I Counted. 3 Months and 10 Days.

Yep. I counted. Ruth is 3 months and 10 days today. Exactly.

That number sticks out to me because that's how old Sarah was when she died, 7 years ago.

The milestones never stop when you're grieving. I thought for a moment that this would be the last time that I get to hold one of my babies, at this age, soaking in the feeling of holding that little body all over again. But then I retracted that thought and can safely assume I will probably do this to my grandchildren someday too.

3 months and 10 days. Forever etched into my memory.

Days like these are very bittersweet. I hold Ruth today and my heart breaks. I miss Sarah so much. I miss my baby. I go back to that awful day and remember holding her as I nursed her for the last time, and kissed her cheeks before leaving her to her nap. This day is a painful reminder of what I miss every day. But then I force myself forward and open my eyes to Ruth. This beautiful little girl that God has blessed me with. She's smiling so big and laughing. She talks to me with her little babbles. She reminds me so much of Sarah. I love her so much. This part of the process of grieving helps me to soak in these little things, not taking her for granted.

My eyes are wide open because of my suffering. This must be part of God's mercy because I value my awareness, but I wouldn't have it, if I didn't lose Sarah. That's a painful truth that I've had to give myself grace with. It's easy to blame myself, on a spiritual level, and say "God made this to happen because I needed to learn this. So this must be my fault." I did that with Dad (he died when I was 16) and then with Sarah. (aaaaaaand with any other crap that comes down our path)

It doesn't help. It's not true.

Because it's not

about

me.

So, on that note, I hold my baby tight being able to thank God for this day with her.

My Ruth. 

My Sarah. Read her story here. 

My Own "Sacred Scared"

Me: just rolled out of bed. Day 3 in that shirt for this momma.  

I'm going to jump on a bandwagon here and share my "sacred scared". I was reading the "Momastery" blog the other day, catching a small series starting, about women sharing their "sacred scared". The way Glennon describes this is: "Our sacred scared is our deepest fear- the one we hide because we think that if anyone knew about it they wouldn’t love us anymore. What we find when we share our sacred scared is that it’s the very thing we should be sharing more. Because our sacred scared is the key that unlocks our humanity. When we share it, people love us more because we’ve given them permission to love themselves more. Sharing our sacred scared is like handing a world full of messy, waiting people an invitation to show up as they are". - See more at: http://momastery.com/blog/2014/02/18/sacred-scared/#sthash.8RJxypWm.dpuf

This topic has peeked my interest because I pride myself on most of my brutal honesty. So I thought I might share my own "sacred scared" on here, to honor all the honesty that is circling around this series (that you can start reading here on her blog). I so agree with Glennon that this kind of honesty is what brings humanity together. I believe sharing these things makes fellowship that much richer, bringing the Church together in a real way, like it's supposed to. We are kidding ourselves that there are humans out there that "have it all together". That thought process creates unnecessary division between people.

So.... if you'll hold my hair back while I puke some of my guts out, I'd most appreciate it. Here it goes....

My "sacred scared" is:

I'm not good enough. 

This fear leaks into my insecurities about my own salvation. I can't tell you how much it terrifies me to think that one day when I'm standing before God, He'll say to me, "I never knew you." I've pretty much been this way my whole young adult life and counting. I had a friend once tell me that when she first dove into Calvinism, she felt so special that she was "chosen", that she was pre-destined-ly chosen. I confessed to her, that very fact made me feel just the opposite. It made me feel that if I questioned my own place, then I must NOT be "pre-destined-ly chosen". (one of the many reasons that I wrestle with Calvinism) I can't tell you how many times my husband has tried to talk me off of this ledge. It's like cotton-mouth, where you drink and drink and still, you are thirsty. Could probably be considered an obsession.

Why do I feel this way about myself? I can't quite peg it.
Maybe it's because I struggle with depression that makes my knee jerk reaction to everything so pessimistic (oh, I'm sorry, I mean so realistic, right?).
Maybe it's because I don't particularly like being out and around a bunch of people.
Maybe it's that I can be a bitter person that makes my heart hate.
Or that I'm calloused by trials that makes my tongue so naturally ruthless.
Or the fact that I'm plain tired all the time and have to make a conscious effort to play with my kids.

Probably all of the above. It's these very flaws about me that make me feel like I must not be good enough. That I don't love enough. That I'm not "saved" enough.

The only way I ever feel better about this, is that it's my very honesty, it's my very struggle with this "good enough-ness" that must make Him love me that much more, right? Of course after He's done a "smack my head" gesture. Truth is, I'm really NOT good enough.

But no one is.

Have a great day!

Remembering My First Home Birth

photo by Kaitlin Wessman Photography

All the research, all the preparations, and all the trust was coming into fruition. I had all these fears and hopes, trials and triumphs, doubt and trust all wrapped into one big ball that rolled along as the time passed that would bring this baby into my arms. 

I had 3 normal (vaginal) deliveries at the hospital. My 4th needed to be c-sectioned. So I was preparing for my 5th child. With the c-section rates at an all time high these days and trigger happy obstetricians, the hospital terrified me. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle any bullying from an OB at such a critical point of my baby's birth, as if I didn't care about the lively-hood of my newborn. 

I had heard all the horror stories. "Do you want your baby to die?!" a doctor said to a laboring mother when everything was going fine, labor was just taking it's time. 

I'm a SIDS parent. My 2nd baby (my sweet Sarah) died when she was 3 months old. I don't take ANYTHING lightly considering the care for my babies, in utero and out. I don't know how I would respond if a doctor actually said that to my face, when I knew in my gut that I was doing the right thing. 

Labor can be a difficult thing to wrap your head around. You have all these moving parts, trying to prepare yourself for anything, but psyching yourself out for a normal birth. Trusting that your body works can be a hard habit of self-talk, especially when you have experiences in your history where maybe.... your body didn't work. I had to have that c-section. I know this to be true still today. I remember feeling the intuition of it too. Something was off. It didn't feel right and something needed to be done. That c-section saved my life, but more importantly, it saved my daughter's life. 100 years ago, we'd both be gone. C-sections have their place and I'm thankful for it. But I did not want to repeat that experience all for paranoia. So I stayed out of the hospital as best as I could. 

So there I was, laboring in my home, my midwife on her way. I'm in my birthing pool swaying with the warm water with all my family surrounding me. The lights are low, my music is in the background and it seemed so surreal. There was no panic, no rushing nurses in and out, no monitors (although the midwife would check the heartrate from time to time). I remember the loudest noise coming from the kitchen when my sister in law was blending the cake mix together preparing for this "birthday". 

photo by Kaitlin Wessman Photography

When it came time to deliver her, I got out of the water for about 10 minutes to push her out on the living room floor and get stitched up. Then got back in the soothing water and enjoyed my brand new baby. I would look around my house and all the people that supported me through this and was so thankful that I did it! 

Ah... it was magical. After that experience I knew I wouldn't do it any other way. 

I respect the fact that some women are more comfortable in a hospital, or there are some women who opt to have a repeat c-section. This post is not to condemn or judge anyone for doing what they feel is best for them and their baby. My purpose for this post is to share my stories, but especially today I share this story because this beautiful baby girl that I delivered at home is 2 years old today. This is simply my tribute to her birth. Her arrival reminded me that my body works and it taught me that my body works even when I'm in full control in my own home. It was so empowering. And no one can take that experience with my daughter and family away from me. 

photo by Kaitlin Wessman Photography

Happy 2nd Birthday Naomi! 

Read my detailed home birth story here.

If you're curious about my story about my sweet Sarah' death, you can read that here. 

Valentine's Day and all it's Monstrosities

Picture taken by Emily Crall Photography  www.emilycrall.com

You always start days off like V day, thinking. "I'm gonna clean the house and actually iron his clothes, and he will love it!" but the expectation turned out to be too much for me yesterday.

I had a whole post written yesterday to describe my feelings for this "holiday" (or whatever you want to call it) It started with one subject, had a middle subject, then went on to another....It had all my opinions about how I have a love/hate relationship with V day. How I'm never big on the day, but somehow the feelings creep in that you have to make it extra special still. We never really do anything fancy, however, I did remind my husband before he left for work yesterday that I expect chocolates the next day when they go on sale. It's a tradition, don't touch it.

Then I stopped writing because I realized how much my writing wasn't making sense. My headache was getting bad and I was so tired from lack of sleep the night before. My toddlers (there's 2 of them) were being toddlers and extra whiny. My older kids (there's 2 more) were fighting constantly. And don't forget the baby that needs to wake up and eat every 3 hours. I was beyond drained and my headache only got worse. The older kids finally made me snap. I yelled at them.... badly. I felt like a monster unleashed as I desperately wanted them to just shut. up. All of this activity overwhelmed me to the point of depression.

oh right. Happy Valentine's Day!

..... not gonna happen. Not the way I wanted it to. My husband was going to come home to a messy house, dishes in the sink, same un-ironed clothes, crazy kids that were probably still recovering from my tantrum, and a monster wife who is shoving her head in the couch to get some quiet otherwise she'll puke from the splitting headache.

I texted him while he was at work to warn him. "I'm so sorry. I'm so tired I'm getting a headache and it's making me grumpy. This is my pre-apology."

I began crying so much. Feeling like a failure mom for not disciplining my kids more properly. I felt like a failure wife because I never pick up the damn iron to make his clothes ready for work. I'm making my sweet husband come home to a dirty house and I wasn't ready to give him a "nice wife" for Valentine's Day. With all this "failure-ness" all I had left was my honesty.

I texted him once more. "I'm a monster"

I sent the kids to their beds, the "good" ones watched TV, and I used the little energy I had left to feed the baby and we all waited for Dad to come home. My tears never stopped as my failure rate rang in my ears... or was the ringing my migraine? It was a "potato potata" moment.

So the time finally came when my KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR came through the door to SAVE US ALL!

"Emergency Monster Extraction Kit"

I have to brag about how awesome he is. He brought the very dinner I was craving. It was like he read my mind! Then he gives me a present.                                                           ----------------->





This spoke volumes to my heart. It had enough honesty and humor that it completely broke my funk. What did it have in it, you ask?
  ~chocolate, summer sausage, cheese, crackers, headache medicine, and WINE!~

 My tears dried and I was able to laugh about it. After eating dinner my headache went away. We put the kids to bed and he let us watch "Austenland" for the first time.... I know, gals.... he's the best, right?

It turned out to be a humbling honest night with lots of nothing but love, at it's finest. I thank God for my graceful husband. I love that we can be so honest with each other.

My husband and I do have a great relationship, but that doesn't mean we don't have any trials. I believe that because of the trials, we are great.

Picture taken by Emily Crall Photography.  www.emilycrall.com

*Professional photographs of us two awesome people were taken by Emily Crall Photography. She is so good at what she does, especially for this camera-shy girl. :) You can check out her website at www.emilycrall.com or visit her blog here. I will be sprinkling more photos of us throughout the next several blog posts! I just LOVE these pictures! Thanks so much Emily!