i am yours, and you are mine

September 22, 2013a beautiful mess 1 Comment

On this day three years ago, Austin entered our lives in the darkness of early morning. This is the day I became a mother. This is the day I appreciated my own mother more than I ever had in my life. This is the day I learned the true definition of unconditional love.

Before we had children, I never held babies. Really. Never. I can name a single occasion that I held a baby without coercion from a friend or family member. They were such fragile, foreign creatures, and, frankly, I didn’t know what to do with them. Even while six months pregnant with our first, I reluctantly held a friend’s newborn. Needless to say, I was hoping this natural mothering instinct would kick in fast.

Every night, the hubs and I would lie in bed, watching Austin have a party in my tummy. We would talk to him. We would sing to him. We would pray for him. But, it still didn’t feel real.

Then, at 34 weeks pregnant, I started having contractions. Real contractions. I was given a steroid shot to speed up his lung development, and, immediately placed on bed rest in hopes that he would cook a little longer. That’s about the point I realized my time was up. I’m about to be a mom.

Much to the doctor’s surprise, that little boy held out for another four weeks, and, at 38 weeks pregnant, our precious Austin entered this world with a little bit of oxygen and only minor complications. As I cradled him for the very first time, my fears of inadequacy and instincts drifted away. I memorized every inch of his face in a split second, and I stared in awe at this amazing gift from God.

I was a mother, a mom, a mommy. I am his mommy for now and always.

Often we debate whether a woman becomes a mother during pregnancy or at birth or even after. There is no correct answer. Everyone comes to it in their own time. For me, there is no question. While I understood the concept of becoming a mother while pregnant, my complete heart and soul were not there until I looked into Austin’s big, beautiful eyes for the first time. There is no doubt I loved my child before he was born, but I believe becoming a mother is more than a label.

The day I became a mom, I knew it. I felt it. It became a part of me. My heart was fuller than I knew possible. He was mine to love, to kiss, to teach, to guide, to share. I knew I would do anything for my child.

On this day three years ago, I never could have imagined what the next few years would hold. Most days are incredibly hard. But, even on the hardest of days, that sweet giggle or impromptu “I love you” from the mouth of your child renews our spirit and gives us strength. The strength to love them unconditionally.

What an incredible gift to be called mom.

You, my sweet Austin, fill my life with laughter and pure love. You teach me. You open my eyes to see. You bring joy and light to a world full of darkness. I am blessed to be your mother. I am yours, and you are mine. Always.

drowning in icing

September 19, 2013a beautiful mess 5 Comments

Another year. Another birthday. Another party.

I get a little too excited about my kids’ birthday parties. But, by the end, that excitement turns into a stress mess and nothing ends quite how I envisioned.

Today, I find myself at Michael’s – the 12th store on my places to go for birthday supplies. I’ve gathered the basics, but Pinterest always makes me feel one step… or, 10 steps… behind. I should try for more.

I went in searching for race car-themed cupcake decor because I was having trouble finding exactly what I wanted. There are 50 million different shades and designs of pink and purple, but boy themes are in short supply. Thankfully, I located the perfect cupcake liners quickly, but, then, I saw the cakes. There was a car-shaped cake tin. How much would Austin LOVE this? It would be adorable. I could decorate the cars AND do cupcakes. Sugar overload, but who cares? I could just imagine how impressive this whole setup could be. I was going to rock this party.

I stand in line, attempting to keep one child from breaking every single glass vase lining the walkway and the other from nose diving from the basket seat. Finally, we are next, and I lug the basket to the counter where I quickly remove the items. Then, I stop.

There I am, drowning in $30 worth of specialty icing and a couple car-shaped tins, along with other party “necessities” and various craft projects that most likely will never be accomplished. That’s about the time reality slapped me in the face. What am I thinking?

Why do I turn every birthday party into a circus and stress myself? This is a party. It’s supposed to be fun. We are not celebrating me or my crafts or how many Pinterest projects I can cram into a party.

We are celebrating my son – my sweet, loving little boy. Another year of life that the Lord has blessed us with. Another year of laughter, tears, hugs and kisses. We are celebrating Austin. And, to be honest, he doesn’t care about a single thing that I’m doing for his party except for the fact that there will be friends, there will be cars and there will be chocolate. And, that is enough.

That is enough. It’s hard to wrap my head around that thought. We try so hard to make sure our children have the best of everything. But, some things, like birthday parties, really don’t matter. So, maybe if I step back and take a lesson from my three-year-old, it could save me from a few gray hairs down the road. Instead of stressing over logistics and decorations, I’m going to try to let it go and just enjoy. Get ready. It’s time to party like a three-year-old.

i am raising a ninja

September 17, 2013a beautiful mess Leave a comment

We moved Austin into a big boy bed almost a year ago in preparation for Everett’s arrival. It was a difficult transition, but he adapted. Since then, we had been using a baby gate to keep Austin from roaming at night.

About three weeks ago, we ditched the gate. And, I miss it.

Of course I worry about him tumbling down the stairs in the middle of the night. But, he has mastered the stairs, and, to some extent, I have let go of that concern. And, I worry about the mischief he could potentially accomplish in the dead of the night. But, honestly, what makes me miss that gate the most is my own fear factor.

Walking into a room after the children have gone to bed only to find a small person standing, silently staring at you is creepy. Beyond creepy. It has actually caused me to literally jump. He has become quite stealthy at sneaking out of bed. Sometimes it is to play, and other times, well, I can’t figure out why. Occasionally, he will watch us from the catwalk, unknowing that he is there until I glance up, fall to the ground out of sheer surprise and nearly have a heart attack.

I admit that I have seen far too many horror movies. Growing up, my best friend LOVED scary movies. Adored them. I hated them. But, guess what? We watched them – over and over and over again. I’m quite certain that any horror movie made before 1999, I have seen… against my will. Since then, I can count the number of those movies I’ve seen on one hand… okay, maybe two fingers. Those story lines are engrained in my brain. I can barely watch CSI without having nightmares.

In fact, several weeks ago, the hubs was out of town on business, and I was home with the kids. About 10:30 at night, I was lying in bed, when I heard a noise – a LOUD noise – followed shortly by several lighter noises. Obviously, someone was in my house. There could be no other option. So, what did I do? I called my neighbor… who came over with a bat. And, we proceeded to search my house, room by room, opening closets, looking under beds and behind the curtains for the bogie man. Surprise, surprise, nothing turned up. But, I was able to sleep much better after that. Too many scary movies…

So, obviously, I am a little jumpy. But, I mean seriously, who wouldn’t be that way if they came face to face with the spitting image of a ghost child, who appeared out of nowhere, wanting to know if you will play with them?

It’s hard for me to understand how such a little person who doesn’t understand the concept of “inside voice” and constantly crashes into everything during day light hours could sneak around so ninja-like in the darkness of night. While I appreciate him not waking his little brother by running around like a wild man, it would be nice to have a little head’s up.

In fact, maybe I’ll just attach jingle bells to all of his pajamas. Problem solved.

potty talk

September 15, 2013a beautiful mess 2 Comments

We are officially in the throes of potty training, and, at this point, I wonder if the scent of urine will ever leave my home. Seeing as I have two boys… I’m guessing not.

We decided to wait until Saturday morning for the fun to begin – that way I wouldn’t drown in the puddles of tee tee myself. The night before, I was casually perusing – aka stalking – Facebook when an ad geared toward potty training popped on my newsfeed. The message of the ad was the longer you wait to potty train, the harder it will be. Well, great. It was torture three months ago. It was agony two months ago. At this point, I was seriously considering who I could pay a million dollars to potty train my kid. Of course, I had to figure out where on earth I could get that kind of money. But, hey, that seemed easier than trying to teach Austin where to do his business.

The adventure began Saturday morning. To ready ourselves for the third attempt, I read and reread about dozens of methods. There was the one-day method or the three-day method or the naked method and more, plus hundreds of tips on how to be successful. Homework was done. We were ready.

But, really, when we started the day, I kicked them all to the curb. Let’s wing it, I said.

We spent half the day in the backyard with our wild man running around bare naked, hopped up on juice, and encouraged him to “water” the grass and trees. I’m quite thankful the three little girls who live next door did not try to come play this day. Potty training is not for the faint of heart.

After a semi-successful morning of naked freedom, we moved inside and strategically placed two potty chairs around the kitchen and living room. At this point, it was time for lunch, so I put the potty chair in the seat and scooted him up to the table. We were not going to miss a chance. I never in my life thought I would be so excited to have someone pee at the kitchen table. Ah, parenthood.

That’s when he had his first indoor success for the day. It didn’t matter that my child was literally relieving himself where we eat, or that a little bit splattered the floor and my foot. My child had peed in the potty, and I proceeded to cheer with no less enthusiasm than if he was the youngest recipient ever of the Nobel Peace Prize. And, M&Ms. There were boat loads of M&Ms. Maybe he wouldn’t be going to college in diapers after all.

To be honest, since then, it hasn’t been too bad. There have been far more successes than accidents, but I know we still have a long road ahead of us. And, now, I understand. He just wasn’t ready three months ago or even two months ago. It’s amazing the difference a couple months can make.

I’m not sure my sanity would have survived pressing through potty training two months ago, and I’m thankful that Facebook ad did not present itself then. Because, you know what, waiting a little longer has made this seem like a piece of cake. Cheers to the late potty trainers!

maybe you should’ve counted a few more sheep

September 13, 2013a beautiful mess Leave a comment

I have a love, hate relationship with nap time at our house. In fact, some days I just can’t muster the courage to even try to put my children down. As nap time approaches, I do a quick poll in my head – Is it worth it today? Or, can we try to survive until bedtime?

Now, let me explain. I LOVE naps. It is a beautiful thing when the stars align and both of my children go down easy and sleep like sweet cherubs. I adore those days. And, really, the drifting off to sleep is not what sends me into near panic attacks. It’s the wake up.

The wake up that makes me want to hide under my own covers. The wake up that immediately makes me regret nap time. The wake up that is the reason I practically toss the children at the hubs when 5 o’clock hits.

I loathe the wake up. Imagine a mother grizzly bear. You have just trapped her, and then decide to steal her cub away. But, you don’t stop there. You then proceed to sit just out of her reach and taunt her, while arbitrarily throwing acorns at her head. Now, bottle all of that anger and rage.

Austin’s fury at wake up time is the equivalent of that mother grizzly bear.

He cries and screams and just when you think he’s done, you glance in his direction, and it begins all over again. Usually, this goes on for about an hour. Bribery begins shortly after the first wail: a cup of water, a cup of animal crackers and cartoons expertly positioned for maximum efficiency. Sometimes it turns the grizzly bear into a mere rabid dog, and other times it only prolongs the outburst when we run out of the beloved animal crackers.

The real fun is when both boys wake up simulataneously. Everett is a dream napper in the mornings. But, there is something about afternoon naps that leaves both my boys a shoe in for leading roles in The Exorcist. Everett completely loses his mind. You know that bottle he doesn’t need for another hour or so? Yeah. He’s decided he’s going to die if he doesn’t have it five minutes ago. Oh, and that diaper, that he just wet .05 seconds ago. Yes, that should have been changed preemptively.

When I hear people gush over how much they love nap time, and how they themselves sneak in a nap too, I dislike them a little bit… okay… a lot. Because even when the children are sleeping, I sit there waiting. Waiting for the explosion that is our afternoon. But, it’s okay. Because at the end of the day, I know there will be chocolate.

happy heart day

September 13, 2013a beautiful mess Leave a comment

*Thank you to a special friend for the inspiration for the title of this post. It seemed too perfect.

Continued from six months of living and i’ve never liked dominoes…

Two days home from discharge, and we knew something was really wrong. Everett cried nonstop. He was pale. He was sweating through his clothes and mine. And, his breathing was increasingly faster. These were all symptoms of his heart failure. And, he had maxed out his medications. We knew at this point, he wouldn’t be making it to our goal of four months without the surgery.

We moved his appointment up with the cardiologist from Friday to Tuesday. They did an echo, and things had changed. To everyone’s surprise, his heart was deteriorating faster than previously estimated. He needed surgery soon.

Everett was sent immediately to the Cardiac ICU, where he was started on strong IV medicines. The plan was for him to stabilize for surgery the following week. The week was filled with new monitors, new medications and uncertainty. The Saturday before surgery, he spiked an unexplained fever, and we were no longer sure if he would be able to move forward with the surgery. If he still ran a fever on Sunday, we would have to discuss our options. But, God provided a miracle, and by Saturday night, he was already fever free. It left as quickly as it came on.

We didn’t sleep the night before surgery. We both stayed at the hospital, and I stayed in the room with Everett. Early morning came, and the nursing staff prepped him for surgery. As the sun awakened outside his room, sun rays and peace filled that little room, and I knew God would be with this child today. And, then, it was time.

It’s an odd experience handing your child over for open heart surgery, feelings of shock, disbelief and terror. As soon as they rolled him away, I broke down. I heaved and sobbed an ugly, ugly cry. Philip and I just held one another, praying for our sweet baby boy. The surgery lasted several hours. Family and friends surrounded us that day, praying for our sweet Everett and keeping our minds from wandering to the “what if” place. I am forever grateful to all of those people.

We received updates throughout the day, but the relief came when the surgeon appeared before us. He had finished, and things looked to be successful. But, his valves were in rough condition, and only time will tell if another surgery is needed down the road. We learned that surgery was only half the battle. The 48 hours following would be critical.

We were able to see him soon after surgery. I knew he would look rough, and I had prepared myself. But, nothing can really prepare yourself to see your two-month-old fresh from open heart surgery. As the nurses busied around him nonstop, I stroked his tiny hand as he lay there so small and helpless. Several minutes passed, and I needed air. I left the room, fell to the floor and sobbed my eyes out.

Philip sent the rest of our family away for the day, after I informed him that if anyone else was going to cry in the room with Everett then they were not allowed in. I was not strong enough for anyone else that day, and I just couldn’t bear it.

A day after surgery, Everett had already exceeded the surgeon’s expectations. He was off the pacemaker and only required minimal amounts of medications. There is no doubt that he is a fighter.

Two days after surgery, I was able to hold him. And, boy, did I hold that baby. The rest of the time in the hospital, I rarely left his side. The nurses would constantly remind me to stay hydrated and urge me to go eat. But, I was with my heart warrior, my little miracle, and I wasn’t going to let him go.

And, on the third day, Everett smiled. Not a “Was that gas?” kind of smile, but a full open-mouthed grin. There was color in his face, a light in his eyes, and a smile on his face. The Lord had blessed us.

Within a week of surgery, Everett was discharged home. And, this time, it was for good.

These past six months have still been filled with struggles, but more so, there has been joy. The joy of being together. The joy of overcoming such huge hurdles. And, the joy of appreciating and loving one another.

God has indeed blessed us with a beautiful mess.

i’ve never liked dominoes

September 12, 2013a beautiful mess 1 Comment

Continued from six months of living…

When we first learned of the diagnosis, we cried a lot, and asked God, “Why?” After a particularly difficult last couple years, we couldn’t understand why we were not invincible to this pain, or given a free pass complete with a miraculous cure for our child.

At the cardiologist appointment, we had discussed Everett’s weight, and, still, he was not at his birth weight. Knowing what our child had to accomplish in a few months, I immediately stopped nursing and started pumping, needing to know why he wasn’t gaining weight and what he was actually taking in. And, I got my answer – an ounce. Total.

Thus, began the first inkling of a problem. I pumped overtime to build up my supply, in hopes that at some point Everett would take normal bottles. But, it took lots of coaxing and tears for him to finish the single ounce.

And, then the first domino fell. It was late. Austin was in bed, and Everett was extra unhappy this night. We rocked. We walked. We sang. We fed. We swaddled. And, still he screamed. The hubs decided to change his diaper for the hundredth time in hopes he would settle, but, instead he raced to me with a horrified look on his face. He removed Everett’s diaper, and there it was… a hernia… on our three-week-old.

We immediately called the pediatrician who asked us “if we could push it back in.” Uh, push it back in? Negatory, doc. So, off we went to round one at the ER. The doctor confirmed it was a hernia and tried to reduce it – aka shove it back in – with no luck. At this point, he made a phone call to discuss surgery options at its downtown hospital. We waited… impatiently… for a decision. Finally, the doctor returned and decided to try again, motivated by teasing from fellow colleagues who couldn’t believe this doctor couldn’t reduce a hernia on a three-week-old. That’s the kind of care a parent can only hope for, right? He was successful this time and sent us off with information to set up a consultation with a surgeon.

The next morning, Friday, a consultation was scheduled for the following Wednesday. Between a screaming baby and having to reduce the hernia every hour or more, this seemed a lifetime away. That night, things were bad. Every 15 minutes, we had to reduce it, and Everett was inconsolable. Feeling helpless, we headed back to the ER, except this time we went to the downtown hospital where we knew they could do surgery if needed.

We waited and waited, terrified of what horribly contagious diseases our heart baby could pick up from the overcrowded ER. When we were finally seen, the doctor brushed us off, unsure of why we were there. Apparently, if you can reduce a hernia – no matter how often it pops back out or how much your child screams about it – then there is no rush. And, Wednesday was soon enough, he told us. Right…

That weekend was long. Everett cried a lot, and, at this point, began screaming when we tried to feed him and was progressively breathing faster. There we were with our newborn, not knowing how to care for this fragile child, but doing the best we could.

Relief came on Monday when my dad used a connection to get us in with a pediatric surgeon that same afternoon. The surgeon was excellent, and he worked out of a different hospital in town. The hospital we now love. Surgery was scheduled for the following day.

To say we were nervous would be an understatement. Ideally, a hernia repair would follow a heart repair, but it couldn’t wait. Everett’s cardiologist was hopeful his poor eating could be attributed to the hernia, and this could potentially solve our problems. The surgery was a success despite running slightly over his projected time. He was discharged in the morning with several new medications, a diagnosis of reflux, and instructions on how to create high calorie bottles.

Several days passed, and we found ourselves nowhere. The domino effect had truly begun. The hubs had left town on business, and that same evening I placed a call to the cardiologist. Everett’s breathing was irregular, and he still wasn’t eating. We were sent to the ER, where he told us he would most likely be admitted, if for nothing else, to place an NG tube to help pack on the ounces. It was a terrifying experience. I cradled my baby, trying to calm him, and cried in the arms of a friend as they placed the tube and listened to my child’s gut wrenching cry.

After struggling to find an open flight, Philip arrived the following morning off the first flight he was able to book. One day turned into two, and two into three. Everett not only fought feedings, but now began vomiting most of his bottles. The first GI doctor saw him on day two and promptly diagnosed him with a food allergy, and that was that – this is about the time I officially chunked the pump. Still he vomited on the new formula, and nothing changed. The next doctor took a closer look and ordered an upper GI scan. And, that’s what was needed.

Everett was diagnosed with an intestinal malrotation. Another surgery. And, this one was urgent. On day five, at five weeks old, he underwent his second surgery, and, again, we were hopeful this would solve his feeding issues.

We lived day to day, switching between the hospital and spending “quality” time with our other son. If I was with Everett, I missed Austin. If I was with Austin, I missed Everett. We were tired and not getting the response we had hoped for with Everett. He saw an OT every day to work on bottle feeding, but most feedings were administered through the NG tube. By day ten, we were done. It felt like nothing was changing and nobody cared. We knew something was not right, but it was hard to express that when doctors dropped by haphazardly and only stayed two minutes to answer all your questions. And, that’s when I lost it.

I threw a fit. I let it out. Everything that had been bottled up, nodding and agreeing, and trying to remain calm about the hell my son was going through, came out. I wanted to talk to Everett’s doctor. No, not the doctor on call, his doctor. A nurse tried to play interference, and I explained to her that we were done. There was no reason for us to be here because it felt like nobody was doing anything and the doctors were not working together. We had both dropped the NG tube multiple times. We had been trained on the pump. We were sitting and waiting and nothing was happening. We had voiced concerns but they were always written off. So, why are we here, with no comforts of home, trekking back and forth from one child to another? Why are we here if nothing is going to change?

They did get me on the phone with Everett’s doctor, and I cried, and he apologized for the way things were going (p.s. I really do love E’s doctors and they are fantastic). The next day, there was a new plan – something that actually seemed to finally make a difference. He was vomiting less and appeared to be gaining a little weight. On day 14, Everett was discharged with the NG tube… only to return three days later. This time to the Cardiac ICU.

Continued Happy Heart Day

six months of living

September 12, 2013a beautiful mess 1 Comment

It’s been six months since our sweet Everett began to live. His birth certificate may say January, but a part of me feels like March 11 was his true birthday. It is certainly a day I will always celebrate along with his given birthday. This is the day Everett’s heart became whole. The day his life changed for the better. After two months of constant struggles, for the first time in his little life, he could breathe easy and finally found life worth smiling about.

We should have known Everett was going to give us a run for our money even before he was born. At 38 weeks pregnant, I went to my regular OB appointment, feeling large and ready to gripe about evicting this child. Everything was running smoothly until we listened for his heartbeat. Immediately, I noticed the tempo was far slower than normal. My doctor continued to listen but remained silent, until I sputtered out, “Is that kind of slow for him?” And, at that point, his little heart began pounding away normally once again. After a couple more heart decelerations, my doctor decided it best to head straight over to the hospital, and since I was already at 4 cm, we would induce. Talk about a surprise for the hubs.

From there, everything was a breeze. God had blessed us with our second beautiful, healthy little boy. He passed every test with flying colors and nursed like a champ from the beginning. Life was normal, well, our new normal, for two weeks.

I took Everett to his two week well check and chatted about his progress. He was still several ounces below his birth weight, but the pedi didn’t seem concerned since he appeared to be nursing quite well. Then, she listened to his heart, and my own heart sank as she listened, then listened again. She noted there was a loud murmur, and we discussed whether it was best to wait and see or consult with a pediatric cardiologist. We chose the latter.

I first called the hubs and family, trying to stay positive and calm, convincing myself this would be nothing. It had to be.

No sooner had I walked in the door then I found myself dialing the number for the cardiologist. I fumbled on the phone, unsure of what to say in such a foreign situation. Amazingly, they had an opening the next morning.

Still convinced it would be no big deal, I decided to schedule Everett’s two week labs immediately after the appointment since I would be at the hospital. How naive, I see, in hindsight.

I arrived late for the appointment, of course, still learning to navigate how to leave the house while tending to two children. I forgot to fill out the paperwork, and I ran off without my driver’s license. Thankfully, I still had an old license that they accepted as my picture id. Needless to say, I was a bit frazzled. The appointment lasted an eternity. I thought we would never see the doctor. I was anxious to receive the all clear and move on with our lives.

He finally sat down with Everett and I, and I knew this was all wrong. I stared at him blankly as he told me my son’s heart has a problem. He was diagnosed with an Atrioventricular canal (AV canal) defect. This is a combination of problems that result in a large defect in the center of the heart. There is a hole between the chambers of the heart and problems with the valves that regulate blood flow in the heart. AV canal occurs in two out of 10,000 births and is often associated with Down syndrome. E does not have Down’s.

He would need surgery – ideally, at four to six months. The plan was for Everett to double his birth weight before surgery would happen. But, God had other plans.

Continued i’ve never liked dominoes

Below is a visual explanation of AV canal that I found online via the Cardiac Center at The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

sidebyside_cavc-avsd

a beautiful mess

perfectly imperfect

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