One year ago today, I employed some different labor-inducing techniques to try to avoid an induction (which was to take place the following morning). The "trick" worked and my contractions became regular, so my OBGYN admitted me. I did what I could to get my labor to progress, but grew tired and decided to sleep instead (while I still had the chance!).
The next morning, I had barely progressed and finally, the decision was made to induce. I tried my hardest to do without any pain meds, but after half an hour on the pitocin, I opted for an epidural. The anethesiologist was in a c-section and unable to attend to me, so they gave me some other pain meds. All those did was make me dizzy! I grew very, um, impatient for the epidural, but after two hours on pitocin, I finally got my epidural. All I remember was trying to be as still as possible as he inserted the freakishly long needle into my spine. Then, I fell asleep. I vaguely remember being aware of Gilmore Girls being on TV, but I slept pretty hard.
When I woke up, the nurse asked me if I was ready to have a baby. I wasn't even fully awake yet! Panic set in, but excitement took over. Of course I was ready to meet my handsome boy!
So, at 12:42PM, my 7 lb. 13 oz. bundle of joy entered the world. I know everyone says it's love at first sight, but honestly, all I remember thinking was, "Aww, what a cute baby. But, that's not my baby. You guys did some kind of magic trick. No way was that beautiful baby inside my uterus just a few minutes ago!"
The whole experience was absolutely surreal. But, how I loved that little boy.
The hours that followed were a mixture of sadness {my husband was unable to come home from Army training} and joy as we got to know this little soul.
Truthfully, it was a rough time, emotionally, in my life. I was estranged from a couple of friends, my husband missed out on the birth and the first week of our son's life, and to top it off, postpartum depression hit me hard.
Yet, "for this child, I have prayed." {1 Samuel 1:27} After two {very early} miscarriages, I had carried this baby to full term. After being diagnosed with incompetent cervix and having an emergency cerclage at 19 weeks, I had carried this baby to full term. After 20 weekly shots of progesterone to help me hold the pregnancy, I had carried this baby to full term. With my husband away at Army Basic and training, I had carried this baby to full term. Thanks to my God and my family and friends, I had carried this baby to full term. At the end of the day, all that mattered was that our son had arrived safely. He was strong, healthy, intelligent, and handsome; EVERYTHING I had prayed for.
And yes, it was worth it all.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
War Paint
The time has come for me to make our house a home. In fact, our poor house is long overdue. It's been a process for me to come to a place where I am able to begin tackling this project.
See, first I realized that even when I liked our house, I didn't take pride in it. I didn't take care of our house. I didn't adorn our house. I didn't get to know our house. Truth be told, I simply didn't want to put in the work. Within the last couple of months, a desire has grown in me to make our house our own. To change it, to update it, to add color that reflects me and my family. I have come up with SO many plans to accomplish this new goal. But, I didn't really follow through with any of them--until I bought tiny sample cans of paint a few days ago. This has spurred many other new ideas in both my husband and myself. Still, it initially inspired little action. I planned and planned, but I wasn't moving forward. I even asked my husband WHY he wasn't taking me seriously.
At last, this morning, it hit me. I haven't been taking MYSELF seriously. I have been thinking and planning, but I haven't taken action. How can I expect anyone else to take me seriously when I don't take myself seriously??
So, this morning, I put one of my plans in motion. My husband and I have talked about carpeting our house. It would be a pretty big ordeal because all of our knick knacks and smaller furniture would have to be packed up and moved to the kitchen or out of the house. Normally, I wouldn't do anything, but sit around and wait for my husband to get us motivated to take the necessary steps to get carpet. Today, however, I motivated myself. I packed up everything in our dining room. I wrapped all our decorations and china carefully, boxed it up, and stored it in our kitchen.
Once I was done, I was so proud of myself! I had quickly sorted through our things as I packed. Trash went in the trashcan and unloved items went in bags and boxes to be given away. Sure, there are still 4 more rooms to go...but 1 room is already complete!
As I washed the newspaper ink off my hands, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I laughed at myself as I noticed two black streaks of ink across my forehead:
Bring it on, Living Room!
See, first I realized that even when I liked our house, I didn't take pride in it. I didn't take care of our house. I didn't adorn our house. I didn't get to know our house. Truth be told, I simply didn't want to put in the work. Within the last couple of months, a desire has grown in me to make our house our own. To change it, to update it, to add color that reflects me and my family. I have come up with SO many plans to accomplish this new goal. But, I didn't really follow through with any of them--until I bought tiny sample cans of paint a few days ago. This has spurred many other new ideas in both my husband and myself. Still, it initially inspired little action. I planned and planned, but I wasn't moving forward. I even asked my husband WHY he wasn't taking me seriously.
At last, this morning, it hit me. I haven't been taking MYSELF seriously. I have been thinking and planning, but I haven't taken action. How can I expect anyone else to take me seriously when I don't take myself seriously??
So, this morning, I put one of my plans in motion. My husband and I have talked about carpeting our house. It would be a pretty big ordeal because all of our knick knacks and smaller furniture would have to be packed up and moved to the kitchen or out of the house. Normally, I wouldn't do anything, but sit around and wait for my husband to get us motivated to take the necessary steps to get carpet. Today, however, I motivated myself. I packed up everything in our dining room. I wrapped all our decorations and china carefully, boxed it up, and stored it in our kitchen.
Once I was done, I was so proud of myself! I had quickly sorted through our things as I packed. Trash went in the trashcan and unloved items went in bags and boxes to be given away. Sure, there are still 4 more rooms to go...but 1 room is already complete!
As I washed the newspaper ink off my hands, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I laughed at myself as I noticed two black streaks of ink across my forehead:
{Hmm, I really need to pluck, lol!}
Battle scars from Room #1. I realized, too, that it would be my war paint for Room #2. These "scars" tell Room #2 and myself that I mean business. I've defeated one room, I can certainly defeat another.Bring it on, Living Room!
Breakfast of Champions
As I was shopping a couple of weeks ago, I looked for foods that would be healthier than the products I had been buying. I searched for granola, but couldn't find quite what I was looking for. Finally, I found this and thought, "That sounds good!" :
What wouldn't be healthy about getting 100% of your daily whole grains made of whole grain wheat and barley cereal??
Well, it is healthy. However. I now remember why I don't like to eat healthy. My breakfast of champions:
As you can see, it looked like ground beef in milk. I tried to look past that and took my first bite. *Crunch, crunch, crunch* My first thought was that it was bland. Then came the flavor. Baaad flavor. I am at a loss of words for even describing the awful taste it left in my mouth. I forced myself to at least swallow this one bit of healthy, "good-sounding" cereal. *Crunch, crunch, "Don't gag!", crunch, crunch* Finally I swallowed it. I stared at my ground beef-like cereal. The milk looked the most appetizing. And I despise milk. Needless to say, I drank most of the milk and left the cereal. Worst. Breakfast. EVER.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Roasted Rodent, Phone Interview, and Burnt Toast
Believe it or not, this three things do go together. All three things were part of my day yesterday.
It all started when I decided to make a nice dinner for my husband and myself. {Are you beginning to see why I don't cook that often?} I put a pot of water on the stove to boil. I checked on my husband and son as they were fixing the leaking tub faucet. When I went back to check on my unwatched pot, sure that it would be boiling, I smelled something strange. I looked around the kitchen and stared at my newest jenga-tower of old leftovers discovered in the refrigerator the day before. Certain those leftovers couldn't smell good, I still wasn't convinced that was the source of this particular stench. I walked up to my boiling pot of water and the smell got much stronger. It was just water. In a pot. Why the smell?? I shrugged, thinking maybe my sense of smell was just {really} off. I opened the package of tortelloni, but I couldn't bring myself to put it in the smelly boiling water.
Finally, I called my husband into the kitchen as the smell just seemed to get worse and worse. He immediately detected the malodor now permeating throughout the house. He exclaimed, "It smells dead!" Not exactly the reaction I was looking for in regards to my nice dinner. However, it did confirm that my skyscraper of leftovers was not the source.
My husband sniffed and snooped, moving things around in the kitchen to pinpoint the epicenter. He moved the pot of boiling water, unplugged the burner, and groaned and he turned away from the stove. "That's what I was afraid of," he moaned. "You've been roasting a dead mouse!"
I'll spare you the gory details that followed. All I can say is that the next twenty minutes involved a lot of nose-pinching, gagging, and candle-lighting. Men always wonder why a woman needs to buy five candles every time she goes to one of those parties. Well men, now I can tell you why. It's for the day that your wife tries to make you a nice, Italian dinner and instead roasts a {dead} mouse. In fact, we would have appreciated having MORE candles on hand. And some air freshener.
Not two seconds after we--err, my husband--finished cleaning up the mess, my phone rang. "Oh that's her!" I told my husband as I tossed my son into his unexpectant arms and ran to the dining room.
Our local magazine is doing an article on Army wives and my mother-in-law (who'd just interviewed with them about her mom for an article on war brides) gave them my name and number as a resource. So, yesterday afternoon, with the reek of roasted rodent still burning my nostrils, I gave my very first interview. I was nervous, but I think it went well. I'm looking forward to seeing the article. It'll be weird to see my family's names in print, but how cool!
An hour later, when the interview was finished and the candles were the only aroma in the kitchen, I re-boiled my water. I cheated by microwaving the {canned} green beans and I burnt the garlic bread, but nonetheless, our meal turned out quite well.
It all started when I decided to make a nice dinner for my husband and myself. {Are you beginning to see why I don't cook that often?} I put a pot of water on the stove to boil. I checked on my husband and son as they were fixing the leaking tub faucet. When I went back to check on my unwatched pot, sure that it would be boiling, I smelled something strange. I looked around the kitchen and stared at my newest jenga-tower of old leftovers discovered in the refrigerator the day before. Certain those leftovers couldn't smell good, I still wasn't convinced that was the source of this particular stench. I walked up to my boiling pot of water and the smell got much stronger. It was just water. In a pot. Why the smell?? I shrugged, thinking maybe my sense of smell was just {really} off. I opened the package of tortelloni, but I couldn't bring myself to put it in the smelly boiling water.
Finally, I called my husband into the kitchen as the smell just seemed to get worse and worse. He immediately detected the malodor now permeating throughout the house. He exclaimed, "It smells dead!" Not exactly the reaction I was looking for in regards to my nice dinner. However, it did confirm that my skyscraper of leftovers was not the source.
My husband sniffed and snooped, moving things around in the kitchen to pinpoint the epicenter. He moved the pot of boiling water, unplugged the burner, and groaned and he turned away from the stove. "That's what I was afraid of," he moaned. "You've been roasting a dead mouse!"
I'll spare you the gory details that followed. All I can say is that the next twenty minutes involved a lot of nose-pinching, gagging, and candle-lighting. Men always wonder why a woman needs to buy five candles every time she goes to one of those parties. Well men, now I can tell you why. It's for the day that your wife tries to make you a nice, Italian dinner and instead roasts a {dead} mouse. In fact, we would have appreciated having MORE candles on hand. And some air freshener.
Not two seconds after we--err, my husband--finished cleaning up the mess, my phone rang. "Oh that's her!" I told my husband as I tossed my son into his unexpectant arms and ran to the dining room.
Our local magazine is doing an article on Army wives and my mother-in-law (who'd just interviewed with them about her mom for an article on war brides) gave them my name and number as a resource. So, yesterday afternoon, with the reek of roasted rodent still burning my nostrils, I gave my very first interview. I was nervous, but I think it went well. I'm looking forward to seeing the article. It'll be weird to see my family's names in print, but how cool!
An hour later, when the interview was finished and the candles were the only aroma in the kitchen, I re-boiled my water. I cheated by microwaving the {canned} green beans and I burnt the garlic bread, but nonetheless, our meal turned out quite well.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Diligence
{"constant and earnest effort to accomplish what is undertaken"~Dictionary.com}
Training and raising a child certainly requires diligence~~every moment of every day.
About a month ago, I began to teach my son to say, "Mmm, Mama!" to indicate when he was hungry. See, usually whenever he tried to alert me to the rumbling in his tummy or his readiness to partake in yet another bite, he would cry. Or whine. Or scream. It didn't really matter which method he chose; none of them were pleasing to the ear and had the tendency to set one's teeth on edge. Since he knew both "Mama" for me and "Mmm" for food, I decided to encourage him to combine the two into an acceptable phrase to replace the other noises he made.
He caught on very quickly. Not that he didn't need reminders from time to time, but he did very well. Then, it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't have to do things my way. He could choose to refuse to say, "Mmm, Mama!" He could go back to screaming instead. So, we tested my stubbornness against his. I continued to calmly remind him that "No" screaming was not an appropriate way to communicate that you are ready for the next bite.
Finally, he gave up and decided that maybe screaming wasn't the best route. After all, he didn't seem to get his next bite after whining his wishes. He only seemed to get that bite when he said the magic words.
This then brings us to yesterday...
We braved our local grocery store to stock up before the next big snowstorm hit. I plopped my son down in the seat of the cart and off we went to the produce section. As I examined the produce, his eyes lit up. Wide-eyed, he exclaimed, "MAMA, MMM!!" I laughed and said, "Yes, sweetheart. This is food, but we're here to shop, not to eat. We'll eat when we get back home." All throughout the store, growing in intensity at the yogurt cooler and again at the baby food aisle, he continued to announce with surprised enthusiasm, "MAMA, MMM! MMM, MAMA, MMM!!"
Hey, at least he learned to use his words, right?
Training and raising a child certainly requires diligence~~every moment of every day.
About a month ago, I began to teach my son to say, "Mmm, Mama!" to indicate when he was hungry. See, usually whenever he tried to alert me to the rumbling in his tummy or his readiness to partake in yet another bite, he would cry. Or whine. Or scream. It didn't really matter which method he chose; none of them were pleasing to the ear and had the tendency to set one's teeth on edge. Since he knew both "Mama" for me and "Mmm" for food, I decided to encourage him to combine the two into an acceptable phrase to replace the other noises he made.
He caught on very quickly. Not that he didn't need reminders from time to time, but he did very well. Then, it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't have to do things my way. He could choose to refuse to say, "Mmm, Mama!" He could go back to screaming instead. So, we tested my stubbornness against his. I continued to calmly remind him that "No" screaming was not an appropriate way to communicate that you are ready for the next bite.
Finally, he gave up and decided that maybe screaming wasn't the best route. After all, he didn't seem to get his next bite after whining his wishes. He only seemed to get that bite when he said the magic words.
This then brings us to yesterday...
We braved our local grocery store to stock up before the next big snowstorm hit. I plopped my son down in the seat of the cart and off we went to the produce section. As I examined the produce, his eyes lit up. Wide-eyed, he exclaimed, "MAMA, MMM!!" I laughed and said, "Yes, sweetheart. This is food, but we're here to shop, not to eat. We'll eat when we get back home." All throughout the store, growing in intensity at the yogurt cooler and again at the baby food aisle, he continued to announce with surprised enthusiasm, "MAMA, MMM! MMM, MAMA, MMM!!"
Hey, at least he learned to use his words, right?
Monday, February 7, 2011
Break Time
Saturday night I went to bed late, so I gave myself a "break" from having to do my Before Bed routine.
Then Sunday night, I debated about giving myself another "break"...until I realized that the real BREAK is actually doing my routine!
When I do my Before Bed routine, it makes my morning go so much more smoothly, giving me a BREAK from running around like a chicken with my head cut off! Or sleeping until my son finally drags me out of bed with his screaming. And of course, the best break of all will be when these things that I do each evening and each morning are second-nature and it feels funny NOT to do them. {Though I must remind myself: "Focus on the journey, not the destination. Joy is found not in finishing an activity, but in doing it."~Greg Anderson}
I can tell I'm on that road already. Less and less do I have to look up at the road signs to make sure I'm going the right direction. I find myself remembering to turn right ahead and then make a left turn. I gotta say, I really like memorizing my "drive" to work. It makes life so much easier!
"The road of life twists and turns and no two directions are ever the same. Yet our lessons come from the journey, not the destination."~Don Williams, Jr.
Babysteps, babysteps!
"To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping."~Chinese proverb
Then Sunday night, I debated about giving myself another "break"...until I realized that the real BREAK is actually doing my routine!
When I do my Before Bed routine, it makes my morning go so much more smoothly, giving me a BREAK from running around like a chicken with my head cut off! Or sleeping until my son finally drags me out of bed with his screaming. And of course, the best break of all will be when these things that I do each evening and each morning are second-nature and it feels funny NOT to do them. {Though I must remind myself: "Focus on the journey, not the destination. Joy is found not in finishing an activity, but in doing it."~Greg Anderson}
I can tell I'm on that road already. Less and less do I have to look up at the road signs to make sure I'm going the right direction. I find myself remembering to turn right ahead and then make a left turn. I gotta say, I really like memorizing my "drive" to work. It makes life so much easier!
"The road of life twists and turns and no two directions are ever the same. Yet our lessons come from the journey, not the destination."~Don Williams, Jr.
Babysteps, babysteps!
"To get through the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping."~Chinese proverb
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Practice Makes Perfect!
Well...almost ;)
We're told this all our lives. I am going to let you in on a little secret though: *whispers* I'm not perfect. I'm not EVER going to be perfect.
Not in this life anyway. I'm looking forward to the amazing upgrade I'll get in the next life :)
While the saying "Practice makes perfect" is untrue and a completely unrealistic goal, this by no means diminishes the importance of practice. I'm learning a lot about practice in trying to set new habits. There are obstacles all along the way, but if you persevere and continue to practice to set that habit concretely in your life, the payoff will be quite rewarding. At least, that's what I'm hoping ;)
I've told myself that I don't need to practice my routines unless I'm at home. Finally this evening, truth broke through. Yes, I do need to continue to practice my routines so that they will become second nature--regardless of where I am. While I may not be able to do them exactly according to my plan, I should do them as closely to how I would do them at home as possible.
So tonight, I practiced. I went through my evening routine. I may not have my own bedroom, living room, kitchen, etc., but I do have my own things. Therefore, I can pick up my clothes, papers, bags, and so on and declutter.
As I was going through my routine, I had a revelation: I THRIVE on routines. It energizes me and gives me a sense of accomplishment.
So, here's to many more evenings (and mornings!) of practicing routines until they are perfe--uh, sufficient!
We're told this all our lives. I am going to let you in on a little secret though: *whispers* I'm not perfect. I'm not EVER going to be perfect.
Not in this life anyway. I'm looking forward to the amazing upgrade I'll get in the next life :)
While the saying "Practice makes perfect" is untrue and a completely unrealistic goal, this by no means diminishes the importance of practice. I'm learning a lot about practice in trying to set new habits. There are obstacles all along the way, but if you persevere and continue to practice to set that habit concretely in your life, the payoff will be quite rewarding. At least, that's what I'm hoping ;)
I've told myself that I don't need to practice my routines unless I'm at home. Finally this evening, truth broke through. Yes, I do need to continue to practice my routines so that they will become second nature--regardless of where I am. While I may not be able to do them exactly according to my plan, I should do them as closely to how I would do them at home as possible.
So tonight, I practiced. I went through my evening routine. I may not have my own bedroom, living room, kitchen, etc., but I do have my own things. Therefore, I can pick up my clothes, papers, bags, and so on and declutter.
As I was going through my routine, I had a revelation: I THRIVE on routines. It energizes me and gives me a sense of accomplishment.
So, here's to many more evenings (and mornings!) of practicing routines until they are perfe--uh, sufficient!
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