PREGNANT PERSON IN THE MOVIES.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">As we walked out the doors I said, <i>"okay time to call the hospital."</i> And we went straight there. I was checked only to find that I was dilated to two centimeters. Exactly what I had been dilated to, two weeks prior. The contractions were two to four minutes apart, so they planned on monitoring me for an hour, and check me again... </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">One hour later: 2cm. No change.<br />
I was being sent home... In pain.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
On the way home, I cried. So much had taken place during this pregnancy, and it seemed like hospital stays and hospital visits were a permanent part of my future. (Pregnancy has a tendency to be a little irrational.) I tried my best to sleep through the contractions, but by six in the morning, I sat up mulling over the fact that I could very possibly continue contracting for another<b> four </b>weeks. At eight, when I heard my husbands alarm go off, I was discouraged to find out he had every intention on still going to work. After he left, I continued to clean up the house before I headed to my mom's to pick up the kids. (They had stayed there the night before.) My mom suggested we go on another walk, and I was all for it if there was even the slightest possibility real labor would be imminent. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We walked around her subdivision, which was what felt like a ten mile hike, since it consisted of a pregnant waddling whale, a hyper puppy, and three kids on bicycles. By the time we made it home, Koady was back from work already, and the kids went to Zumba on the WII. I figured I'd go home and talk to Koady and probably call the hospital back. It just didn't seem normal for someone to be in that much pain, and not be "in labor." I walked through the door and told him he should probably submit his paperwork for the day, just in case they told us to come back in to labor and delivery. Not too long afterwards, there was a tell tale sign that we needed to get to the hospital to be checked out. (I'll spare the gory details.) On the drive there, I knew I had to be in labor. Heck, if you saw how I ever so slowly waddled my way into the hospital, you would have known I was in labor too.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">4-5cm. I was admitted. </div><div style="text-align: center;">We we're finally going to meet our little boy.</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
The night nurse came on, and was so supportive to my desire to have a natural birth. It was 4:45pm January 10th, and I guessed I would have him before 10:00pm. Koady guessed 2:17am. The nurse brought in a birthing ball, which is more commonly known as an exercise ball. I walked, bounced, rocked, stood, and laughed. Yes, you can ask the doctor who sat on the edge of my bed, I was still smiling up until I pushed him out! (With no pain meds what so ever! Yay me!) We laughed hysterically after I referred to "pushing" as "the burning ring of fire." And as I bounced on the ball, my husband put on Johnny Cash's "burning ring of fire." We were creating enough of a commotion to bring the nurse in to see what was so funny. (For anyone who has experienced natural childbirth, the song is quite ironic, and dedicated to you.) </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Not too long after being dilated to 4-5, I was dilated to 6cm. And I was six.... And six.... And six again.... No matter what I tried I was stuck at six. And since the doctor still wouldn't help anything along, it was up to me. In the beginning he said that if my labor did for some reason just stop (because I guess that can happen) he would probably send me home. As the night continued and we passed by my 10:00 prediction, by 1:30am, I was beginning to become discouraged. The birthing ball seemed to be calming my contractions. Still 6cm dilated, my contractions were beginning to span to 6-7minutes apart, and everyone was tired and falling asleep on me. I began to cry. <i>"They just need to discharge me. They need to send me home. I'm stuck at 6cm, and my contractions are going away. All of this pain is for nothing. I just want to go home!" </i>(Didn't you know that pitty parties are all the rage during labor? Especially pitty parties wanting to be sent home?)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Almost as soon as my sobbing stopped, wham! Three contractions in a row, that we're <i>unbearable</i>. Thinking I was going to be laboring for the next 24weeks, I said, <i>"go get the nurse I think I need an epidural!" </i>My mom went out into the hall, and said she knew something was happening because she could hear me breathing outside of my room. I don't even know how you can hear someone breathing, and I honestly don't have any idea what I sounded like, just as long as I didn't sound like the dying moose in the room next to us. The nurse came in and asked, <i>"you want an epidural?... I think I need to check you."</i> I was 7-8cm, and she went to call the doctor. As she came back she informed me that I needed to go through an entire bag of saline drip before they could give me an epidural. (I hadn't been on an IV at all.) My exact words were, <i>"I guess its worth a shot."</i> Not too long after they started the IV, the doctor came in. He was half asleep and literally must have rolled out of bed and come to the hospital because he had the ever glamorous bed hair! :)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The nurse asked him, <i>"does she have time for an epidural?"</i> He looked at me like I had lost my marbles and said, <i>"AT EIGHT CENTIMETERS? NO! You still have thirty minutes for your IV, 15minutes for him to get here, and 15minutes for him to give it to you. Your looking at 3am!" </i>I sadly acknowledged my fate, and the doctor got his scrubs on while the nurses set up the room. In between contractions I muttered,<i> "oh I'm so scared of crowning!"</i> But the nurse was still so encouraging.<i> "You're almost done, your baby will be here so soon."</i> The contractions at this point were about five minutes apart, which they said was very good for relaxation of me and the baby. I said, <i>"everyone take note, my pain is at a ten and I am still smiling."</i> During some of the last few contractions I remember grabbing the handrails and yelling,<i> "stupid epidural guy!"</i> His ears probably burned that night; wherever he was...<br />
<br />
The doctor sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the fully dilated mark, nodding off during contractions. He checked me once more and I told him, <i>"I don't know what hurts worse the contractions or your fingers!!" </i>I was 9cm, and the doctor told me I could probably push through the last centimeter. He told me, "with the next contraction, go ahead and push." I replied, <i>"WITH YOUR FINGERS IN THERE!?"</i> Still dozing, he gave a slight nod, with a easy going,<i> "yes." </i>I gave a good push, and we decided to wait until I was fully dilated. So as we sat anxiously waiting, the doctor held his gooey gloved fingers over his pants with his eyes closed. Koady and my mom watched as his fingers dripped onto his pants, yet no one wanted to disturb his slumbers to point out the mess that was dribbling onto his scrubs. He cracked his eyes open enough finally to very casually flick the next glop back around his fingers.My mom, casually laughed and said, <i>"looks like brass knuckles!"</i> And finally it was time to push. One. Baby moved down, head right there. Two. Head out, sharp scream. Three, shoulders and baby came out, and I lunged back on the bed, smacking my head into the head board that I was COMPLETELY unaware hospital beds had until that very moment. The nurse said, <i>"op, we've got a jumper!"</i> And in three pushes he was out.<br />
<br />
They had asked me if I wanted him laid on my chest. I said yes, only if it was okay to do so. In his first moments he squeaked. That same tiny squeak Savannah made. The only sound she made. And though it was only a moment, it felt like minutes went by before he cried. The most beautiful cry I ever remember hearing after giving birth. A cry I've waited a very long time to hear. And they laid him into the crook of my arm, and I stared at him. Speechless. Everyone began talking about him. But it was literally as though someone took away my ability to talk. I couldn't process "what he looked like," or "how long his fingers and toes were." All I could process was my overwhelming love for him in just those first few minutes. All I could think about was my little girl who I missed out on all of those glorious traditional milestones with. And then, they whisked him away to the warmer to be checked. I could not see him, but I studied the looks on the respiratory therapist, and the nurses face, for any signs that "he was not okay." I watched for any look of concern. Stress. Uncertainty. I held my breath every time they held the tiny stethoscope up to his chest.<br />
<br />
And then something amazing happened. They gave him back to me. There was no reason they couldn't. His temperature was a little low, and for that they laid him on my chest, where I was told he needed to stay all night. There wasn't any place in the world I would rather him stay. <br />
<br />
We didn't wait nine months for Davis to become a part of our lives. We waited nine months for Savannah. We waited another eight months to conceive. Finally a very tragic and long 26months became a reality, as he stared back into my eyes. And now, I want nothing more than to savor every blessed moment I have with him. This little boy has been healing. Yet he has pulled greatly at my heartstrings over and over again. I cannot begin to explain the love you feel for children once you have lost one. But it is one of the most overwhelming, and breath taking emotions a mother could ever experience. I cannot imagine my life without this baby boy in only eight short days, just as I can't imagine life without Savannah in only her eight short days...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Davis Emmett</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>January 11th, 2012</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZb5AznIrDfWjl00djRRIaR7LZw7v7uOZgKw8xan7S2x5hmRPY5gLX8KwKWw1RH5VH-1irwgSNCDX_zoB497Qq8D6jtGMSKioVzphA69Gc1mNLHHQIzKhXJiychb1D2vbsdpTVNVU2LtM/s1600/DSC_0047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZb5AznIrDfWjl00djRRIaR7LZw7v7uOZgKw8xan7S2x5hmRPY5gLX8KwKWw1RH5VH-1irwgSNCDX_zoB497Qq8D6jtGMSKioVzphA69Gc1mNLHHQIzKhXJiychb1D2vbsdpTVNVU2LtM/s320/DSC_0047.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>2:33am</b></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>6lbs 2oz.</b></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>19.7inches</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwFO2jdB1-M8ZR5t8ZPvAv-XEeWbM5N9zd1ptxwTrTIKaMvDMAHBzH89NIb6S-RjWvDHYAug1LndHsAKGboB9VMtI6nWc41-dEy3fvg-LoqEWDe-oIMuHxTrwwrLPSJOU5wdxrtGsq8I/s1600/DSC_0051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwFO2jdB1-M8ZR5t8ZPvAv-XEeWbM5N9zd1ptxwTrTIKaMvDMAHBzH89NIb6S-RjWvDHYAug1LndHsAKGboB9VMtI6nWc41-dEy3fvg-LoqEWDe-oIMuHxTrwwrLPSJOU5wdxrtGsq8I/s320/DSC_0051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-5833340653422985202011-12-19T21:54:00.000-08:002011-12-19T21:54:47.252-08:00To love and be loved in return.The other day, as my husband and I braved the crowds Christmas shopping, a woman with the "December frantic" look on her face, slammed her cart into mine as she rounded the corner. She was moving so rapidly, there was enough force to bump my shopping cart into my pregnant stomach. In my "accidents happen" reaction, I started to move the cart closer to the shelves trying to give the shopper more space to glide freely down the isle. Before I could courtiously do so, ignorantly expecting your typical polite reaction exchanged between two strangers, the woman scraped her cart down the side of mine too impatient and caught up in her own life to show decency to another human being. And when the pure shock lifted from me, my heart hurt.<br />
<br />
As a Christian, I celebrate <i>Christmas</i>. I choose to believe that<i> "for God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."</i> (-John 3:16) I <b><i>openly</i></b> chose to, as some would say, put all my faith in something that cannot be seen. And however you feel about me based on my decisions I can live with that. If you would rather hear "Happy Holidays" over "Merry Christmas," that is just as much your prerogative as it is mine to choose Jesus Christ as my Lord and savior. But this blog post is not me defending my faith or religion. This post is not about my <i>Christmas</i> and your <i>Holiday.</i><br />
<br />
I don't know all there is to know about other religions. I don't know details about atheism, buddhism, muslim, or being jewish and celebrating hanukkah. Aside from the separations between my Christianity and any of the above preferences, I do not see why mankind is so incapable of love. Regardless of differences. Regardless of religion. Especially this time of year. No matter what we are choosing to celebrate.<br />
<br />
I sat wrapping presents yesterday as my little ones sat watching <b><i>"Mickey's Once Upon a Christmas." </i></b>A child's cartoon teaches something so simple that most humans have lost sight of. Donald Duck gave his nephews a Christmas card that read,<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"Christmas isn't about candy canes, holly, or lights all aglow,</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b> its about the lives that we touch and the care that we show." </b></i></div><br />
I have experienced it now. The unknown first year. We endured all of the traditional holidays. The first year through grief, for me, was not only about healing and growing, it was also about learning. As a mother burying her child, you have to learn to walk all over again. One baby step at a time. You have to learn how to go about your daily life with a permanent absence. You have to learn how to celebrate these holidays <i>minus one</i>. And you have to learn to accept the crulety in the world when they acknowledge the sweet life you cherish, in a dark and cynical manner.<br />
<br />
A very strong and beautiful friend of mine today, once again, held her head high today as she defended her two sons. She proudly display's pictures of them on her desk at work. Both born premature, one little man in heaven, one special needs sweetheart here with her. A co-worker, also a new employee walked by her desk and one of the pictures caught the woman's eye. As if these pictures were the most offensive thing she would see all day, she asked in disgust, <b><i>"Is THAT your baby? Oh my gosh, WHAT is wrong with him!"</i></b> <br />
<br />
I now know mothers of loss. But I know mothers of special needs as well. They face the same disturbed reaction, that we who carry death around with us do. If not more. We can disclose the information. Our babies are always there, but not viewable to all.<br />
<br />
And just in the same way people can bump into you and neglect to offer a simple apology, people can be judgmental, rude, and harsh. Mothers proudly take their special needs children with them everywhere. And I would do the exact same. Whether the world has lost sight of love and compassion or not.<br />
<br />
A family member of mine, will not come around me. Not only are they angry of the death of Savannah, the life of Davis has only succeeded in making the bitterness worse. Since I lost one, this precious boy, is only viewed through death's eyes for this family member. I see women choose to have babies after the heartache of tragedy everyday. I know I will have to experience the first year all over again, yet in a different way. I <b>will </b>see the milestones. I <b>will</b> have the little one at the holidays. And all over again, I will have to experience this change, <i>minus one. </i>But that IS what Christmas, or <i>"this holiday"</i> means.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">A love<b> SO</b> strong,</div><div style="text-align: center;">a parent would sacrifice everything. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">In the end, </div><div style="text-align: center;">loving someone,</div><div style="text-align: center;">is the greatest gift of all. </div><br />
<br />
<br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-11548764327940047732011-12-12T05:51:00.000-08:002011-12-12T06:08:29.254-08:00To whom it may concern,To whom it may concern,<br />
<br />
Let me just get it out in the open. You did notice correctly as I walked passed with my three children in tow. I do have another on the way, my belly sure doesn't lie to you these days. Ultimately, if I did the math correctly that does in deed make<b><i> four</i></b> children. Socially speaking that is. What my belly and my row of ducklings do not announce to the naked eye, is actually, counting the child I carry in my heart, I do in fact have<i> five</i> children.<br />
<br />
So, though I will always be polite, smile and respond to your questions or comments, I will never fully understand why society, <i>strangers, friends and family</i>, really care to know, if this <i>is our last</i>. Or to remind me, in case I was just a mental case for, heaven forbid <i><b>wanting</b></i> all of my children, that I must be <i>"pretty busy."</i> (Insert wide eyes here.)<br />
<br />
So let me explain a little about my family. Since you, dear stranger in the grocery store, care so much to know if we are going to have any more...<br />
<br />
My husband is not a doctor. He is not a lawyer, dentist, surgeon, or business executive. He is though, what a vast majority of American's are not these days. He is a full time, hard working, <b>employee</b>. He has gotten up five days a week, and promoted through chains of command, for years, and through each of the five children we have. One income mind you. Yes, that is correct. I am also a <i>stay at home </i>mother. I provide all of the daily care. All of the nurturing, discipline, compassion, and self-sacrificing love that I could pay obscene amounts of money to receive from a complete stranger.<br />
<br />
I spend twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, with my<i> four</i>, (to <i>your</i> naked eye) children. So thank you for reminding me how busy I am. If you don't mind, I would like to remind<b> you</b> of something,<br />
<br />
Children are a choice. They are a gift. They do not come with a paycheck, nor should you receive a paycheck for <i>having </i>them. They are joyful and delightful. They are not an obligation. They are not a reason to cringe if you see more than two in the grocery store. They can be stripped from us at any given moment. They are fragile lives, and fragile spirits. They require one hundred percent of our love and devotion or they will always feel like society sees them as <i>"one more."</i> But they are not <b>one more</b>. They are human beings. They are a decision and a desire from one mothers womb to the world. They hold the future in the palm of their tiny hands. They are miracles. They transform from literally nothing into living, breathing, souls. Noisey, messy, chaotic, and as you wont let me forget,<b> busy</b> souls.<br />
<br />
So even though my barefoot and pregnant lifestyle may not appeal to you, <strike>I like it.</strike> No, I<b> love</b> it. And since the question will probably never evade me... no right now we do not plan on having anymore. And I apologize if we should have stopped after we buried our last. If years down the road we do happen to discuss that option, please let me take down your number so I can get your consult on the matter.<br />
<br />
If you don't mind me asking, since we are being so open, you <i>didn't</i> have children did you? Because I can tell how much you <i>cherish</i> each and every one...<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<b>Mother of Five.</b><br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-32961321030722397992011-12-10T14:21:00.000-08:002011-12-10T14:21:42.491-08:00This pregnancy was literally flying by. Seems like one second we were jumping for joy with tears in our eyes over a test that costs way too much for what you do to it, and in the blink of an eye we were over half way to meeting our little man. I kept thinking to myself, if the third trimester goes as smoothly and quickly as the first and second, I wont have to go through the agonizing torture of the <i>anxious waiting game</i> most all expectant mother experience.<br />
<br />
And then at twenty-seven weeks I found myself a one way ticket into the hospital. Now hopefully you are lucky enough to never have experienced hospital bed rest, but if you have, you know first hand that every day feels like an eternity. I literally found myself so bored I would stare out the window in event something in my view changed or became exciting.<br />
<br />
Ever since I was released I feel as though the hospital time warp followed me home. It is surreal that five weeks have passed already, but the thought of another eight weeks has become the daily torture routine. Not so much physically. But emotionally the third trimester is draining. For thirty-two weeks now, I have daydreamed about the baby I have waited two long years for. I have fantasized about the moment he is born and he cries those sweet cries. The moment the nurses say "congratulations" and leave us alone in the room with our newborn. No oxygen masks. No NICU team. No neonatologists. Just a healthy baby boy, tuckered out from a journey into our lives and even further into our hearts.<br />
<br />
I realized today, that over a year ago we fully expected our lives to change. Our family life would be different, and everything we did would have to be changed or altered in one way or another. And it did. Just not in the way we expected it to. We do have children prior to the life and death of Savannah. I acknowledge and would never pretend that I know what it is like to loose my first born. I do know what it is like to hold a newborn, and bring that healthy baby home. But I cannot wait to experience it all over, having had those sweet memories erased by the tragedy of infant death.<br />
<br />
A baby band-aid is what our Davis will be. You cover the open wounds and it heals. But your skin will never be the same. Most likely there will be a scar. Sometimes not noticeable to the naked eye, but it's there. In anticipating my band-aid being laid on my heart, the days seems longer, and the seconds pass slower.<br />
<br />
But as I look at my three living breathing children, I cannot help but only want this moment. Because here soon, for the second time, our lives will change forever.<br />
<br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-47834504309312900332011-12-05T19:15:00.000-08:002011-12-05T19:15:13.282-08:00What's in a name.Lately I feel as though I am on a merry-go-round. Round and round I continue to go. I think I have rambled about baby names more than anyone would like to hear, but I can't help but feel agony with settling. <br />
<br />
What's in a name anyways? A believe a name can become a personality... it molds and grows with a person... What you do in life, you take your name with you. It's your mark on the world. <br />
<br />
I remember being told Savannah didn't <em>need</em> a social security number since she had passed away. I remember what it was like having a <strong>birth<em> </em></strong>certificate that boldly stated <em>deceased </em>horizontally across the page. These things, these standard procedures, make a mother feel as though their child, a human being with a name, are insignificant. Just paperwork. A Jane Doe.<br />
<br />
There have been times, that when sorting through files, I have run across Savannah's insurance card. And to see her name, that I know we were so meticulous in picking out, brings my heart such warmth. Since she left, I don't have reason to say her name everyday. I don't have reason to talk about her and say her name to people I talk to. I miss her name, for I loved her name so very much.<br />
<br />
I want to love Davis' name as much as I loved and long for Savannah's. In something I have learned just in my own experience. I wanted this little boy's name (or girl had he been) to be something that would remind me of Savannah everytime I hear it spoken from someone's lips.<br />
<br />
Family and friends weren't too sold on "Savannah" when we finally reached our decision. And this time around they aren't too keen to warm up to the name "Davis." It's so much more than the little one growing and thriving inside me for a mere eight more weeks. To me it is also about the little one that brought "Davis" into existance. <br />
<br />
We picked Emmett for the middle name. Had Savannah been a boy, her name would have been <em>Liam Emmett</em>. Another piece of our girl. To hear and remember her by. To know that when the social security administration and county records department see her name as only a deceased person, no longer needed in the system, <em>Savannah Victoria</em> gets to live on in her baby brother...<br />
<br />
But I keep second guessing. Is it good enough? Will people ever love his name as much as I do? In the way that I loved Savannah's? <br />
<br />
Recently my husband and I came across the name Jax. We loved the spelling, and liked the name. In a casual google name search, I discovered in English it means "God is gracious." To me, yes, Davis is a very gracious gift. But we can hardly get people to want to call our son Davis as a first name, how would we ever get acceptance over Jax?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Come on readers... Davis Emmett or Davis Jax?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Enter the Poll! </div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-80777395464686230052011-12-05T10:26:00.000-08:002011-12-05T10:26:43.186-08:00The Heart of ChristmasSometimes you just can't help it. There are those movies that just draw you in, without needing to be big blockbuster hits. Without needing to pay an obscene amount of money to watch it in the movie theater. <br />
<br />
Let's go back a little bit. Last holiday season, a song entered my life, but being we were still so numb from the loss we had literally just faced, it didn't hit me as hardly as it has this year. Literally one week ago, driving to my weekly doctors appointment the song jumped back into my memory. No reminder. No reason. I just began telling my husband about the song. He reminded me that I shared the song with him last Christmas. I honestly couldn't remember sharing it. I hardly remembered it myself. In that moment, whether he already had heard it or not, I needed to hear it again. Myself. <br />
<br />
And for the first time I watched the official music video. The music video that shares glimpses into the journey a family faced as their son thirteen month old son battled Leukemia. As my husband drove down the freeway I tried my very hardest to hold back the tears I knew were unevitable.<br />
<br />
Saturday evening in watching <em>ABC Family's 25days of Christmas, </em>a commercial came on the tv adverstising a movie premier on a completely different channel. A channel I had never even heard of. (Did you know they officially have a Christmas movie channel?) <em>GMC</em>. I set it up to record Sunday, December 4th, and had forgotten all about it until late last night. <br />
<br />
A touching yet heartbreaking story of a family who fights with all of their might to keep their son alive, yet when they reach the point of "letting go" realize that sweet little boy, Dax, isn't going to live to see <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ye39mgcHC3E" target="_blank">"one last Christmas."</a> A community follows by example when Dax's daddy goes out of his way to make sure Dax got to see, his very last Christmas.<br />
<br />
It was an overwhelming story. But I sobbed uncontrollably through the entire movie. That of which I have <em>never</em>,<em><strong> ever</strong></em>, done before. But it was so real. The Locke family were blessed with more time with Dax, than we were given with Savannah, but the story of their stay at St. Jude's Children's Hospital, was exactly, in almost every detail if you were to replace a toddler with a newborn, what our experience was like at UC Davis. And every moment spent watching this family put their lives on hold to be there fighting for their son, took me back to every moment spent fighting for our daughter. <br />
<br />
When the doctors had tried <em>everything</em> they possibly could to help save Dax, they sent the family home to spend their final weeks with him. And like I already mentioned, October 2009, Dax got to see Christmas with the childhood delight we either remember from our own childhood, or have witnessed in our own children. <br />
<br />
All so badly, with our very Christmas tree illuminated and decorated in the living room, it brought me to a heavy heart. How I wish so badly, Savannah could have witnessed for a second the magic of Christmas. Whether it have been in December or in her eight day visit in August. But before family and friends even had a moment to wrap their minds around what was happening, Savannah was gone. <br />
<br />
There are so many amazing families out there. Who have fought so hard and selflessly for their babies.<br />
<br />
Since Dax passed, his mommy and daddy have welcomed their own rainbow baby into their lives. And continue to raise 1.7million dollars to fund St. Judes Children's Hospital for an entire day. In honor of the baby boy that left their lives too soon. <br />
<br />
This Christmas, if your heart calls you to do so, or you are looking for a way to make a difference, please consider making even the smallest donation to St. Judes. Because I know, as a mother, what it feels like for a hospital to give their everything to someone who means more to you than they will ever possibly know.<br />
<br />
<div align="center"><a href="http://www.stjude.org/stjude/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=0c50b87bd3063310VgnVCM100000290115acRCRD&vgnextchannel=223fb87bd3063310VgnVCM100000290115acRCRD" target="_blank">::Donate for Dax::</a></div><a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-38614634378801242952011-11-30T18:00:00.000-08:002011-11-30T18:08:07.630-08:00Recklessly Loving.<div style="text-align: left;">When I was pregnant with Sarah, I was barely twenty weeks when my mother threw me my very first baby shower. So young, I didn't once stop to think that the daughter I had just found out I was carrying could surprise us all and come out needing <i>blue</i> ensembles rather than all of the <i>pink</i> that was received. I never once thought that the daughter inside me could leave us all before we really had a chance to say hello. All of the baby gifts instantly came out of their perfectly boxed packaging. Furniture was assembled. Tags were removed. No hesitation; no questioning. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I was a bit obsessive with the motherly need to prepare for our sweet Sarah. I washed and folded. If something even got bumped in the slightest I would wash them again. I am probably the only expectant mother in the world that can go through more bottles of <i>Dreft</i> than a new mother uses in six months. Koady claims even that her treasured pink clothes were fading by the time we welcomed her into our lives.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
With Michael and Brody the need to prepare, nest, and wash their clothes was still there, just not as neurotic as the first time around. And as badly as I wanted it to be there, it was non existent for Savannah. I did like a clean house. I did feel that things couldn't be "clean" enough. But her things? I never could bring myself to submerge myself in the heavenly pink outfits I had longed years to see again. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now any honest women would admit that baby boy clothes are just never going to be as cute as the girly outfits available in department stores today. And though I wanted so bad for Davis to be the little girl I hoped he would be, I want to dive into his clothes and just live there for awhile. I want to nuzzle his blankets, and snuggle his stuffed friends. His room has become my absolute favorite place in the world. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But... that fear in the back of my mind haunts me. We have been assured our Davis is healthy as can be, and realistically there is no reason to believe anything could go wrong based on what happened with Savannah. It took me quite awhile to assure my heart that this little boy, is going to be just fine. I was finally feeling ready. Ready to throw boxes and packaging away. Ready to clip tags. Ready to become a <i>Dreft</i> consumer once more.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">After being admitted for the hospital for an entire week from ruptured membranes, being given excessive amounts of magnesium sulfate and antibiotics that I am pretty sure could have cured a small country, I was discharged. Originally they wanted to keep me until I delivered. I couldn't see any point of that, since they could not confirm that my water had broken after I was <strike>sentenced</strike> admitted. They deemed it up to a leak that sealed itself over, and I was sent home on pelvic rest, and with instructions to put my feet up as much as possible. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">As I stood staring at his precious blue outfits awaiting his arrival patiently, the fear creeped up on me once again. A week prior I was being prepped for life with a baby in the NICU. A baby with a head the size of a "tomato." A baby who would be far to neurologically sensitive to rub, but I could gently place my hand on his teeny tiny body. As I assured the nurse I had in fact been in their NICU and was familiar with the "medically sustained infant," her interest was heightened. I then told her about Savannah. She put her hand to her chest, <i>"I was there that night. I was one of the nurses that took care of your baby girl. That was a very rough night." </i>I then proceeded to tell her that she lived for eight days on the ECMO machine, but she had passed away. She nodded. <i>"Yes, we heard." </i>She reached out and grabbed my leg. Tears welled up in her eyes as she said again,<i> "that was such a rough night." </i>An overwhelming wave of emotion came over me as I really remembered what that night was like. I began to cry as well, when that NICU nurse took my in her arms and held me as we cried together. I sobbed, <i>"I am so glad you will be there to take care of this baby."</i> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">No matter who is caring for my unborn son, I don't and didn't want him to face that road. To be so tiny and helpless, fighting a fight they may or may not be ready for. Once again, I was reminded that in a second, Davis could not be safe and sound doing baby aerobics in his mommies tummy. And the packages, the teeny outfits, and the beautiful blue color I have grown to love so so much, would once more <i>sit</i>. But as I have made it from twenty seven weeks, to thirty and a half since then, recently I removed tags. No not all of them. Hardly. But I have a diaper bag packed. I have outfits, socks, mittens, and blankets picked out. Because it's love. Love can be reckless sometimes, but that's what makes it so intense. Not knowing what may or may not happen, my Davis deserves every bit of my love. And until he is here, full term, and I can smother his face in kisses to let him know, right now I show him by washing his bundles of blue. By folding repeatedly. By sniffing the sweet smell of baby detergent. By sitting in his bedroom taking in everything about his presence. Tags are a big step. But an even bigger deal. Because I recklessly love him. For now. For always.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFbSI-v2FWZbDDNEQ_bT37zySBvTnmEfpWQ5HDv3LXxPvcpa5dAwMhxkRkwWwzhsFgoAWF_l5kRZpcOyhCvn9L9lF9hdvxt2C6uLtEFk8HqjT7pl8C8_RtKcEQ1vUXneutWinJ57vvrU/s1600/DSC_0541-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFbSI-v2FWZbDDNEQ_bT37zySBvTnmEfpWQ5HDv3LXxPvcpa5dAwMhxkRkwWwzhsFgoAWF_l5kRZpcOyhCvn9L9lF9hdvxt2C6uLtEFk8HqjT7pl8C8_RtKcEQ1vUXneutWinJ57vvrU/s320/DSC_0541-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent; border: 0pt none ! important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-39891881371979292612011-11-11T09:59:00.000-08:002011-11-11T09:59:46.603-08:00The month of thankfuls.Just a week ago, my husband and I stood in our kitchen. We talked about how perfectly everything in our life was going right in that moment. No not in a conceded, boasting kind of way. Just in a "love this moment," and very grateful kind of way. <br />
I do not believe my life has to be perfect to only find things to be thankful for. As we all know, in the midst of life's hardest tragedies, I've tried to see the beauty through it all. Standing in the kitchen, only a mere week ago, I said, "I am just prepared for things to go<em> not so </em>perfectly."<br />
<br />
It really sounds negative right? Possibly. More than anything I don't feel an entitlement to some kind of happily ever after. God took my baby. There is nothing I can do to change the outcome of his plan. He does not owe me some kind of repayment, perfection, or greatness due to my loss. With beauty always comes pain. In this life, there will always be pain.<br />
<br />
I've been concerned for our little boy since the very beginning and we found out he was being graced into our lives. I worried for congenital defects. I worried for so many anomalies that I learned about through so many beautiful mothers who said goodbye to their own precious beings.<br />
In the beginning we prepared ourselves to say goodbye, once again. From the second our hearts locked with his, this pregnancy has thrown us curve balls so to speak.<em> "Subchorionic Hemorrhage."</em> What did that mean? What risks and hurdles did we face for our little one? With all odds against us, we fought. I subjected myself to tiring, emotional draining, and not even promised to<em> "save him"</em> bed rest. And Davis sailed through. Our fighter. Our champion. As a mother, even when I failed to provide the strength, hope, and courage for our rainbow baby, there he was, willing his heart to keep beating. With such a purpose. Such a small understanding of what he needs to do. A soul so brand new, had more focus and drive than his mother could and tried to provide through the uncertainties of life.<br />
<br />
Tonight, as I still count my handful of thankfuls, I really haven't neglected this month when so many people really pull forward everything they have to be grateful for. <br />
In the middle of the night, November 8th, I woke up in the middle of the night to a cold wet feeling. I knew I had a doctors appointment early the very following morning, and I couldn't bring myself to believe it was anything more than typical lovely pregnancy side effects. As I mentioned and described the events to my doctor the following morning, she as well, wasn't convinced it was anything alarming. She of course ran a strip test just to be certain. To set <strike>my mind</strike> her mind at ease. Instantly the paper turned green. Which is a measurement of pH levels determining whether or not your amniotic fluid was leaking. Green is not the color you want to be seeing at 27weeks, 3days pregnant. They swabbed me to be sure my water had broken by running a slide under the microscope. The slide revealed "ferning." ::""A <span style="background-color: white;">fern like crystal indicating the fluid is in deed ruptured membranes.</span><br />
<br />
More doctors filled the small exam room to break the bad news. Instantly I was sent up to labor and delivery. Where I have been admitted. For how long though, no one seems to know.<br />
And here I am. Uncertain. Feeling a little broken. Surrounded by so many people being thankful out there in the <em>real world. </em>And the brokenness that is inside, makes me feel worse. For three days now, Davis is fighting. He has shown no signs as to being ready or prepared to make this fight for life in this, <em>real world. </em><br />
There has been no more leaking. The contractions, with the help of a magnesium sulfate IV drip, have become next to non existant. But I am still here. For they cannot send me home with such at stake. <br />
<br />
I cannot help but feel awful for the situation. For I have to sacrifice myself completely for Davis to continue growing and thriving. But at the same time, I have to sacrifice my three other children completely for unseen circumstances. How can I work through the guilt of feeling like I am sitting at the hospital while everyone else is stuck having to pick up the pieces. All because I am not there. And no one asked for this.<br />
<br />
I most certainly did not. I read so many stories of friends near and dear to me, continuing with their pregnancies so smoothly. How can I choose between my three living children and my husband, and all of the family members who most definitely didn't want this burden, over an unborn child? That is like living between a rock and a hard spot. <br />
<br />
Today I am thankful for so much. The opportunity to hold Davis, full term. The feeling of hope when I thought for sure, I would be limited to only touch once more. For days, weeks, possibly months. I still have a chance for a healthy baby boy, that leaves with us. Not <em>before</em> us. I'm thankful for the meticulous care the hospital has given me since I first arrived Tuesday afternoon. I am thankful for an awnry baby boy who refuses to stay put so we can closely monitor his rapidly beating heart. I am thankful for medical technology that stopped an arrival no one was prepared for, most of all my precious son, and for the medical technology that could and can save his life had he been set on his own timing schedule. I'm thankful for my mother, who will drive from vacation all night to pick up my children in life's most delicate moments. I am thankful for her complete sacrifice to help care for my family while I am unable to do so myself regardless of her own schedules and to-do's. I am thankful for my husband who still gets up and goes to work, though I am sure this causes great stress to him as well. I am thankful for family and friends who have sent flowers that really do brighten my little hospital room. I am thankful for so much this November, I really am.<br />
<br />
I will be even more thankful if I get a second chance to live out the remainder of this pregnancy at home with my family. And with Davis, safe and sound inside mommies tummy for another good three months...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="border: 0px currentColor !important;" /></a>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-61694570153768173352011-11-03T11:49:00.000-07:002011-11-03T12:00:46.828-07:0030 days of Thankful {Day Three}Today I am so thankful for Mercy Maternity Center. When I found out that my obstetrician who delivered Savannah was leaving her practice after thirty years of delivering babies, I'll have to admit, I found myself crying hysterically in the parking lot of the Mercy Maternity Center after being told <i>"they would take good care of me."</i><br />
<br />
Any mother-to-be is usually nervous at the idea of deciding on the doctor they entrust not only their well being in, but that of their unborn child's. Savannah's condition, no secret here, was completely undiscovered even through prenatal care, and numerous ultrasounds. I did not hold that against my doctor. I do not believe that eight years of medical universities can make a human being, capable of performing miracles. Healing all. I just don't. Because they are, and always will be, <i>only human</i>. Do I think people are capable of careless mistakes? Of course. But I will not hold Savannah's diaphragmatic hernia against anyone. Had it been discovered, all I manage to see is months of agony and heartache spent, wondering, worrying, living day to day life broken hearted. There was nothing that could have been done to that little body inside my womb to help her. And through God's grace,<i> "Savannah's frame was not hidden from Him. When she was made in secret." </i>{Psalm 139:15} This scripture, used on behalf of so many babies growing and thriving in their mother's tummy. It spoke to me much deeper. Koady and I used it at her funeral. As much as this world offered us during my pregnancy, countless times, Savannah's body, her frame, was hidden. But not from God. Only from us. The Lord, most definitely kept her makes a secret. And His secret, became our blessing. We got to live with Savannah for nine months, just as she was. <i>"Fearfully and wonderfully made."</i> {Psalm 139:14} That was all we knew. We were not scared for the future. We got to live in the moment.<br />
<br />
And lastly, the piece of the scripture that fit our little girl so perfectly. <i>"Your eyes saw my substance, being yet <b>unformed.</b>" </i>{Psalm 139:16}<i> </i>People argued with me as I spoke of this scripture; I was told I was reading into those simple words way too much. But it says <b><i>UNformed. </i></b>So easily, could it make more sense to say, formed; Created; Established. After all, this is God. He isn't making all babies unformed. But my Savannah was most definitely UNFORMED. Yes every baby, every being, starts out unformed. That being the sole purpose behind the mother's womb. In <i>our</i> tragedy, this scripture was speaking of my little one. No amount of time would have ever made Savannah whole. No doctor in the world could have saved her.<br />
<br />
Starting over with a new doctor, I was unsure if they would connect to my story. My history. Would they treat me with the compassion I was so desperate for in this pregnancy. Would they accept that I lost my daughter, and sacrifice all they have to see to it I don't loose another?<br />
<br />
The doctors, specialists, and nurses have exceeded my expectations in every way imaginable. They have grown to know my story. They know Savannah's name, and are not afraid to speak it. As most medical professionals try to avoid it, the ones overseeing my care have not held back any attachment to my baby boy. They are fighting for him. Every appointment. Every recommendation. Every referral. As I said, I do not blame Savannah's doctor for anything, but I feel blessed to have changed doctors. I feel like I could not be receiving better medical care anywhere else, other than one Medical Center that has stolen and will forever carry a piece of my heart. A piece of my soul...<br />
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Today, I'm thankful for Mercy Maternity Center. Like the entire Pediatric Intensive Care Unit at UC Davis, they truly are my fighting angels...<br />
<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-67636719313539831112011-11-02T10:11:00.000-07:002011-11-02T10:13:19.533-07:0030 days of Thankful {Day Two}Day two already. I cannot fathom where the time has been going lately. Let me sit and ponder for a minute which one of my "thankfuls" takes second place. Lets just say, each one cannot be measured.<br />
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Today, I am thankful for my husband. Our far from perfect marriage. And our almost {December 27th, to be exact} eight years of "I do's."<br />
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My husband is my soul mate. Cliche right? Nope. Not when you know. By soul mate, I do not mean we don't drive each other nuts. By soul mate, I do not mean we like all the same things, and are completely alike.<br />
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We are opposites in many ways. He drives me nuts at times, and I know that I repay him in the same way. He plays video games, and loves movies and electronics to the point sometimes that I would like to walk into Best Buy with a baseball bat and smash, well everything. He leaves dirty socks lying, well wherever they happen to fall. His idea of organized usually can be defined as "unseen."<br />
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But these are his quirks. And without them, I am realizing that he wouldn't be exactly who his is. Mine. And I take him with his "flaws." Because he has taken me with all of mine.<br />
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Everyday, he helps me grow. Marriage is not easy. It wasn't the first year. It wasn't the fifth year. It isn't the seventh going into the eighth. I know it will not be any easier the twenty-fifth. But we are both imperfect. Without the grace of my husband in my life, I would not have the relationship with Christ that I have today. From one very intelligent God fearing man, I discovered Faith. I discovered<i> true love</i>. <br />
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My husband wakes everyday, and provides for our entire household. Through him, his dedication, and his ethics, I am able to spend everyday at home. Guiding, teaching and nurturing our children. He has never once made me feel resented for this.<br />
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One of the the most important reasons why I am so grateful for him. The strength he provided through the death of our daughter. For the prayers he prayed for me. For the encouragement and support. For being able to teach me that goodbye does not mean forever. For the gift of life he gave to me. I am a mother only through his love. Our Savannah, was half of him. The best of both. And he held my hand and my heart as we held our heads high, and looked death straight in the face... <br />
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For him, and everything he means to me. On this day, and everyday,<i> I am thankful.</i><br />
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<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-26508360184910422011-10-29T13:20:00.000-07:002011-10-29T13:20:26.093-07:00Gifts of Life<div style="color: #c27ba0; text-align: center;"><b><i>baby shower</i></b></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: center;"><b><i>n:</i></b></div><div style="color: #c27ba0; text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">a</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">party</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">given</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">for</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">a</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">pregnant</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">woman,</span> </i></b></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc; text-align: center;"><b> <i><span class="hwc">to</span> <span class="hwc">which</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">guests</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">bring</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">presents</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">for</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">the</span> <span class="hwc" style="cursor: default;">baby</span></i> </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The question has been asked. And I find it more frequent these days. I've had three out of four baby showers. My fifth pregnancy. People still wonder, "when is your baby shower." My, uh, baby shower? I cannot help but be taken by surprise. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Your first baby. That by far was my most extravagant baby shower. Of course it would be. First time parents, that is a given that the family has nothing "baby." By your fifth? People stop offering advice. People hardly ever ask how your feeling. I see commercials about pregnant women being lavished in "stretch mark lotions" during their pregnancy. Cocoa butter has yet to show up on my doorstep. And let me tell you, I think there is an invisible stamp on my forehead that says, <b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: center;"><b>"it's not my first baby,</b></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: center;"><b> it's not exciting, </b></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: center;"><b>please feel free to NOT touch my belly</b></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: center;"><b> or ask when I am due."</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Sometimes the awkward "baby loss mommy" inside me cannot help but wonder,<i> "can they sense that I've lost one? Do complete strangers even not want to get too attached?"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;">So when the question arises, <i>"when is your baby shower."</i> From the beginning I've said, <i>"I'm not having one, I don't see family members and friends really wanting to take that chance again."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Two weeks ago, giving my typical answer, I received a new response. It took me a little by surprise. The voice on the other end replied,<i> "yeah. I'll send something <b>after </b>the baby is born." </i>Now I am no stranger anymore to people saying things that sometimes hurt my feelings. And it really doesn't sound like much, but it got me thinking. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I don't see family members and friends really wanting to take that chance again.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> -Yeah.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I feel guilty for every last gift received for Savannah. Every dollar spent to forever sit cold in a tub in our garage. I had really hoped I would be able to put those gifts to use with this pregnancy. But God felt my life needed something a little different.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The night Savannah died, as I leaned over her body, gently caressing her skin, the nurse said to me, <i>"if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call us." </i>I looked at her through teary eyes,<i> "Can you tell me what I am supposed to do with everything I received at my baby shower?"</i> She looked at me, her eyes empty with an answer to my question. I said,<i> "I'm thinking I'll give it back to everyone who bought it, so they can get their money back." </i>She shook her head no,<i> "don't do that, you hang onto it for awhile, and one day you will know what to do with it."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">And I did I kept most everything. We returned some big unused items that were in definite pink colors. The car seat. Some blankets that weren't really sentimental. In it's place we purchased floating shelves to hold the ceramic figures bought for us to remember her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The idea of sitting around once more opening presents in front of the same people who bought gifts for the hope that was our Savannah, I just cannot come to grips with. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">What would they be thinking? {"I hope I didn't just throw my hard earned money away again."} Would they only look at me and Davis through sad uncertain eyes? Would a day of celebration become a day of remorse?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But at the same time, I am an expecting mom. It is my fifth baby. My fifth pregnancy. Yes, I have a crib. I have a changing table. I have a glider rocker that I never got to rock my baby in. I've got some saved items through the years, and I have bought many of my own outfits for my little guy to be. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Davis is a completely different person. He is a great gift in itself. He will show me and my husband that no matter what,<i> Hope</i> and <i>Life </i>can emerge from anything. I hope he can bring that message to those who did and didn't attend Savannah's baby shower. And though I feel every baby is worth celebrating no matter what the circumstance, I feel Davis deserves a celebration. He deserves a gift... Because he is <i>our gift</i>...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Because his mommy needs to know that herself, her husband, and Grandma are not the only people in the world to trust that he is here to stay. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">How many second, third, or fifth time mothers made the decision to celebrate? Or celebrate after a loss?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So on behalf of this journey that you all have walked through with me, I want to share my Gift of Life idea.</div><div style="text-align: left;">If you've followed along with "Savannah's story," I thought it would be inspiring, touching, and hopeful for anyone who would like, sent something USED from one of their own little ones. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sounds weird right?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, I'm not asking for you to buy anything.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'd just love to see how many people Savannah's life has reached,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I'd love to receive something from all of my readers whom have</div><div style="text-align: center;">been there for me and my family this past year</div><div style="text-align: center;"> from their own babies. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A gift of life. Something that has seen life. Something that has seen love.</div><div style="text-align: center;">For the hope we have for Davis.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">I would love to be able to share the hope that others have too. <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">You do not have to. At all. </div><div style="text-align: center;">But if you would like to.</div><div style="text-align: center;">If you have something you wouldn't mind parting with.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I would cherish every last glimpse of life.</div><div style="text-align: center;">{And please share with me about your little one, and your gift choice.} </div><div style="text-align: center;"><3 Leave a comment below. <3</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5l-3v1knVBP1VjAFRYiQmp2uSFLDWqsxz4LCA1hrYRbO4xASnnWfJfFIdspCmozHROJzc9VN_VD2wHgV3xdw2ynEkDRBWdfBlI5Lc_A0er6CshYH6XsQjhcoZK9vsglGQdSyFkGmZ9EM/s1600/25weeksPumpkin+Patch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5l-3v1knVBP1VjAFRYiQmp2uSFLDWqsxz4LCA1hrYRbO4xASnnWfJfFIdspCmozHROJzc9VN_VD2wHgV3xdw2ynEkDRBWdfBlI5Lc_A0er6CshYH6XsQjhcoZK9vsglGQdSyFkGmZ9EM/s400/25weeksPumpkin+Patch.jpg" width="296" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> {25weeks}</div><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-5632471936461730542011-10-23T22:18:00.000-07:002011-10-23T22:18:37.576-07:00Perspective.I remember way back when I was pregnant with Sarah. Every milestone was new, exciting, foreign. With each passing pregnancy, things were still exciting; but they were no longer foreign.<br />
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I cannot speak for every mother, but my own views are sometimes different than others on this journey of loss, or as I like to call it now, <i>life after loss.</i> Which I feel is okay. I am only one person and by no means is grief of a child something that can or should be judged or dictated by someone else.<br />
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For me though, this pregnancy is far different that the rest. All over again, I feel like I am <i>a first time mother.</i> Not in the sense my Sarah, my Michael, or my Brody are now insignificant or are no longer deemed "my children," but a first time mother because my Savannah brought forth her own set of new and foreign experiences.<br />
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I'm not sure if you'd call it grief. I'm not sure if you'd call it uncertainty. I'm just plain and simple not sure what it is, but I'm not sure how to be a mother to an infant again...<br />
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Today marks the twenty fifth week of this pregnancy. With only fifteen weeks until we meet Davis in person, I wonder to myself, <i>"where did this pregnancy go?"</i> I've been the pregnant mother who complains about being uncomfortable. Wishing the baby would just <i>"hurry up and get here."</i> And though I may complain about the temperature, or <strike>whine</strike> mention that my pelvic bone pops with each and every step, the thought of the next fifteen weeks passing as quickly as the twenty five in our rear view mirror, is enough to bring me to tears. Because right here in this moment, Davis is at home. Davis is safe. These moments are how I got to mother a different child. After this moment? This is what I cannot remember.<br />
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We are now the proud owners of our very first mini van. With thanks to my dad for searching it out, we, once more, have an automobile that fits our family. Now having moved into our new house, and buying the not so "mini" family "van," I couldn't help but hit a brick wall.<br />
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"What will it be like to bring a baby to their new home? What will it be like to buckle the car seat into those extra seats bought just for their anticipation? What will those final moments in labor and delivery feel like?" The upcoming emotions, I have tried running through my head again and again.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Fear</b>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Facing my Fear.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Yesterday I let Sarah and Michael watch a movie I found to be deeply inspiring. <i>"Soul Surfer."</i> Here at the Fraser's I try my hardest to monitor what my kids watch on tv realizing the impact the littlest things can have on young hearts. <i>"But Megan, isn't Soul Surfer about a young girl getting her arm bitten off by a shark?!"</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>YES!!</b></i><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But the story is so much more than that. When I watched the movie prior to allowing the kids, it really hit home for me. I knew aside from the slightly gory shark attack, my kids could really learn something from the story offered. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">An example given in this movie; when you are really close to something it is hard to see the overall perspective.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Sarah and Michael watched the entire movie and I was delighted with the flow of questions afterwards...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Michael asked, <i>"why did God let the shark take her arm?"</i> Without thinking I said,<i> "as terrible as it was, she learned in the end that God could use her to inspire people through her tragedy and though she has to live with this handicap she didn't let that stop her from doing what she loved. It's like how God took Savannah. That was a terrible thing, but if we lived in fear from experience we would have missed out on getting to have Davis."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">And stepping back from perspective, I paused and thought for a moment while four brown eyes stared back at me. Again I said, as if I was speaking to myself,<i> "we would have missed out on a really great thing."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Michael chimed in once more, <i>"well... I still think she is just as beautiful."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the eyes of a six year old, he still sees the beauty in what others can only see as tragedy, or mistake.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Bethany Hamilton's story is far from tragedy. Her story is yet another example of God's divine purpose for everyone. I may face my own future of uncertainties, but I know that facing my fears is only just the beginning. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I cannot wait to see His plans for Davis.</div><div style="text-align: center;">From Savannah's story,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know they must be pretty great.</div><br />
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<img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" />Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4084637294903645196.post-44902680525087065152011-10-02T16:39:00.000-07:002011-10-02T16:39:40.497-07:00I'm no super mom.This Sunday afternoon I found myself wrapped up in a blanket indulging my girly desires with a movie. Now in my household, my husband being a movie buff and lets face it, a guy, usually has control over the television. Not to say, he doesn't succumb to my "chick flick" selections every now and again. {And secretly likes those movies...} But more often than not, the choices are testosterone filled. <br />
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Any of you women out there I am sure have sat and watched the movie, Julie and Julia with Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. As I sat watching it this afternoon, filled with cooking and delicious looking food, I couldn't help but begin critiquing my own time spent in the kitchen.<br />
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I'm still trying to find my common ground with my day's spent homeschooling. I enjoy having my kids with me during the day and founding their education for the adults they will become. But as my first year of schooling two {three partially including the preschool work I include to keep Brody involved} I assure you, this is not something that can be organized or structured overnight. Maybe and hopefully as the years progress and we become used to the idea of school days being formatted into life, but as rookies here? We have a ways to go. <br />
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I want nothing more than to be <strong><em>super mom. </em></strong>I want homemade cookies baking while I am teaching fractions. I want my toilets to glisten, and my hair {and the hair on three almost four tiny tots} to be neatly in place every second of the day. I want to be the women who can mop her floors in high heels. And in watching this movie, I want to serve my family a homemade extravagant meal each and every night as though Julia Child stopped by to play grandma. <br />
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And here is what I am learning. I am not <em><strong>super mom.</strong></em> {Sad face.} As mothers I think we create this image of what super mom actually is. It stresses me out. Trying to live up to these false, unobtainable, ideas of perfection. To feel as though no matter what I do, it isn't good enough. The thing you see, about Julia Child, is she was an optimist. She never looked at the glass half empty. She always found the bright side of things. That is what I need more of to become my ideal super mom. <em>"Yeah but Megan, Julia had such a blissful life, of course she sees the glass half full." </em>The movie was obviously about the blogger, Julie Powell cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook. There was only brief memories inserted through out the movie to introduce you Julia and the history of her love of food and cooking. But it does braise the fact that Julia could not have children. She wanted a baby of her own so badly, and it was nev<span style="background-color: white;">er something she got to experience. To live my entire life with such a desire, would bring forth it's own set of heartaches. Just as we faced with loosing Savannah. But we must choose to be optimistic. For ourselves.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I want to slow down, and realize that perfection is only what I am going to make of the situation. I am going to understand that I may not get to cleaning the bathroom today. That our school days may be organized chaos, or for a little while longer "unorganized chaos." But my kids are still learning. That everyday leads to opportunities. And that my homecooked meals may not always be lobster fresh from France, but they are made with love, and my family will be fed and together at the end of everyday. I am no super mom. I am no Julia Child. I may not be everyone's idea of perfection. But I trust that I am perfect to someone just the way I am...</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/357/E6D2B6382E2A8F057DCEFEC22AEFC8A4.png" style="background: none transparent scroll repeat 0% 0%; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px;" /></a>Meganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14508922160749666019noreply@blogger.com3