Dear Paxton and Michael,

I’m a bit of an overindulger. (Not sure that’s a word- spellcheck tells me it’s definitely not).

I’ve never taken a bite of a dessert and said, “Oh, that’s too rich, I can only eat a few bites.” In fact, the only reason I don’t devour an entire pan of brownies in one sitting is because something inside me says it’s socially unacceptable, no matter how good it would taste. I’m fairly certain that if I lived by myself, my eating habits and my waistline would be drastically different.

It’s not just food that I overindulge on, I like to think I’m on overindulger on life. Sometimes I can’t get enough and sometimes I push myself to see if there is actually an “enough” for me. I like to be the best at whatever it is I’m doing- teaching, parenting, photography- I want to be able to do it all, and I want to be able to do it the best.

Lately, life has been _______ (tricky, hard, challenging, exhausting, confusing, pick your favorite adjective.) I haven’t written in a while, frankly because I haven’t felt like I had “enough” in me to write.

Michael, at 4 months and 2 weeks you decided that you no longer wanted to sleep through the night. No problem, I chalked it up to that evil 4 month sleep regression that hit Pax for a few nights when she was that age. I reminded myself to embrace those nighttime moments, because soon they’d be gone. I told myself to enjoy holding you, spending time with you, and being the kind of mom that will see you through whatever stage you’re going through with compassion, understanding, and love. Well, that lasted somewhere between 1 and 2 nights. By night 3 I turned into an ugly monster. I caught myself pleading with God that if you would sleep an entire night, or really even more than an hour stretch, I’d be so much better. I’d been through a tiny sleep regression with Pax, I’d never attempted to survive whatever this is. It started with waking every hour and just wanted your pacifier, then somewhere along the path, it moved to needing to eat 2,3, even 4 times a night. During this new found lack of sleep, Pax started getting scared at night. I’m not sure if it is nightmares or just your mother’s crazy imagination. Here’s what I do know, during those nights that you actually sleep for longer than an hour stretch- Pax is guaranteed to wake up. One night she begged and begged to watch Rudolph before bed (yes, it was March, don’t judge) and at midnight on the dot, she woke up screaming “SNOW MONSTER. GET ME OUT OF HERE MAMA!” Other nights “the bees” are getting her or “the witches.” Sometimes it’s just “something scary.” Sleep deprivation reared its ugly face through the dark circles under my eyes that no amount of make-up could cover and the nasty comments I would make to your daddy in the middle of the night because for some reason, he was not blessed with boobs that could feed you.

Paxton, in this endless cycle of no sleep, you ended up with a stomach virus. We had spent the weekend at the park and the zoo. You had an amazing time, and then Ammy texted me that Monday morning that she had gone in to get you out of bed and you had stood up and said, “Ammy, I spit.” By “spit”, you meant that you had vomited EVERYWHERE. Ammy doesn’t do puke, but Ammy had to do puke on that particular morning. I felt so bad for you, for her, and again resented the fact that I have to spend my hours teaching everyone else’s children instead of being with my own. I blamed it on overdoing the weekend- overindulging on all life has to offer. But then we were sitting down after dinner and you got a look of panic in your eyes. You ran over to me and there came puking rally #2. Our entire house is hardwood floors- literally every single room. However, in our entire house, we have one 5’x7′ carpet. Want to know where you puked? You got it. We’ve tried every type of floor/carpet cleaner that Walmart has to offer and we may end up just buying a new rug. Daddy hauled up a mattress from our spare bed and slept on the floor with you in your room so that I could be up with Ike every hour, two hours, whatever he chose to do that night. I went to work the next day and told everyone that I take back any negative comment I’ve ever made about your daddy because watching him sleep with you on a twin mattress was heavenly. I knew I should be taking advantage of every second Ike was sleeping, because I too, needed that sleep. However, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the monitor. You wollered (again, not a word, but we use it often) your daddy all night long. You started next to him, then on top of him, then holding his face, then under your crib with your hand placed ever so strategically by his shoulder, just keeping tabs that he was in fact still there. He’s such a good daddy, and you both are so incredibly lucky to have him… and so am I.

You bounced back after a couple days, and then it hit Ammy and then your brother. It’s difficult to tell when a baby actually crosses the “sick” threshold, because they spend so much time spitting up even on the healthiest of days. I knew right away. It had a different funk to it, and although he acted like his happy self, we went through 5 outfits in one Saturday. That was also the day we had set up to go out to dinner with some friends from Daddy’s work so that I could meet them. We went to downtown Manitou and parked about a mile away from the restaurant because it was so busy. I’m actually not exaggerating here like I normally am… it really was a far walk. I had decided to go, even though I questioned if Michael was sick, because I wanted to meet them and he seemed so happy. Somewhere between the handshakes, the food orders, and the how do you do’s… he puked ALL OVER ME. It was quite the first impression. Later that night, your daddy puked for the first time in 12 years. The next night, I was in the bathroom downstairs and your daddy was in the bathroom upstairs, and somewhere during all of that, you both were waking up and we still needed to take care of you. We just so happened to be on Spring Break that coming week. I cried that night, I cried hard. I texted Ammy that next morning and asked for help. I was physically unable to take care of you both. I’d had “enough.”

What I thought was going to be a quick little bug, ended up taking quite the toll on our family. I became so dehydrated that I couldn’t really feed Michael. I was producing next to nothing, and every ounce of fluid I tried to take in, I was either throwing up, or attempting to pump. Starting that night- that dreaded Monday- he started refusing to nurse. No problem, right? Well, he also started refusing a bottle. This lasted 6 painfully long days. He would sometimes nurse in the middle of the night, but we spent several days trying to force a bottle on him, trying every sort of sippy cup out there, and even resorting to feeding him an entire 3 ounces through a 2.5 mL medicine dropper. I was losing it, not so gracefully. The following Sunday, the day before going back to school, we fought the bottle all day, and finally, at 5:00 p.m., he decided he’d try to nurse again. I almost gave up so many times, but I could still hear the doctor’s voices from back in September when I got pneumonia and they told me I’d never be able to breastfeed through that- through pumping for 10 days and a 3 day hospital stay. I don’t like to be told I can’t do anything.

Here we are. Our little crew. We are tired. We are occasionally a little cranky. But we are enough.

Every single day I wake up and wonder if today is the day. Is it the day that I find that I truly cannot function at my job? Are the students going to suffer because I’ve only slept in 15 minute increments for nights, weeks, months? Are the teachers going to notice that my clothes are a little wrinkly and I clearly haven’t washed my hair? Every single day, though, I find I have just enough. Enough to leave my house at 7:00 in the morning, sometimes with a shower, sometimes without. Enough to teach a morning tutoring group at 7:40. Enough to teach 6 reading groups with 6 different lessons between 8:45 and 11:45. Enough to teach a kindergarten intervention group after lunch, followed by 3 different writing groups. Enough to drive home and pretend that I have enough left to play with the both of you, to fix supper, to give baths and get ready to do it all over again. Every single day, I find that somewhere there’s a reserve inside of me, one that I didn’t know was there and I’m not sure how it continues, but it’s enough. I get by with just enough.

I’m a mom that I’m not incredibly proud of right now. I want to be so much more for the both of you. I want to be the mom I wrote about last time, the one embracing the ordinary. But for right now, in this moment, I’m enough.

I consider myself a pretty darn good teacher, but right now, I’m sure my lessons could be more creative. My enthusiasm could be a littler higher. I could be keeping in better contact with parents, with other teachers. Maybe my students could be growing a little more than they are. But for right now, in this moment, I’m enough.

I’m not the same kind of wife I was when your daddy said, “I do” almost 5 years ago. I don’t tell him enough how much I appreciate him. I rarely even sit down next to him to watch a show. I rarely even sit down period. I could be so much better. But for right now, in this moment, I’m enough.

I want to be the kind of daughter that causes my parents to beam with pride, even at almost 30 years old. I want them to know how much they mean to me, how much I strive to be like them. But for right now, in this moment, I’m enough.

Our house, the one I fell in love with at 37 weeks pregnant, is bursting. As you both get older and accumulate more “stuff”, I wonder if we’ll be swallowed in an episode of Hoarders- buried alive. I told myself I would move Ike into his own room (which is this itty bitty room all the way downstairs away from our room and completely not suitable for a kid) over Spring Break. When Spring Break came, and the stomach bug came with it, I bought myself a little more time. I’m not really ready anyway with him waking up so many times at night. It floors me that some parents are able to let their babies cry. To each their own, but I hope you both know, that in those moments… no matter why you are crying, I will be there for you… EVERY SINGLE TIME. I don’t care if I’m tired, if the bees are getting you, if you just need your pacifier. I will be your enough, each and every time. This house, it feels much too small now. There’s so much we need to do, but no money to do it. But for right now, in this moment, it is enough.

I went for a walk the other day when Kelsey, Logan, and Lane were visiting. It took all of 10 steps before I was out of breath. My body is a long way from where it once was. It seems like a whole different person that used to wake up on Saturdays and run anywhere between 6 and 10 miles. I spend more days than I’d like to admit with the top button of my pants undone. I could work a lot harder at getting back to where I was, but then I realize, my body was enough. It was enough to carry two beautiful healthy babies through two very rough pregnancies. It was enough to make it through a combined 35+ hours of labor. It has the battle lines to prove it. It was enough to bring the most incredible blessings into this world. In this moment, I’m enough.

I have friends that I haven’t talked to in weeks, months. I have books that need to be read. I have a house that is crying to be cleaned. I have lesson plans to be written. It goes on and on.

I’m enough.

We’re making it. It’s not pretty right now. I’m not going to win any awards for mother of the year, teacher of the year, wife of the year… anything. But for right now, in this moment, I’m enough.

It goes against every other post I’ve written. All that crap about reaching and climbing and never settling. I take that back in this season of life. Sometimes we have to stop. We have to stop overindulging and realize it’s enough. We’re (I’m) doing as good as we (I) can.

Michael, you are at a period in your life that I fondly remember from Pax’s first summer. You are starting to connect your thoughts to your hands and your actions. The wheels are turning and you are busy exploring. You reach your hand up to touch the trickling water during your bath. You play with my hair. You give these amazingly huge open mouthed kisses where you grab our heads with both hands and just pull us into you. When you smile, it starts at your forehead and doesn’t stop until your toes are wiggling and your ankles are twirling. It’s in these moments that I realize we’ll make it. You are still my sensitive little man. From the moment I get home, you have to be with me. If I set you down or give you to Daddy to make supper, the alligator tears start flowing immediately. While I pretend that this makes me crazy, I secretly beam knowing that I’m your “enough.” Your favorite thing to do in the world is watch your sister. You giggle at her, reach for her, and think she’s pretty cool. Today you finally popped your first little tooth through. You’re crazy strong and are starting to roll everywhere you want to go, but no signs of crawling yet.

I swore I wouldn’t write about this next part- so skip over it when you’re 16. Since day 1 (actually it was day 4 by the time they got around to it), I’ve thought your circumcision was messed up. Then, when Pax started calling it a button, I became a little more worried. At your 6 month check up, I asked the pediatrician to really look at it. She said it was just because you were chubby, but then looked a little more and said you might have mild hypospadias. I’d never heard of it, so I made the mistake I always make- I googled it. She told us that you weighed a little over 20 pounds and you were perfect- I replied, “Yeah, except his man parts, and that’s a pretty big deal!” Several nurses came in before you got shots just to check out your rolls. Your arms look like I put rubber bands on them, especially between your elbows and your wrists. Sometimes it’s a struggle just to not kiss you all day long. The pediatrician referred us to a pediatric urologist, and of course we couldn’t get in for almost a month. I spent that entire month preparing myself for the surgery you would have to undergo. I cuddled you extra and spent way too much time talking to other people about your man parts. Apparently this is fairly common, so why on earth does nobody tell you that your son can be born with a “broken” part? We made it to the urologist last Wednesday and I was nervous sick. The appointment was at 2:45, we got there at 2:30. We didn’t get back to the room until 3:55. Ridiculous. The doctor finally saw us and had me unzip your sleeper and take your diaper off. His first comment, “Well he’s so fat you can’t even see it!” (I’m so sorry I’m telling you this, but one day it’ll be a funny story.) He started poking around and I watched your daddy turn inside out. Then he said, “Ok, he’s not going to like what I’m about to do” and I nearly fell apart. After you let out a scream, I realized what he was doing. Because you were so chubby, your circumcision had almost healed over itself. He had to “rip” it back to where it needed to be. All the sudden, you no longer had a button and there were parts of you I’d never seen before. It must have sucked, and I’m so sorry for putting you through that, but it was the best news ever for me. I felt a load lifted off my shoulders. You were no longer “broken” you were just fat. That we knew already. We were sent home after 5 minutes and told that you would be very sore, but continue with vaseline so you don’t get stuck again. Good news buddy, your man parts will work just fine.

Paxton, every time I write, I speak to how funny you are. It just keeps getting better. You’ve started to say, “Well, sure” to everything, but it comes out “Well, shore.” We have movie nights on Fridays with popcorn. We pull the spare mattress in the living room, pile every pillow in the house, and watch whatever movie you pick. I’m embarrassed to say that your daddy and I typically fall asleep by 7:45. It’s sad when the two year old can stay up later than the parents. Anyhow, last Friday I went to sit in your little chair to put the movie in and I hear from across the room, “Well shore mama, you can sit in my puppy dog chair.” Should you be able to string together that many words? No way. You’ve started to really like to sing and dance with your own sweet moves- some you’ve made up and some I’ve taught you. When your daddy told you it was time to get out of the bathtub the other night, you politely said, “Not yet Daddy, I need to shake my booty a little more.” Again, I’ll say, you are dangerously like your mom! You love to draw and write and have recently discovered play-dough at Ammy’s house. When you run, you hold your right arm up still and swing your left arm like a wild woman. You still carry your giraffes everywhere and you tell people they are your best friends. You adore your Aunt Kelsey and your Uncle Logan and you love to FaceTime with Grandma Connie, Grandpa JoJo and Jodi and her boys. But there’s nothing like your love for Ammy. You keep asking me if you can go live at Ammy’s house. I laugh, because I remember wanting to live with my Grandma. When you read books, no matter what they say at the end, you always say, “Happily Ever After.”

You won’t remember this moment in our lives- no matter how long it lasts. I might not even remember these nights. I know that in my desperation, my sleeplessness, there are a million people out there who would trade places. There are people who would give anything for my “bad days.” You know you are loved, you know you are both my world. That’s really all that matters. We fake it until we make it. We skip over a few pages, it may not look like a typical fairy tale by any means, but no matter what, we have our own version of happily ever after.

Pax and Ike, today my message to you is this- “Be you.” Have dreams, and certainly reach for those dreams, but also know that in this moment, you are enough. Instead of writing and rewriting your own version of a fairy tale, find your happily ever after with what you have. Realize that you are perfectly made, perfectly loved and enough.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Michael,

I struggle with the ‘right now.’

Growing up, I couldn’t wait to get older.  In elementary school, I anxiously anticipated junior high.  Once I was in junior high (and not loving it), I knew high school would be my time to shine.  In high school, my heart was already in college.  All 5 years of college.. I couldn’t wait to graduate and really start living.

In my former life, or at least 5 years ago, I was a bit of a runner.  I wasn’t ever a good runner, but I can say that for a brief moment of my life, I ran.  During this flash of being semi in-shape, I did a few half-marathons.  I’m not sure why I did them, because I pretty much hated every step of the way, but that finish line… that finish line gave me a sense of accomplishment that was unparalleled.  I got through those races by constantly focusing on the next mile marker until I saw the one that said 13.1.

When it’s summer, I secretly dream of the first snowfall of the season.  When it’s cold and snowy, I imagine myself soaking in the warm sunshine of summer.

Pax, when I was pregnant with you, I wished every day away.  I prayed for the time to go faster so I could get to the finish line- your birthday.  Once you were here, I kept waiting for the “next things.”  I strategically placed you on your side, leaning ever so slightly, until I could say you were “rolling over” on your own.  I wedged you between the boppy until I could tell my other mom friends that you were sitting up.  We practiced saying “mama” for hours.  Once you were crawling, I was waiting for you to start walking  It never stopped.

It’s no secret that I wasn’t ready to go back to work after a rough maternity leave.  I decided I would simply make it to Thanksgiving break, my chance at a redo on learning Michael, on playing with you, on not feeling like I was on my death-bed.  When I made it to Thanksgiving, I set my eyes on the next prize… Christmas break.  I’ve never stopped looking at what’s next.

Right now.

These words fly out of your mouth so often.  As your parent, I should try to limit the number of times you say it, as it sounds quite bossy, but instead I laugh, every single time.  You have the patience of a gnat, and you’re pretty vocal about getting your way.  It’s one of the many catchphrases you’ve picked up recently.  Some of my other favorites- “Oh no, not again” and “Best day ever!”  You’ve also started a game with Pop-Pop where he pretends he’s sleeping and you go over and yell, “WAKE UP” or “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO” as loud as you can so he can ‘wake up’ and get you.  It’s funny, really funny… until you started doing it in church every time we are praying. A couple of weeks ago, there was a man two pews in front of us who was nodding off during the service.  I’ll admit it… we were supposed to be praying confessions, but I was using every second of that prayer to plead with God that you would not go up to that old man and scream “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO” in his ear.

Right now.

You say it when you are hungry, when you want to play, when you want to go to your own version of the most magical place in the world- Ammy’s house.  Technically, it’s Ammy and Pop-Pop’s house, but you have only called it Pop-Pop’s house once…and that was when you said, “Ammy’s house, right now” and I replied that Ammy wasn’t home (I lie to you quite often) and you said, “Pop-Pop’s house!”  You are crazy smart, sweet girl.  You say it when you want me to put Michael down and play with you.  5 minutes isn’t an option- it’s right now or never.

Right now.

Life is flying by. Your cousin, Lane Austin, was born on November 20th.   We had a great little Thanksgiving break.  We went up to Uncle Logan and Aunt Kelsey’s house, so they wouldn’t have to travel with a one week old. Daddy held Michael while I took Lane’s newborn pictures and while you were supposed to be napping.  I can’t wait to watch the three (or more) of you grow up together.  I can already hear you bossing those boys around, telling them where they need to be, what they need to be doing… right now.

We had a few weeks of school in December, and then it was Christmas break.  On Saturday, Grandma Connie, Grandpa Joe, Aunt Jodi, Uncle Steve, Grady, and Liam came out to visit from Illinois.  You hadn’t seen most of them since the beginning of September, when Michael was born.  I was anxious for you to run around with the boys and I was anxious to see how you’d be with sharing your toys.  It’s the one worry I have about you not being in a daycare or around other kids.  I hope you know how important it is to share.  You loved chasing Grady everywhere, and your laughs echoed through our house.  Liam had been sick with a fever, and while they thought it was gone, it came back the day they got here.  It was a short visit, but you put on a show, like always.  They stayed at a little hotel/cottage down the road and we did some hiking and went to the Dinosaur Museum in Woodland Park to see Santa (still not a fan-unless he’s on TV).  They left in a hurry, to get Liam home and feeling better where he was more comfortable.  We felt so awful for him being sick away from home, and at the same time, I was also concerned with you both getting sick.  Your daddy, Ammy, and I disinfected every toy in this house and crossed our fingers.

Gee, Papa, and Uncle Greg flew in from Florida the day that everyone else left. Pax, you put on another show for them- singing in your new microphone and dancing on top of laundry baskets.  You bust out, “We wish you a Merry Christmas” in a beautiful tone, and spread both arms out to the side and shake your head as you say, “And a haaaaaapppy new yeeeeeeeear!”  It’s the cutest.

Christmas Eve came and Uncle Logan, Aunt Kelsey, and Lane came down from Denver.  I was still concerned that one of you would get sick and then pass it to Lane, who was way too young to handle it.  You played hard during the day, and then it hit.  Around 5:30, when everyone was getting ready for dinner, you walked over, sat in my lap, and said, “Home, James.”  (That’s what you always say when you want to go home.  We started it back in October, and I didn’t know it would stick!)  I could feel your fever when you sat in my lap and my heart sank.

I had all these big plans for Christmas.  As much as I try to not have expectations, I always do.  We had it all mapped out- dinner at Ammy and Pop-Pop’s, open one gift (new Christmas jammies), bath time and then reading The Night Before Christmas.  In the morning, you’d wake up and see your gifts from Santa and we’d watch you light up in the magical way that all kids light up on Christmas morning.  Then, we’d head to Ammy and Pop-Pop’s for more presents and biscuits and gravy.  So here we were, on Christmas Eve with a fever.  We came home and tried to get you to eat a little something, and then you had a pretty early bedtime.  You didn’t listen to the book, but we read it to Ike anyway.  It was nothing like I pictured… you rolling around and chatting to yourself, Ike sitting in my lap drooling, and your daddy reading the book.  I hoped and prayed it was all a fluke, but started to doubt that Christmas day was going to be much fun.

You woke up, not quite yourself, but not super sick either.  You were excited about your new play kitchen, but had absolutely no interest in any of your other presents or your stocking.  I’m so glad I took the time to wrap all of those presents that your dad and I unwrapped for you while you were in a completely different room.  You spent the next hour making grilled cheese sandwiches in your play kitchen. I texted Ammy that we wouldn’t be coming over since you still had a bit of a fever.  I didn’t want you around Lane, but after talking to Aunt Kelsey, Ammy convinced us to go over for a bit.

Despite not feeling your best, you helped pass out presents, and especially enjoyed that Uncle Logan and Aunt Kelsey put pictures on the presents to show who they were going to.  You were both absolutely spoiled rotten in a room full of people who just might think you are as incredible as I do.

We spent the next several days hanging out at Ammy and Pop-Pop’s house and watching you perform through a snotty nose and a fever.  It’s impossible to be anything but happy when we’re around you.  You helped bake cookies and then passed them out to everyone.  You bounced in your trampoline and learned how to do “butt busters.”  You played your harmonica with Papa, stomping your feet and turning in circles.  Ike was passed around from one set of loving arms to another.  They flew back to Florida on December 30th and then we had a few days at home to settle in and explore new toys.  We had a few days of making snow angels, having snowball fights, making snow ice cream, watching Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas 45 times. We had a few days where I was reminded just how much my soul needed to be filled with you both.

Right now.

Pax, right now I look at you and I can’t believe we just celebrated your 2nd birthday.  Your daddy and I filled the house with balloons and put streamers on the door.  We had a simple little celebration with Uncle Logan, Aunt Kelsey, Lane, Cathie, Ammy, Pop-Pop and the Whites.  We had strawberry shortcake and listened to you sing Happy Birthday to yourself countless times. When anyone would ask how old you are now, you look at them and say, “2 months.”  I look back at the details that went into your first birthday party, and I want to smack myself in the face.  I was so concerned with putting on a regular pinterest show, and while it was a lot of fun, you’ll never remember it or appreciate the effort I put forth after having the flu, ending up in the hospital, and finding out I was pregnant all in one week!  At 2 years old, you no longer have the baby look.  You are gaining height, but not coordination.  I’m amazed at just how many times a day you still fall over.  Your hair has gotten so long, and the curls still bounce when you walk.  Your belly hangs out of the majority of your shirts, even though you are wearing 4T and 5T shirts at 2 years old.  I’m convinced they need a maternity line for toddlers. You love to run around the ‘circle’ in our house and you beg for Daddy to ‘follow you.’  You watch two things religiously… Paw Patrol and Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas.  Daddy tried to hide it from you after Christmas, but after several hours of you asking for it, he gave in.  We’ve started going to a little church down the road with a maximum attendance of maybe 35 people.  When the choir gets done singing, you clap loudly and yell, “Yay!”  On week 2, you squatted in the middle of the aisle and started pooping, but that’s a different story for a different day.   I’m amazed at the words you can string together.  I’m not sure where you’re picking up all these lines, but I’m so glad they’re here…right now.  We asked if you wanted mac n’ cheese last night and you said, “I guess so.”  Daddy asked if I needed anything from upstairs and then he asked you, just to be silly.  We were laughing so hard when you said, “No, Daddy, I fine.”  Two nights ago you came running out of the bathroom, completely naked and climbed up in the big bed where I was feeding Michael.  You said, “Mommy, where’s my butt” then stood up, looked at yourself in the mirror and said, “Oh yeah, there it is!”  You love to look at yourself in mirrors, which makes me laugh because when I was growing up, Ammy made me switch where I sat at family dinners so that I would stop staring at myself in Grandma’s mirror instead of eating.  You and I, we’re a humble pair.  You crawled over to my lap last night before bed, hugged me tight and said, “I love mama!”  And just like that, nothing else matters.

Right now.

Michael, you are the sweetest little guy I have ever known.  You have rolls that go on for days and a smile that causes wiggles all the way down to your chubby little toes.  You sleep like a champ and love to be talked to.  You’ve really started to enjoy being read to, which as a reading teacher, I’m completely ok with.  You stretch your arms straight out and stare at your hands like you can’t figure out who put them on the ends of your arms.  Then there’s that laugh.  It starts as a deep belly roll and then turns into this high pitched squeal that leaves my heart walking around on the outside of my body.  You love bath time and you love to stand.  We can’t believe how strong you are.  You’ve started talking to us in your dinosaur voice and I’m pretty sure all the roars mean that you love me, too. 🙂  I simply can’t imagine life without you.  I also can’t believe there was a time when I thought I’d never be able to love another child like I love your sister.  It’s an equal love, but a different love- a whole part of my purpose that I didn’t know I was missing.  We spent hours, just you and I, rocking in the chair over Christmas break.  Me, staring at your eyelashes while my arms gave out from holding your weight.  You, snuggling your puppy dog against your face and squeezing my finger through your sweet baby dreams.

I wish I had a pause button on life.

I wish I could stay in the perpetual state of “right now” because I’ve missed so much of it.  While I was waiting for Pax to hit her next milestone, I was missing the most beautiful girl in the ordinary, everyday, beautiful chaos.  While I was trying to make it to Thanksgiving and Christmas break, I missed hours of weeknights that I could’ve been reading to you both, chasing Pax around the house, kissing Michael on the belly and hearing him squeal. I could’ve been doing anything besides wishing it was tomorrow, next week, next month. While I was daydreaming of the summer sunshine, I was neglecting the beauty of the snow glistening on the tree branches.  While I was looking for mile marker 8, I can tell you nothing about mile marker 7.

I need to make some promises to you both starting today.  I promise to embrace the ordinary, the right now.  I promise to not take ‘today’ for granted.  I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about all I already have.  I promise to not focus on the finish line, but rather the journey.

I’ve talked before in a previous post about how I always picture people the same way- in a certain outfit, at a certain age.  I always picture my mom, Ammy around 36 years old.  It blows my mind that in a blink I will be the very same age that I picture my mom.  I look in the mirror and I don’t know when it happened, but I’m not 18 anymore.  I went shopping a couple of weekends ago and I actually celebrated finding a pair of pants that go up to my belly button, hiding the trophy… aka the spare tire that is my not so pride and joy from carrying two perfect babies.  I put on clothes now and I ask myself if they look too young for me, and the scary part is, some actually do.  I returned from Christmas Break at school and one of the kindergarteners said, “Mrs. Powell, I know what you did over break, you got skinny.”  I wish that was true kid, but I didn’t get skinny, I discovered spanx…and I may never go back.  I’ve given up the struggle of pulling the random grey hairs I find.  I’ve given up the idea of trying to stay up past 9:30.  When did I get here and what did I miss along the way?

29 years have gone by.  29 years to embrace the right now instead of searching for the next.  I promise that mile marker 30 and on will be different. Today is the only chance I have for today.  The only chance I have to be here in this moment…in this right now. I promise to stop simply getting through, but instead start living, learning, and loving the right now.  I promise to invest so much more of myself in the right now, in the snuggles in the rocking chair, the poops in the middle of the church service, the high-pitched squeals and the endless hours of Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas… even when we’re still watching it in July.

I love you both,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Michael,

I feel like I’m swimming upstream.  Like the current is about to sweep me under, carry me away and laugh at me on my way down.  Returning to work was hard, because I felt like I never had a “leave.”  Driving to work on that very first day back, October 16th, felt like I had a bungee cord tied to my back bumper.  I had my foot on the accelerator (only because I had to), but while all the cars were going forward, every fiber of my body was being pulled back home.  I didn’t have babies to be away from them until 5:00 or after each night.  I didn’t have babies so that someone else (and thank goodness it’s Ammy and Pop-pop) could raise them.  I had babies so that I could love them.  I could teach them.  I could raise them.  I could hold them whenever I wanted.  2 1/2 hours a night and weekends sounds like some awful visitation deal.

Growing up, I was spoiled, but it wasn’t with fancy toys and shiny things.  I was spoiled with experiences, with memories, with room to grow.  In that tiny little house sitting on 30+ beautiful acres, I grew from a small child, to a snotty 4th and 5th grader, to a hard-headed, boy crazy junior high teenager, to a determined, emotional, still boy crazy high schooler, to a struggling, homesick, lost college student, to a free-spirited, crazy in love, successful woman.  There, in that tiny house, at that beautiful place, I learned to look at the trees.  I learned to appreciate the garden that provided our summer meals.  I felt the breeze. I listened to the leaves brush against the roof of the barn.  I cried over my first heartbreak, my second heartbreak, and every other boy I thought was “the one.”  I grew up with parents that challenged me, expected a lot of me, disciplined me when needed, and held me when I was falling apart.  I remember the day Pop-pop pulled into our long driveway with the most beautiful thing ever- a 1995 red Chevy Berretta, that was mine, IF I could work and pay for it.  I remember my 16th birthday being on a Monday, which meant the DMV was closed.  I remember trying to get my license that next Tuesday morning at 8:00 before my first final at 8:30.  I remember my hands clenched to the steering wheel racing the clock and thinking I was going to get a speeding ticket on day 1.  I remember the payment book, cream colored and printed with dark ink from DeWitt Savings Bank.  In the top right corner, it was stamped with $91- my monthly payment amount, but you know I never paid that amount, because Pop-pop always taught me to pay more.  I worked to pay for that car, and worked extra to pay for all the speeding tickets I got in that car.  I went from being a camp counselor to a lifeguard/swim lessons instructor.  I worked at that very same bank that was printed on my payment book.  I babysat in college and even had a brief stint as a telemarketer.  I enjoyed working (minus the telemarketing job) and was proud of my work.  Ammy and Pop-pop instilled a work ethic in your Uncle Logan and I that is hard to come by these days. Sure we could have the things that other kids had, if we worked for them.   I swore I had the strictest parents around and promised myself that I’d be nothing like them when I started a family.  Now I find myself doing everything I can to be EXACTLY like them.

Pax, there are times when I think of you and the guilt I feel is overwhelming, swallowing me whole.  Will you remember how many times I’ve said, “Not right now, sweet girl, Michael needs Mommy now.”  Will you remember that you keep watching the same 9 episodes of Paw Patrol?  Will you remember that I get home from work and spend the next 2 1/2 hours feeding Michael, giving Michael his bath, feeding Michael again, and watching you from the couch just to kiss you goodnight and feel like I haven’t even seen you?  Will you remember the tears that slipped down my cheek when I watched everyone else playing with you, giggling with you, while I sat on the sidelines?  Will you still be excited to see me after I have been gone at work for the 5th day in a row?  Will you start to call for someone else when you wake up from a bad dream?  Will you remember when I left you in the crib five extra minutes just so I could finish feeding your brother/go to the bathroom/maybe sneak in a shower? The guilt is more painful than I anticipated.  It leaves me stuck in the limbo of wishing this time away and praying this time moves slower.  And then every time, it happens.  Every single time, I start to fall apart, and just as I feel the weight of the world crashing down, I hear the same two words, “Hold you.”

Sometimes it’s a question and sometimes it’s just a statement.  No matter what it is, it’s my saving grace.  “Hold you” when you need carried up the stairs.  “Hold you” when I’m fixing dinner and you think you have to help.  “Hold you” when you need rocked after a scary dream.  “Hold you” when you want a bedtime story (and chances are it’s Brown Bear, Brown Bear or Barnyard Dance or the Achoo Book- I can’t remember it’s real name.)  “Hold you” when we are driving down the road and you just need to be reminded that I’d do anything in the world for you.  “Hold you” when Mommy feels like she’s failing you.  It’s no mistake that instead of you saying, “Hold me,” you say, “Hold you.”  That’s what you’re really doing.  This is the only day I can hold you and you are 21 months and 22 days.  Tomorrow you will be 21 months and 23 days.  Soon you’ll be 2 years old and when people ask how old you are, I won’t reply with a number of months, but years.

Michael, between 4:30 and 5:00 a.m., we have something magical.  It’s our time.  The rest of the world is sleeping, but not you and I.  I sit in bed, with you in my arms,  and I hold you.  It’s something only I can do.  I’m the one that can give you exactly what you need at that moment.  I’m the one that can’t take my eyes off you in that semi-dark room.  I’m the one that finishes feeding you, but can’t bring myself to put you back down quite so soon.  So, I give myself those magical moments.  Those precious times between you and I.  I memorize the way your little nose sits perfectly between those chubby cheeks.  The way your lip curls up like Elvis when you’re stretching.  The way the nightlight dances across your bald head, which makes me chuckle because it’s only bald on top… the rest is thick and dark brown. (This is why you will be wearing hats every day from here until when it grows back in!) The way you flash those amazing side smiles, boasting your dimple and buying yourself another 5 minutes in my arms.  The way your chest rises and falls, each breath reminding me that you are perfect, and that I made you, will protect you, and will do anything in the world for you, too.  You see, this is the only day I can hold you that you are 8 weeks and 3 days old.  Tomorrow you will be 8 weeks and 4 days old.  Soon you’ll be 2 months old.  In a blink, we’ll be celebrating your first birthday.  Everyone is so quick to remind me how fast it goes, so for now, while I can, I will take this time, and I will hold you.

Last weekend, we went on a hike on what we call “The 6 Tunnel Trail.”  It’s a gorgeous trail that goes through the mountain, high above the highway, and through 6 amazing tunnels.  The problem is, the only way to get up to it, is by walking through a creek and then scaling a steep, gravel covered ridge.  I carried you, Michael, in the carrier while Daddy carried Pax in the backpack.  I’m still getting used to a little exercise from the whole pregnancy/delivery/pneumonia thing, but I can’t say no to a challenge, or a beautiful hike.  Climbing up that steep ridge, I took several breaks and was embarrassed when Ammy offered to help pull me up with Echo’s leash.  And then I swallowed my pride, and I grabbed that leash.  All whopping 120 pounds of Ammy’s small frame stood strong and she held us, all the way up.  We had a great hike.  We passed some climbers in the tunnel and Pax, you said, “Hi boys” when you saw them and gave them your “cute look.”  (Watch out world, this girl is just like me.)  We hiked one way, then the other.  At the end of one side, Pop-pop asked if I wanted to go down to the road there, where it was less steep and they could come pick me up.  Of course I said no, because I’d been mentally preparing for the trek/slide back down to earth… aka the parking lot.  In no time at all, we were standing on top of the world, staring down at the path that would take us back down.  I debated on sitting down, closing my eyes, and just letting the ground take me where I needed to go.  Had I not had you, Michael, strapped to me, I probably would’ve taken that approach.  It’s crazy how much different you look at life when you are holding your world in your arms and your husband is holding the other half of your world on his back.  Ammy went first, full speed ahead.  Ammy has only one gear when she’s going downhill (and in life in general) and that gear is called reckless abandon.  Before I had even decided what foot I was going to lead off with, she was like a tiny speck at the bottom, waiting for us.  Pop-pop went next, slow and steady, just like he lives his life.  He took a few steps and stopped, turned around, and held out his hand.  Here I was, a 29 year old woman, someone who thinks she’s somewhat invincible, someone who doesn’t ask for help easily, and yet I found myself in a familiar position, being held.  Pop-pop would take a few more steps, reach out that hand and either hold my hand until I got to where he was safely, or he would stand there and catch me so I wouldn’t keep going down simply based on our momentum.  Daddy went next with Pax on his back.  He took it slow, sitting down when he needed to, to make sure he had his footing in a safe place (just like he lives his life).  I would’ve never been able to enjoy that view, if I hadn’t chosen to climb, and if I hadn’t let someone hold me.

Here’s what I’ve realized… you’re never too old to be held.  And I’ll never get tired of hearing, “Hold you.”  Ammy and Pop-pop held me when I was little.  They held me when I wrecked my bike.  They held me through a few surgeries.  They held me when someone I loved passed away (even if they needed held more).  They held me through heartbreak 1, then 2, then all those other times I thought I’d lost “the one”.  Pop-pop held me down the ‘aisle’ to say “I Do” to a man he found fit to hold me in his place.  Ammy held me in those moments before I went to the hospital to have you, Michael.  Pop-pop held me as I ventured down the side of that ridge.

Pax, let me always hold you sweet girl.  Let me hold you when you have a boo-boo because you run into absolutely everything (Pinball Powell).  Let me hold you before you go away to camp the first time.  Let me hold you when kids are mean at school.  Let me hold you the first time one of your “friends” spreads a nasty rumor about you.  Let me hold you when some boy, who was never good enough for you anyway, breaks your heart.  Let me hold you when you question what you want to be.  Let me hold you when someone you love leaves to meet Jesus. Let me hold you when you are completely broken. Let me hold you when you show me a ring on your finger.  Let me hold you when you start your own family.  Let me hold you sweet girl, and never stop saying, “Hold you.”

Michael, let me always hold you sweet boy.  Let me hold you when you are crying just because you need held.  Let me hold you and watch you grow, because it feels like it’s going that fast.  Let me hold you when you have a belly ache.  Let me hold you the first time you break a bone playing your favorite sport.  Let me hold you when some girl, the one you thought was “the one”, decides that she was just using you to make that other boy jealous.  Let me hold you before you stand at the end of the aisle waiting for the real “one” to walk down and then, hold her for everything you’ve got.  Never stop holding her, but know that I’m always here to hold you.

I wish big things for you two.  I wish I could give you a childhood like I had.  I wish I could spoil you with some of the things your friends will have.  But I can’t.  Your daddy and I, we’ll never be rich.  The money we have will always be hard earned and sparse, but the love we have for you will be unconditional and with everything we’ve got.  We will spoil you with experiences, with hard lessons, with memories, with being held.  You will need to work for what you have.  You will have a payment book (or at least an online statement) for your first vehicles.  You will have a curfew.  You will think we’re the meanest parents around.  And that will mean we are doing our jobs.

We won’t ever have 30+ acres, but we do have a tiny house.  Here’s what I need from you.  Always realize how beautiful the mountains are, how massive they are.  Those mountains are like your dreams.  They seem impossible, and most people find that they are, but a few brave souls choose to climb them.  Climb those mountains.  Make the color of the sky, that deep blue, make that your favorite color.  Never forget what an artist God is.  The sky is only that color here in Colorado.  It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with this place.  It’s one of the reasons we packed our lives up at the craziest time and made this move.  If you decide that you need to adventure somewhere else when you get older, remember that blue.  Let that blue sparkle in your eyes, and know that you can always come home.  Listen to the leaves on the tree, feel the wind on your face.  Let the snow crunch under your shoes.  Make snow angels.  Stomp in mud puddles.  Pick a bouquet of dandelions.  Play in the backyard with each other.  Be nice to each other and be nice to other people.  You never know when you’ll need them.  Be a leader, someone other people want to be like.  Challenge yourself, climb those mountains.  Be proud of what you do, but be humble in your accomplishments.  Follow Break a few rules.  Surprise people. Know that you are going to work, know that you are going to have a broken heart.  That broken heart will be a pain you can’t imagine, a pain that is real… even when the world, and your mom, tells you it’s for the best.  That pain, that ache deep in your soul, that has to happen, because after it breaks, someone will come along and put it back together.  Someone will hold you.

Driving to work is like swimming upstream.  It’s not getting easier, but it has to be done to live in this house, to buy our groceries, and to show you how important it is to work.  As I drive each day, I feel the all too familiar tug coming from home.  That bungee cord is wrapped tightly around you both and then is stuck on my bumper, or rather wrapped around my heart.  But every day, I get to come home to you both- two healthy, amazing, beautiful kids, and I don’t take that for granted.  I get to pull in our driveway, jump out of my car, open the door, and hear, “Hold you.”

Never stop letting me hold you, and while you’re at it, while I’m falling apart, never stop holding me together.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Michael,

Growing up, I avoided teeter-totters.  They were intriguing, yes, but they were also terrifying.  The teeter-totter is all about balance.  There is a beautiful moment when you find the person who weighs the exact same as you and you escape into an endless cycle of up/down up/down.  Then there is that moment when you weigh slightly more or less than the person on the other side of that long wooden board and you spend countless moments shifting your weight back and forth, in front of the handles, behind the handles, on top of the handles… just to find the balance.  The teeter-totter exposes all, it holds no lies.  I think I don’t like teeter-totters because I struggle with balance, or maybe it’s because one too many times I’ve been on one when my trusty partner abandoned ship and I came crashing to the ground, feeling my insides lodge somewhere inside my brain and vowing to never get back on that evil ride.

Balance.

Life is like that teeter-totter.  It’s constantly adjusting, repositioning, and sometimes it’s abandoning ship to find a new comfort.  Our life has been far from balanced for quite some time, but I like to think at one point I had it together a little.  We were in a routine, our little family of 3.  Our days looked much the same, our nights were somewhat relaxed, our jobs were somewhat predictable (as much so as you can ask when we both are teachers).  Up/down up/down.  When we found out we were pregnant again, the teeter-totter went haywire.  I knew I was going to be sick.  I knew it was going to be hard.  I knew it was what we wanted, just not anywhere near the time we planned.  Neither your daddy or I abandoned ship at anytime, because that’s not like us.  We scooted forward, we shifted backwards, we held you both between our teeter-totter praying we could figure it out.

Balance.

I sit here with time ticking away on this maternity leave and I’m bitter.  Let me tell you how women envision life right after having a baby.  We see laying around in our pajamas with our hair freshly washed, make-up meticulously painted over our dark circles.  We see endless snuggles, changing diapers, catching up on all the TV we’ve missed.  We see friends and family stopping by to snuggle your baby while we nap, shower, fix dinner.  We see a house that is clean because we are home to clean it.  Laundry that is done because we are home to do it.  A husband that will come home and praise us for all the hard work we’ve been doing, and then take that sweet new bundle out of our hands so we can have some “me” time.

Maternity leave- the truth: The nights are short.  Pregnancy prepares you for this because there is no sleeping at the end, but now there is this little life you’ve created that you are also responsible for.  This little thing doesn’t sleep through the night right away- or sometimes for a very long time.  For someone like me, who takes a long time to fall asleep (my mind never stops) it can be exhausting to feel yourself finally relax enough to sleep and just at that beautiful moment where your eyes become heavy, baby is awake and ready to eat.  The diaper changes are often, and they are messy.  I still haven’t figured out this whole thing.  You know when you go to cross the street and it gives you a flashing hand or the little guy walking to tell you it’s safe to go?  I need that for diaper changes.  I need to know just how many seconds I have before I’m going to get peed on or projectile pooped on.  It’s sleeping on top of towels because you don’t want to wash your comforter for the 4th time in 4 days because it just got pee on it again.  It’s laundry that doesn’t end- sleepers that have been peed and pooped on, burp rags, towels, etc.  Nothing about it is easy. It’s endless hours of cluster feeding. Your body, according to the doctors, requires a minimum of 6 weeks to recover from a natural childbirth.  Nothing about your body feels like it’s yours during those 6 weeks.  The simple act of going to the bathroom requires all kinds of products from doing the “I gotta go” dance while the water warms up for the peri-bottle, all the way to leaning this way and that trying to find a position where it doesn’t feel like you are giving birth all over again just to pee. Showers are another dog and pony show.  You need every precious second of those 6 weeks to feel halfway human again, and then boom, you’re finally feeling better and it’s time to go back to work.  Work gets the best of you, and your baby gets the worst.  It’s a real screwed up system we have here.  Every single day of my 6 weeks was unpaid leave.  Every single day of it, I haven’t felt great.  Balance.  There is none.  Your life as you knew it is simple a memory and you spend your hours trying to figure out how to make this new rodeo work.

As you read before, we spent Monday- Friday in the hospital with Michael.  The next Monday we had his check-up and that Thursday we moved into our new house.  Things at the house started magically falling apart (as they do when the balance is off).  The stove quit working, the carbon monoxide detector went off on the furnace and we found out we had to buy a new one.  The water boiler system started short circuiting.  The garage door stopped going down all the way.  The comcast guys came out to install cable and found out it couldn’t be done upstairs without drilling several holes in the outside of the house.  The icemaker/water wouldn’t work on the refrigerator and the toilet was leaking.  It seemed as if every day I was letting someone new into this house to fix something… someone who wasn’t supposed to be a part of my 6 week stay with my new little man.  That weekend, I started having a little cough.  No big deal, I assumed it was just a cold, but was still mad that I couldn’t seem to catch a break.  I researched what cough meds I could take while nursing and began drowning myself in delsym cough syrup and luden’s cough drops (which technically, I believe, are just wild cherry hard candy).  That Monday we took Michael for his second newborn checkup, which is a Colorado thing in order to catch some big diseases/disorders that don’t typically show up in the initial screening done at the hospital.  The guy pricking my sweet boy’s foot kept leaving the room to cough, saying that his throat was just dry and it must be something in the air vents.  Uh huh.

My cough got worse and worse to the point that I was not sleeping at all and I was spending much of my night gasping for breath, scaring your daddy.  I tried to sleep downstairs, but felt like I was shaking the whole house.  I was waking up daddy and Michael, and sometimes you would even stir, Pax.  I let it go for way too long until one day I thought I was going to die.  I know I exaggerate a lot, but I really didn’t feel too far off.  I made a trip to urgent care, where I found out after a couple breathing treatments and chest x-rays that I had double pneumonia.  I had a fever and my oxygen levels kept setting off the alarms- they were between 87-88%.  My headache was terrible- a result of not enough oxygen to my brain. The doctor said that they don’t usually like to treat pneumonia at home, especially if the patient has asthma.  I begged to be treated at home and agreed to come back the following day for a check up.  He finally said I could, and sent me home on zithromax and breathing treatments every 4 hours.  He said I could continue to nurse on both those meds…although he didn’t think I would be able to with the pneumonia and in his words exactly, he told me, “If you want to try to power through it, be my guest.”  Done.

The following day I went back to see him again and things were already looking better.  My fever was down, my oxygen was up.  My lungs still were filled with crap, but sounded better.  My body was responding to the treatment, which was a miracle in itself since I was allergic to the other forms of antibiotics they use to treat pneumonia.  I was told to finish my 5 day course of antibiotics and continue breathing treatments for 10 days.  It became an even crazier task to try to balance.  A newborn eating every few hours, breathing treatments every 4, trying to “rest” because the doctors kept telling me how important that was.

I continued to get better and better, and that Saturday, I even felt like going down to Manitou Springs for a little family adventure to walk around the shops and eat lunch.  I was still coughing, but no longer felt like my family would be writing my obituary soon.  We had a great time, and Pax, you got to see Smokey the Bear, which was a huge deal because you love bears.

Then Sunday hit.  I woke up and everything went downhill really fast.  My head started pounding, I couldn’t breathe again.  I was freezing but no one else was.  My cough returned with a vengeance and my back ached terribly from that cough.  Our plan for the day was to go over to Ammy and Pop-Pop’s house because Uncle Logan was there and Aunt Kelsey and her mom were coming down.  I couldn’t see straight and I sure couldn’t think straight.  I had Daddy take you over to play while I fed Michael and tried to get my act together enough to go visit.  Cathie, Kelsey’s mom, came over to see the house when Daddy came back to pick up Michael and I.  On the way back to Ammy and Pop-Pop’s, we realized that we didn’t have enough seats in the car due to carseats, so Daddy had me drive while he climbed in the way back.  That drive is still kind of a blur to me.  I remember seeing 3 roads and trying to pick which one was the real one.  I remember Cathie talking to me about that nasty enterovirus going around.  I remember thinking that I shouldn’t be driving.

The day went much the same.  I was no fun to be around.  I sat with a blanket on, freezing, and let everyone else hold Michael and play with you, Pax.  Daddy left to get me some gatorade, because I knew I was getting dehydrated.  I couldn’t eat, yet I will still trying to nurse Michael.  By the time Daddy got back, Ammy had convinced me to head back to urgent care and see if I could get another round of antibiotics.  I feared they would send me to the hospital, but like always, Ammy told me to not jump to conclusions and just to get better.  Michael, you slept the afternoon away on Aunt Kelsey’s shoulder, then Cathie’s shoulder, then Ammy’s shoulder.  I finally had to wake you up to feed you after 4 hours because we needed to make it to urgent care before they closed.  I got teary eyed when we left, because I didn’t have a good feeling.

As soon as we got to urgent care, I knew it wasn’t good.  My fever had spiked back up, my oxygen was low and I had quit responding to the antibiotic I was on, which should have stayed in my system for 5 more days.  I didn’t have a choice, they were sending me to the ER to be treated in the hospital and possibly admitted.   This hospital was in Woodland Park, just 10 minutes from home, but still felt like a million miles from you both.  I tried to keep my cool, but knew it was a matter of time before I lost it.  I had just gotten out of the hospital from having you, Michael, and I was not ready to even see those cold hard beds, the terrible food, or the mean nurses.  We rolled into the ER and they immediately put me on oxygen.  I felt better almost instantly.  They put an IV in my arm, which was incredibly painful because they put it in the bend of my right arm and I seriously couldn’t move my entire arm.  If my arm bent at all, it set off the pump alarm, and they would come poke around to make sure the IV was still in.  Ouch.  They drew my blood 4 different times.  They took me down the hall for more chest x-rays where they found that my lungs were still filled with fluid and the strand of pneumonia I had was resistant to the meds I was on.  On top of the pneumonia, I also had enterovirus, a nasty virus going around mostly effecting kids and people with asthma.  Since I was allergic to penicillin and cephalosporin, I only had one option left for antibiotics- it was a really strong drug and it meant 2 things- 1) I couldn’t breastfeed on it and 2) I would need to be in the hospital for 3 days to get it by IV and to be monitored.  I lost it.

Michael, you were only 3 weeks old.  We were just getting things figured out- our relationship still fragile, delicate, needing consistency.  Our teeter-totter was slowly regaining balance at home and now this.  I was so mad when you had jaundice and I couldn’t hold you very often and now they are telling me that not only can I not hold you, but I can’t even see you.  This is the part where your partner jumps off the teeter-totter and you come crashing to the ground, and then, you stand back up just as someone comes along and steps on the other end of the teeter-totter and it comes back up and smacks you in the chin.  Only it felt even worse.  I felt like a complete failure as a mother and a daughter.  Ammy and Pop-Pop were going to watch both of you while Daddy stayed with me in the hospital.  Ammy and Pop-pop, who were supposed to be enjoying retirement, were going to be up every few hours with a newborn while they were juggling a 20 month old and having work done on their house.  I had one job as your mother, to provide for you, and I felt like I couldn’t even do that.  I had about 60 ounces of milk in the freezer, but knew that wasn’t going to be enough.  Michael, I knew you were going to have to have some formula, but I didn’t even know if you would take a bottle yet.  You were still so new.  I needed to get out of there as soon as I could.  I needed to be with my babies.

I spent that first night in the hospital and did not sleep at all.  The bed was uncomfortable, I had a terrible headache (which they kept giving me only tylenol for) and that IV in my arm was killing me.  In another life, I would’ve been thankful for the opportunity to rest with no responsibilities, but you two are my favorite responsibilities and I knew I wouldn’t rest- my heart is divided in two pieces and both of those pieces were sleeping at Ammy and Pop-pop’s house without me.

In the morning, with a shift change, they finally changed my IV to my left hand.  I could now bend my arm and I was so thankful for that.  However, both arms started itching and I soon realized I had a rash.  I feared the worst- that I was having a reaction to the only medicine that was left, but it cleared up within a couple hours.  Your daddy went home to shower and to spend some time with the two of you.  I sat in the hospital room for 8 hours by myself and it was a lonely place. I listened to the guy across the hallway scream for someone to take him to the hospital because he didn’t feel good.  I knew I was doing better than him.   I watched videos of the two of you on my phone.  I called out to friends back home for prayers.  I’m not one to ask for help, but I needed help in the biggest way.  I ate food I couldn’t recognize delivered by the dietary staff who was clearly playing tricks on me…who needs 4 spoons and 3 straws to eat their breakfast?

Your daddy came back around 6:30 that night to stay with me.  I can’t begin to tell you how amazing he was in the hospital.  He didn’t try to teeter-totter, he straight up picked that teeter-totter up on his back and carried me on it.  The minute I would stir, he would hop out of that puke colored recliner (why can’t it just be black or blue, why does everything including the puke bucket have to be puke colored in the hospital?) and get my pump ready for me, then unplug my legs from those huge blow-up things to help with circulation (who can sleep through that anyway?), help me take off my oxygen, unplug my IV machine and help me walk to the bathroom.  He would hold me as I cried when I dumped all that milk down the sink.  He rubbed my back when I cried that I hurt so bad, but didn’t want the nurses to know because I didn’t want to stay any longer.  He held me together.  That’s a crazy thing about balance in a marriage, sometimes it falls all on one person, and your daddy handled it amazingly.  We’ve had a tough 6 months, your daddy and I.  From moving from our home to staying with each of our parents, to me staying with my parents while he stayed with his, somewhere along the way, we fell out of whack slightly.  We lost our balance, and who could blame us?  We forgot how to function as husband and wife because we were constantly living under someone else’s roof, someone else’s rules, someone else’s watch.  Our lives under a constant magnifying glass.  We slipped on communication and it was easy to do.  We could read, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? forward and backwards, but we couldn’t tell you how the other person was feeling.  Since May, we’ve slept in a room with a child in there with us, forcing us to creep in quietly and not talk to each other.  There is no end in sight to this trend in our little 2 bedroom house.  I can’t tell you how many days went by where I never even asked your daddy how his day went. We slipped into this routine of just making sure you were ok, but not checking in with each other.  All of our attention, all of our energy, everything we had was directed towards both of you- but balance requires a mix of energy to your children and energy saved for your spouse.  Those 2 nights in the hospital, when I was at my weakest, I fell in love with your daddy all over again.  I know he’d do anything in the world for me, for both of you.  The petty things I’d picked apart about him these past several months were so unimportant compared to the love I knew he had for us.  Did it really matter if the dishes were done in at night or in the morning?  Did it really matter if he left a shirt on the floor of our bedroom?  It mattered a little, but nothing compared to the way it mattered when he sings you a song before bed, when he bounces Michael up and down the hallway, when he spends 5 extra minutes combing your hair and saying night night prayers with you.  Will I remember that he left a granola bar wrapper out?  No.  Will you remember that he danced with you in the living room while playing music on his phone?  I’ll make sure of it.  Balance.

I got the best news on Wednesday… I was going HOME!  They told me to call someone to pick me up since Daddy had to go to work that day.  I called Pop-pop and told him to come in an hour.  They were giving me one more round of IV antibiotics and then I’d be out of there.  Funny thing (not really so funny) was, after Pop-pop got there, they looked at my IV and it had never started.  I had another hour to wait.  I sent Pop-pop to get my prescriptions, which were another stab in the back.  I had been told they would probably send me home on another z-pack antibiotic so I could start breastfeeding again.  Turns out, they were going to send me home on 5 days of the meds I was on in the hospital- 5 more days of pumping and throwing it out.  5 more days of giving you bottles.  5 more days seemed like forever when I only had a couple weeks left to figure out this balance.  They came back to check on me a half hour later, and again, the IV had never turned on.  The very same IV pump I had been using my entire hospital stay, decided to break within an hour of me leaving.  They brought in another IV pump, and finally, started my antibiotic.   2 1/2 hours after I was supposed to leave, the nurse took out my IV.  While she did, she said “You have a beautiful ring.”  All I heard was, “You have a beautiful vein.”  I thought that was so funny and I just laughed and told her that I’d never heard that before.  She said she really liked the baguettes, and it was then that I realized what she was talking about.  The hospital has a way of sucking out your brains, and after this past month, I’m running a little low.  On our way out of the hospital, that very sweet nurse carried my flowers and pillows for me.  I started having a coughing fit in the hallway and I was terrified they were going to stick me right back in room 141, so I did the only thing I could think of, I grabbed the flowers and my pillow and I basically ran out of that hospital without looking back.

A week ago I was holding an IV machine, and now I’m holding both of you.  I don’t feel like I’m close to 100%, but it will come.  I do feel like I have my heart is back in one piece, even if I feel physically exhausted, torn, stretched to the max.  Michael, today is the first day I’ve been able to feed you the entire day since getting sick.  After dumping out between 150-200 ounces of milk in the past week, I finally am no longer toxic to you.  I can squeeze you when I want, even when you’re sleeping.  I can smell that sweet spot behind your ear that is my favorite smell.  I can touch the skin under your cheeks, the softest skin in the world.  I’m even ok with getting peed and pooped on right now, because it means I’m around you to get peed and pooped on.  I can hold you when you cry every night even if I can’t make you feel better.  I can question everything I’m doing, but then I can see you drift off in my arms, crack a half smile exposing your dimple, and I push on for another day.  Pax, I can watch you light up a room.  I can sit on the couch, juggling my breathing treatments, my pump and your brother, and I can watch you walk to the bathroom, pull out your step stool, set it up in the living room,  and sing and dance for anyone who will listen.  When your show is over, you turn it over, sit in it and pretend it’s a boat.  Your imagination is a wonderful distraction.  I watch you attempt to play with all the things you had when you were a baby that are now for Michael- from sitting in the bumbo seat to trying to turn the activity mat into a tent, to lounging in the nap nanny while you watch TV.  I can watch you throw your head back and fake laugh, or slap your knees when you think something is really funny.  I can watch you walk over to Michael when I’m changing his diaper and smell him and say, “Yucky!” I can hear you sing, “All aboard the choo choo train” as you bounce up and down awkwardly in the only way you know how to ‘dance’. I can feel you pull my face in for a kiss.  I can hear you say, “luh you momma.”  I can feel my heart- and it’s full.

There are lots of things to balance in life, and I pretty much suck at most of them right now.  We have a lot to figure out, the four of us.  Right now, I’m not super proud of the mother I am.  There’s a balance of being inside and outside.  Right now, Pax, you spend way too much time watching Paw Patrol and Bubble Guppies rather than playing outside. There’s a balance of rushing and waiting.  I feel like there are moments where I wish this period of life away, and then I realize how brief it really is.  I realize how lucky we are to have two healthy children.  I don’t know why you cry Michael, but I know it won’t last forever and I know there’s nothing seriously wrong.  There’s a balance of giving and taking.  I feel like I’ve been doing all the taking and I haven’t been able to give much of myself to you, to your brother, to your daddy or to Ammy and Pop-pop.  I could write an entire post on how much we’ve leaned on Ammy and Pop-pop in the past few months.  I texted Ammy nonstop when I was in the hospital, asking her to send me pictures.  I was so worried that she wouldn’t get any sleep and when I was out, she told me she knew she wasn’t going to sleep, not because of Michael, but because she was worried about me.  That hit me kind of hard.  I never even took a second to think about being worried about myself because I was so worried about both of you, your daddy, and Ammy and Pop-pop.  I guess that’s part of the balance of becoming a mother.  No matter how old you both get, no matter how many times you will tell me that you hate me, no matter if our teeter-totter ever balances back out, I will spend my life making sure you are both ok- just like Ammy does for me.  There’s a balance of taking care of yourself and taking care of others, only when you become a parent, the whole taking care of yourself doesn’t seem to matter.

I go back to work next week.  We haven’t made it through one week of leave without being at the dr/hospital for something.  Today we had your one month check up, Michael. In the pediatrician’s words, you are “perfect.”  You weigh 11 pounds 1 ounce and are a little over 22 inches long.  Next week, I have my 6 week check-up.  I feel like it’s a flash, this 6 weeks, and yet I feel like it’s the longest 6 weeks of my life.  In the past 6 weeks, we’ve survived moving into a new house, double pneumonia and the enterovirus, a 2 night sleepover at Ammy and Pop-pop’s house while I was in the hospital, a new furnace, a new stove, a new refrigerator, a tune-up on the water boiler, a broken garage door, trying to take a wall out, new water lines in the house, new driver’s licenses, bank accounts, insurance, a new baby, and the list goes on.  It has without a doubt, been the most difficult season of my life.  I just chuckled as I sat down to write this and flipped through the channels.  There it was, channel 49,  the show “19 kids and counting” and all I could do was laugh.  I can’t get it together with 2 kids and we’re certainly not counting!  Balance.  I had my first morning having both of you by myself about a week ago while Daddy went to take a test.  I had just fed Michael and I was holding him while doing a breathing treatment.  Pax, you were in your high chair screaming, “All done” at me and waving your hands frantically to tell me you were ready now.  Michael spit up every single bit he had just eaten and it was all over him, all over me, and all over the couch.  Jersey was sitting there staring at me with a ball in her mouth ready to play fetch.  I took a deep breath, told myself I could do this, and then I heard you yell, “Momma, poop!”  Balance.

2 nights ago, Michael, you screamed for several hours.  I tried everything I knew to make you comfortable.  Our “routine” (which is sketchy) has been that I give you a bath (in Pax’s old pink tub) and then I take you into her room to get dressed while Daddy gives Pax a bath.  Then, Pax runs in butt naked and hops on my lap.  She fights putting her diaper and pajamas on, because she’d rather dance around her room naked or ride her rocking horse with her bare butt.  We spend these precious moments as a family and it briefly feels like it’s right, like it’s normal, like we might make it after all.  We read stories, say prayers and then Pax goes to bed.  We carry you downstairs with us and Daddy usually spends the next hour bouncing you trying to get you to calm down before I feed you again and we go to bed, where you sleep right between us on the nap nanny.  On that particular night, 2 nights ago, nothing was working.  I cried silently while you cried loudly.  Instead of waiting for your sister, I took you downstairs to do the only thing I can do when you are that upset- feed you.  The moment came that I dreaded, Pax came flying out of that bathroom, I could hear her little flipper feet hitting the hard wood floor.  In my mind I could see her butt jiggling as she turned the corner, but when she got there, I wasn’t there.  She yelled, “Mama,” and I let the tears fall.  I couldn’t be where I needed to be, because I don’t know how to be two places at once.

Balance.

Maybe there’s no such thing.  Maybe that’s why the teeter-totter is such a mystery to me.  Maybe we spend our lives trying to figure this out, but truly never leave “survival mode”.

This whole gig isn’t easy, and it wouldn’t be easy even if I was healthy right now.  Being a parent is hard work.  It’s putting everything about yourself to the side in order to make sure your kids are ok.  It means scooting forward and then backwards, but never abandoning ship.  It means juggling spit up, breathing treatments, fetch and poopy diapers.  It’s so demanding yet so rewarding.  Balance.  Yesterday, we went to the pumpkin patch.  This is one of my favorite things to do in the fall.  Pax, you went down the slide, your rode a pony, bounced on a big pillow, fed the goats, rode a mini tractor with daddy and picked out pumpkins for you and your brother.  Michael, you pooped and it went down to your socks and up to your chest.  Balance.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Michael,

Our first days as a family of four were physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting.  We were moved from labor and delivery to our regular room around 4:30 in the morning.  Michael still hadn’t had a bath, we had been up all night, and I was in a ton of pain.  We were happy to move, though, because there was a “screamer” in labor and delivery and she was showing no signs of slowing down.  Our door was closed and we could hear every single descriptive word out of her mouth.  Your daddy told me when I was pregnant with you, Pax, that he thought I was going to be a screamer.  I took that as a challenge and was completely silent while pushing during your birth as well as your brother’s.  This lady must have turned down the epidural from biker chick.  But it sure sounded like she was regretting that decision.

We got up to our new room, room 1325, and got settled in.  It seemed like it would be a great time to catch up on a little sleep, but there were people coming in every 5-10 minutes for one thing or the other.  One nurse was in charge of me, another was in charge of Michael, then there was a technician that came in and did my vitals every half hour or so.  Then there was housekeeping, room service, medical students, and probably complete strangers walking into the room to get a peek of the world’s cutest little boy, or the world’s most exhausted momma, not sure which.  They finally took Michael away for a quick bath.  They brought him back wearing a 6 month shirt…this still makes me laugh.  I swear they think my kid was a giant baby.

When we delivered at Springfield, they give you the option of keeping the baby in the room with you or having the baby go to the nursery.  I was under the impression that there was no way once the baby was out and mine that ANYONE was taking that baby to the nursery.  When I saw that we had our good friend as a nurse, I jumped all over the opportunity to catch a little sleep after you were born, Pax.  Did I feel a little guilty?  Absolutley.  Was it a good decision?  You better believe it.  At this hospital in Colorado Springs, the baby stays in your room at all times.  Here’s the thing about being a mother, you don’t relax.  Ever.  You spend 9 months worrying about every little bit of development happening inside your body, everything you’re eating, and preparing for this baby to enter the world.  Then, the baby is here and all the sudden there are a MILLION other things to worry about.  Is he getting enough to eat?  Is he comfortable?  Did that person that just touched him wash her hands?  Can he see?  Is one eye a little different than the other?  Is he gassy because of something I ate?  What if he hurts and he can’t tell me?  You find yourself consumed with these thoughts and you can’t rest.  So there you were, Michael, in this little bed next to my hospital bed.  You were breathtakingly beautiful, and I know you’re not supposed to say that about little boys, but you were.  You were the perfect amount of little bitty baby features with not so little fat rolls.  I spent several hours just memorizing your features- you have your daddy’s eyes (just like you, Pax), you have your momma’s narrow feet and not so narrow thighs. 🙂  You look quite a bit like your big sister, but have less hair on your head than she did…don’t worry, you make up for it with the hair on your back!  When you were born, I tried to wipe off your shoulders with a blanket because I thought something was on them… turns out it was just your back hair!  You like to sleep with your hands up by your face and mittens were a must from the beginning.  Your skin is heavenly and I had trouble keeping my hands off of you so you could rest a bit.  You make little squeaky and grunting noises that remind me of a little piglet.

Paxton, I couldn’t wait for you to see your little brother.  You’ve spent several months patting my stomach and saying, “Baby Mike!”  You’ve been singing Happy Birthday to him for weeks now and I couldn’t wait until it was the real deal.  I worried that you’d be jealous and confused because you are so used to being the center of attention.  When you came in to meet him with Ammy and Pop-Pop, my heart exploded.  Honestly, that’s exactly what it felt like.  You were so excited to see him.  You kissed his head, gave him kisses with your giraffe, and drew pictures to show him.  You immediately asked to hold him, and the entire time that you did, you patted his back and belly and said, “Happy baby.”  It was magical.

It was so good to see you after that long day and night.  I needed your spirit, your crooked little smile, and just the way you look at life in general.  I needed to know that you still would love your mommy even when I brought another little life into our family.  I needed to know that you still needed me.  You climbed right up with me in the hospital bed and got mad that I had an IV in my arm (you hate bandaids or anything out of the ordinary).  You pushed entirely too hard on my belly and I tried so hard not to cry because I knew it would hurt your feelings if you hurt me.  You told me all about the fun that you’ve been having at Ammy and Pop-pop’s house.  I can’t imagine trying to survive this roller coaster without them for a hundred different reasons.  They took care of you while their dog was really sick, and Pop-Pop even spent 3+ hours that afternoon signing paperwork so we could buy our house.  Love knows no limits.

Michael, you weren’t too impressed with meeting anyone.  You were more interested in catching up on sleep, and who could blame you?  We spent the rest of the day getting poked and prodded by nurses who weren’t so nice.  The hard thing about having really great nurses (both as friends and in the past) is you compare everyone to them.  Over the next few days we would have numerous nurses in and out, writing their names on the dry-erase board and saying they were here to take care of me for the next 12 hours.  I liked about 1 of them.  Because I was in labor so long, they had me labeled PROM- which meant prolonged rupture of membranes.  In other words, you took too long to come out and meet me!  You had to have extra testing because of this, and I did too.  It meant that the chance of infection was increased.  At 24 hours, you had your screening done and were borderline jaundiced.  We’d been through that rodeo with Pax and I did NOT want to go through it again.

We quickly learned that we didn’t like the food at this hospital.  They had a gluten free menu, which had me all excited, but it got old, real fast.  Your poor dad had to eat every different kind of gross sandwich possible while I ordered food that sounded delicious and tasted awful.  You took right up to nursing, maybe a little too much.  I had to call in lactation consultants because I was so sure that I was going to have permanent damage.  Anyone who says that breastfeeding is easy is a liar.  It’s such a struggle at the beginning, but so worth it once you get over that hump where you want to bite a towel and scream all sorts of obscenities at the top of your lungs when your baby latches on.  I refrained, simply because I didn’t want to be known as a screamer. 🙂  It’s hard when you first start for several reasons, but the hardest is knowing that you need enough nutrition and knowing that I’m the only source of that.  Yikes… that’s some pressure.

We were visited by both doctors from my doctor’s office as well as a pediatrician from the hospital.  We talked about the chance of us having to stay in an extra day due to the whole prolonged labor thing.  On Thursday morning, the doctor told us that we would get to go home that night.  We were so excited to get out of there.  Ammy and Pop-pop came back by to snuggle you and so we could see Pax again.

We didn’t get to go home that night.  They still hadn’t done your circumcision and they needed to check your billiruben levels again.  They also took more blood from me and found that my hemoglobin levels had dropped even more and I had become really anemic.  They started me on iron supplements and pricked your foot for the hundredth time to check your billiruben.  At 5:00 on Thursday evening, they rolled in the phototherapy bed and my heart sank.  I should’ve been prepared, but I wasn’t.  Nothing can prepare a new parent for the whole “You won’t be able to hold your baby except for 20-30 minutes every 3 hours” speech.  It sucks.

Thursday night was the second longest night of my life.  Michael, you hated that bed.  They called it a cozy bed or something stupid like that to make moms feel better.  It didn’t work.  The minute they put you in it with your special sunglasses, you screamed.  All you wanted was to be held, and all I wanted was to hold you.  And all the mean grumpy nurse wanted was to put you in that bed and let you holler.  Of course, she didn’t have to listen to her baby scream, she just had to put you in there and come check on you every few hours.  Every time we got to hold you, the minute you hit my hands, you stopped crying.  You would snuggle into my neck and fall right asleep.  I can’t imagine how exhausted you were…well, maybe I can a little bit.

Friday morning came around and Sloth came on duty.  Her actual name was Amanda or something like that, but it should’ve been Sloth.  I’ve never seen someone move so slowly- let alone someone who was supposed to be in charge of getting my pain meds and getting us the heck out of that place.  The mean and grumpy nurse told us that the lab people would be around at 5 am to check your biliruben level.  At 8:00, they showed up.  I thought it was taking forever to get the results, so I did the only thing I could think of to hurry things up… I cried, real loud, real ugly.  Turns out, when you throw a grown up fit, sometimes you do get your way.  Sloth checked the computer screen and sure enough, results were in.  Your level was down to 8.9 and we were in the clear for circumcision and then discharge.  I had it all planned out in my head to be home on the couch by lunchtime.  I knew once we got to Ammy and Pop-Pop’s house, I would get a huge break.  It would be pass the baby around time while Momma sleeps in between feedings.

The pediatrician came around and asked what would be a good time to do your circumcision.  I said 2 days ago, or maybe right now.  My sarcasm was wearing thin at this point.  She took you out of the room for a few minutes (thank goodness they don’t do that part in front of the parents).  I thought I would take a shower while they had you (your dad had gone to get the carseat), but instead decided to get us all completely packed up.  The minute the papers were signed, I was running out of that place, or wheeling out of it, because there was no running.  Turns out when Daddy went to get the carseat, the car wouldn’t start (awesome) and they had to jump it.  Let the good times roll.  You came back in sleeping peacefully and I didn’t feel like a huge failure of a parent for letting them cut on your man parts.

Sloth disappeared for hours during this time.  I had to call her to get pain meds, and they showed up about 45 minutes later.  Then she said she would go get the paperwork ready for us to leave.  I got you changed into your own clothes and we waited.  Then we waited. And just because it was so much fun, we waited some more.  Sloth had called my meds down to the pharmacy around 10 that morning and Daddy went to pick them up around 11:30.  Finally at 1:30, I called Sloth again and asked when she thought we’d get to go home.  She replied, “We’re just waiting on your meds.”  I told her that we picked them up hours ago and she said, “Ok, let me get started on your paperwork.”  Oh Sloth.  You were supposed to be doing that forever ago.  I may be drugged up, and tore up, and in a genuine pissed off mood, but Sloth, I swear I will walk out of this room, hunt you down, and throw you out the second story window with the awful view of the parking garage that if I have to look at for 5 more minutes I will throw another grown up fit.  And Sloth, you know I can catch you as awful as I feel, because you know what?  You. Are. Slow.  (I was a real peach in the hospital, let me tell you.)

Sloth slowly slinked into the room with our discharge papers around 3:45 that afternoon.  She had to go over a million things like- Don’t shake your baby.  Put your baby to sleep on his back.  Change your baby’s diapers.  Don’t be an idiot.  I signed those papers as fast as she could hand them to me- and trust me, nothing Sloth did was quick.  At 4:15, she said, “Ok, are you ready?”  This is how we both felt…

I looked around for my wheelchair and quickly learned that I wasn’t getting one.  No big deal, Sloth, I didn’t just deliver a huge baby and then spend 4 days in a hospital with no sleep, terrible food, and the world’s slowest nurse.  So, we loaded you in the carseat and said, “Let’s go.”  Well, not that easy.  Sloth wasn’t happy with the carseat straps, so we had to make all kinds of adjustments and trick her into thinking it was fixed.  Then, our parade finally left room 1325-Sloth creeping slowly, followed by Daddy carrying you and several bags, and me waddling AND carrying a huge bag with no wheelchair in sight.  We walked for what seemed like a mile just to get to the desk in the Mommy and Baby wing.  Just to top it all off, one of the nurses stopped us to tell us it was cold outside and she didn’t want us taking you out without a blanket.  At that point, I lost it.  I moaned/grunted/made all sorts of noises and loudly said, “Oh my goodness.  Are we ever going to get out of here?”  That sweet little lady kindly backed away and said, “Have a nice day.”

We continued our long trek down the hallway with no wheelchair and got to the valet and our car wasn’t there.  We waited several minutes and Sloth asked if I wanted a wheelchair to sit in while we waited.  Ummm, you think?  Check out these feet and ask me again if I want to sit down?

Turns out, the car wouldn’t start again and the valet guys had to jump it.  We were really striking out today.  It finally showed up, we loaded you in and headed to Ammy and Pop-Pop’s house on the very bumpy windy roads.  That feels so good right after having a baby.

Life went from busy to busier, crazy to crazier.  We ate a big pot roast dinner, which was amazing after that hospital food.  We snuggled Pax a bit, and then got you all tucked into bed.  You slept amazing that first night, which I was sure was a fluke from being exhausted.  Early the next morning, Grandpa Joe, Grandma Connie, Jodi, and Grady came to visit from Illinois.  I was still in a whirlwind of a daze from the week’s events that I don’t even really know what all went down that day, but they started moving things into our new house and painting.  Pax, you and Grady had a lot of fun playing while I spent the day on the couch with Michael.

Michael, you continued to amaze us with your sleeping.  You started out sleeping at least 3 hours a night between feedings.  By the 3rd night at home, I was waking you up to feed you after 4 hours, because I was uncomfortable.  We had your check-up at the doctor on Monday and your report said, “Beautiful, healthy baby boy!”  There were no concerns with jaundice (although you still look quite yellow to me) and they were amazed at your weight gain for being breastfed.  She gave us permission to let you sleep as long as you wanted because your weight was so good.  You don’t have to tell me twice!

The week followed with pretty much the same routine.  Everyone would leave in the morning to go work in the new house while I would spend the day learning and loving on Michael.  Pax, I missed you so much when you were gone during the day, but I desperately was thankful for this time to get to know my new little man.  I didn’t put him down- unless it was to get some sunshine.  We snuggled and cuddled and napped and figured out this new “life outside of the womb” thing.

By Thursday, we were “ready” (I say that lightly, because I was a little terrified) to move into our new house.  I feared that you wouldn’t sleep well in her new room, that Michael would stop sleeping so well, and that we would sink without the built-in support system that was Ammy and Pop-Pop.  Grandpa Joe and Grandma Connie stayed with us for two nights as painting and some small projects were finished up.  Saturday was our first night with just our family.  We didn’t have any cable or internet, so it was incredible just to be a family in the quiet-which isn’t all that quiet with you around!  We spent time on the living room floor doing tummy time.  Pax, you helped give Michael his first bath at the new house.  I didn’t take pictures, because I was embarrassed that he’s using your bright pink bathtub.  You slept amazing and so did Michael.  He started doing 5 hour stretches at night in between feedings and I finally felt like I was getting caught up on sleep.

Daddy went back to work on Tuesday, so Ammy comes over to the house in the mornings to help.  Pax, I look at you and see so much of your Ammy.  You two are a pair beyond compare.  You are ornery and loud, creative and smart, but most of all- not shy at all.  You say hello to anyone you pass, and sometimes you stand on Ammy and Pop-Pop’s deck and scream “Hiiiii” to no one at all.  You’re the funniest kid in the world.  When  you walk/run, you swing your left arm back and forth like crazy (apparently, I did this too).  You understand everything we say to you and are an amazing helper with your brother.  You love to kiss his cheeks and give him his pacifier.  You are quite interested with the whole feeding process, and it’s not uncommon for you to be walking through the house saying, “Mommy, boobies” and then lifting up your shirt to check on yours.  You found my box of pump parts and put them up to your chest, but that wasn’t very productive, so you started using them like a horn.  I just can’t get enough of you.  You have become more clumsy the older you’ve gotten.  We were at Lowes on Saturday morning and you face planted while you were running and have a big ole goose egg on your forehead.  You bounce around the house like a pinball, constantly running into things and then blaming whatever is around you- usually Jersey, for tripping you.  You love to give kisses and still like for Momma to read you stories.  You throw your head back and have a hilarious fake laugh when other people around you are laughing.  You’re such an incredible kid and I’m so amazed at the role you’ve stepped into as a big sister.

Michael, you are the world’s easiest baby.  I’m convinced that awful pregnancies and really tough deliveries lead to perfect babies, and I’m ok with that.  You are awake for a bit in the morning and a bit in the evening, but other than that, it’s eating, sleeping, and pooping.  Let’s talk about this pooping business for a bit.  I can’t begin to figure out how to change your diapers.  Going from a girl to a boy has proved to be quite a challenge.  Your daddy was changing your diaper in the middle of the night on our first night home and you had a projectile poop explosion.  I laughed so hard it hurt my stitches.  He already had paint and blood on his shirt from working at the house, and now he was splattered with poop.  The following night, you immersed him with pee the minute he took off your diaper.  It’s a whole different experience.  We went through 5 sleepers in 24 hours the other day.  I think I’m a decent mom, but I’m a failure when it comes to baby boy’s diapers.  I made fun of people who used these things called pee-pee tee-pees, but now I think I should probably buy stock in them.  I’m so excited to learn more about you, what you like, what you want to be, to hear your laugh, to kiss your little dimples.  What a surprise blessing you’ve been to our lives.  I hope you know how loved you are.  Tomorrow, you will already be two weeks old.  I can’t really talk much about it, because when I think about going back to work, I die a little inside.  It all goes so fast, and people never stop telling you how fast it goes, which makes me more anxious about it all- especially knowing we are a complete family.  This is my last chance to hold a newborn that I brought into this world.  This is my last chance to show my own chid an incredible amount of unconditional love.  To raise you in a house where you will be respected, loved, but also disciplined to be a well-mannered, polite young man. We know that God wanted you here for big things, and we can’t wait to see those big things you accomplish.

In the past 5 days we’ve been in our new house we’ve had to (and by we- I mostly mean Pop-Pop) replace a toilet, buy a new furnace (our second new furnace purchase this year!), have work done on our hot water heater, buy a new stove, and a million other little projects.  Life is simply a crazy ride.  And just think Michael, yours is just beginning!  Here we are, this little family of 4 + a dog.  It’s our new normal.  It’s exhausting, but it’s so fulfilling.  There’s nothing like being a momma.  I want to bottle up your energy, Pax.  I want to bottle up your sweet smell, Michael.  I want to breathe in these crazy moments where I try to carry both of you up the stairs, because they are so brief, but so important.  I  want to pass out that feeling I get- you know the one where Michael starts crying, and Pax, you come over and pat his back like you’ve seen me do a thousand times, I want to pass that exact feeling out to people I see that are unhappy.  Because that feeling right there- that’s the best.  It means in the mix of the chaos, your daddy and I (along with a whole bunch of amazing people) we’re doing something right here.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton,

Our family, my body, our routines, my love for you… all of these things have drastically changed in the past week.

It’s no secret that this pregnancy was not the easiest. By some miracle, I hit 37 weeks and was still pregnant. My mind immediately shifted from doing everything possible to keep your little brother inside me to feeling like it was go time, I wanted to meet him and I was desperately over being pregnant. We were able to sneak in a couple family outings there at the end. We went to the air force academy (you have a new obsession with airplanes, because they go “Zooom, zoom!”  We were able to go swimming at the little pool in town, and you know I love squeezing those thighs in your swimming suits!  We took you to the zoo, all the while I was thinking it would happen any second. We’d be gazing at the giraffes and my water would break or we’d being growling like the bears and I would drop with contractions that would tell me it was time. It didn’t happen. In fact, 37 weeks turned into 38 weeks. I landed myself back at the doctor one day during school because while I was teaching the room started spinning, I got sick, and was sure I was going to pass out. Somewhere in the dizzy spells, I also got my first pop-in evaluation from the principal (who had no idea what was going on)…what are the chances of that? I went to the school nurse and she took my blood pressure a couple times that day before telling me that I needed to head over to either labor and delivery or my doctor. I knew I wasn’t in labor, so I went to my doctor. I also knew I was going to have to admit that I hadn’t been following my bed rest to their expectations.

At the doctor, they did a non stress test, another ultrasound to check on size, and kept me for a couple hours. I was having very strong contractions every 2-3 minutes, but your brother was responding to them well. They estimated his weight at over 9 pounds and sent me home on STRICT bed rest. I had a follow up with the doctor 2 days later, on a Friday. I talked to the administration and teachers I work with to inform them that I wouldn’t be back until after baby was here. I went home and really did nothing.

Friday’s appointment was not too exciting. I hadn’t changed much in terms of progress, and my blood pressure was still elevated. She set a date for induction on Wednesday, September 3rd, but told me she was 95% sure I wouldn’t make it to Wednesday. (Sounds like a challenge to me). She thought she’d be seeing me in the hospital in the next 24-48 hours. Instead of feeling super panicky, I felt relieved. There was an end in sight and I really wasn’t going to be pregnant forever. It was so weird to just assume I would have your brother early, just like you. They had me so worked up for so many weeks about premature delivery and now we were setting a day to be induced. You really can’t make plans.

Friday night passed.

Saturday passed.

Sunday was ticking away. I felt like crap. Every move I made, someone was asking if I was ok, or if this was it. I was getting tiny bits of sleep at night between killer contractions and going to the bathroom between 6-26 times. I was dizzy, I was done. I took my blood pressure Sunday evening around dinner time and it was 150/110. I made the decision that we would go to the hospital that night. I had a deep fear of being sent home. To me, that would make me a wimp, saying I couldn’t handle something that women are made to go through. I desperately prayed for a sign to know it was time, yet I knew that blood pressure was dangerously high. We had company over- Uncle Logan and Aunt Kelsey, Cathie and Doug (Kelsey’s mom and brother) and we packed our bags and left. I cried terribly when I left you. I think it was the unknown. Of course you wouldn’t even know we were gone, but how would you handle it when we came back with a baby?

We did come back that night, but it wasn’t with a baby. They monitored me for a couple hours. Still I was having very strong consistent contractions, but they weren’t putting me any further along. I had my first of many emotional breakdowns. How can a body go through 8 weeks of contractions and not be ready for a baby? How can I pretend like I’m tough enough to handle this when my back and my stomach are in knots from constant tightening, no sleeping, and just trying to get through these days? I knew I only had a few days left before being induced, but I was past my limit.

Labor day came and went. Secretly, I thought it would be really cool to go into labor on labor day. Didn’t matter. I accepted that fact that my baby was coming on Wednesday and that they’d have to put me into labor.

I woke up Tuesday morning- that’s a lie, I honestly didn’t sleep at all in order to ‘wake up’. I had again been up with terrible contractions, throwing up, and wondering if I was going to get through another day. I picked you out of your crib and started up the stairs. I took 5 steps up the stairs and my water broke. It was so different than it was with you. It was dramatic and extreme… a huge gush just like the movies.

We contemplated for some time about when to head to the hospital. My labor with you was long (15 hours) and while we knew the second was typically much shorter, that still could mean a 10-12 hour labor. Contractions started to pick up (I didn’t even know that was possible) and we headed in to labor and delivery for the second time in 3 days. There was no question that my water broke, and they admitted me fairly quickly. We had an amazing nurse and were so excited to know she’d be helping us meet your little brother that afternoon sometime- again, I should’ve known… don’t make plans.

They started me on pitocin just to get the contractions in a more consistent pattern. I was given the option for an epidural again, and I knew I’d take it, but wanted to let my body do the work for a bit in hopes it would go faster. I wanted to be in/out and back home to you as soon as possible. The contractions on pitocin were hard, just like they were with you, but I labored for 8 hours before getting the epidural. In the midst of all of this craziness, we were also dealing with buying a house. The closing was supposed to be Wednesday, and we knew we weren’t going to make that. We had to somehow get Power of Attorney papers signed by a notary and faxed back to the lender at the bank. We had to get a cashier’s check to the realtor, and we had to find someone to be at the closing for us. Pop-pop and Ammy helped so much, but your daddy still had to run around like crazy getting papers printed off, signed and faxed while I was in between contractions.

The anesthesiologist walked in to give me the epidural and she was this little intense biker chick (bicycle, not motorcycle). She had a bandana on, a broken finger in a cast, and her muscles were very prominent through her scrubs. In my last little bit of humor, I laughed at the thought of this hardcore chick giving me an epidural when she’s probably never even taken a tylenol in her life. It hurt. I don’t remember it hurting with you, but I squeezed your daddy’s hands and at one point almost screamed that I changed my mind and just wanted to keep this baby inside forever.

I didn’t go numb very quickly. With you, I couldn’t feel my legs or move them at all within 10 minutes of my epidural. They had to tell me when I was having contractions in order to push. This time, I felt like I could still walk and had a lot of feeling. It was now 2:00 and I still had made little progress. I feared that your little brother was too big and we’d be in the operating room at some point, but I pushed on for a regular delivery. I made it to 4 cm, and they decided to turn the pitocin up as much as they could in order to really get things going. At 7:00 p.m., they called in the doctor. Although I had the dramatic gushing when my water broke, the doctor found there was a tiny little sack of fluid around that baby, so she broke that and thought maybe that would get things going. I made it to 5 cm.

Hours went by. Every 30 minutes they would change my position. It was impossible to rest, yet they kept telling me that I needed to sleep because I’d been in labor so long and would still need strength to push. If one more person told me to sleep I was going to hop out of that bed, on my legs which were supposed to be numb and weren’t, and punch them right in the jugular.

My nurse left for the night, and we met our next nurse. Not to give a spoiler, but that next nurse wouldn’t deliver your brother either.

At 10:00 p.m., my body couldn’t take anymore and I had my second huge breakdown. I hadn’t slept, I hadn’t had anything to eat besides chicken broth and jello, and I was simply worn out. Turns out that while I was giving up on my strength, your brother also wasn’t taking it well. 3 nurses rushed in and started staring at the screen, flipping me one way and then the other. I was hooked up to oxygen and there were whispers around the room. I was terrified. They said that he was in distress from the lack of fluid or there was a possibility that his chord was wrapped around his neck and that’s why he wasn’t moving down. They made one more decision after consulting the doctor. They were going to insert a contraction monitor inside me, right next to your brother, and then with a tube, they were going to ADD fluid back. I didn’t even know this was possible. So you’re telling me that I’ve spent the last 14 hours losing fluid to have this baby and now you’re just going to stick it back in there? A short little chubby nurse came in with a raspy voice. In my mind she had a hairy mole on her face and reminded me of the witch trying to get snow white to eat the apple. I was still in the midst of my crying fest when the other nurse noticed the look of fear in my eyes. I started to ask questions and said I was scared that he wasn’t ok. The chubby little nurse looked at me, got all the supplies out, and said, “All I know is, I hope you have a good epidural.”

Breakdown number 3. I don’t know if I really had finished number 2, but now I really lost it. I ugly cried out loud for several minutes. I filled the oxygen mask with slobber and tears and pleaded with God to help me get through this. I yelled at that chubby nurse through my tears that I was already scared and the last thing I needed to hear was that she hopes I have a good epidural, because I don’t…I can feel everything, so take your chubby little fingers out of this room and get this figured out. She apologized, but I still don’t like her.

They added the fluids back in and we waited. It was now 11:30, and I started to realize that I was going to have this baby on the date of my induction one way or the other. At midnight, our nurse came back in, but her clothes were different and she was wearing ‘boots’. She had several papers in her hand. She calmly said that she was going to check me, but that we’d probably be heading to the OR to have a c-section. I had progressed 1 cm and I begged them to let me keep going. I don’t know why I was so anti-c-section, but in that moment I was. My body had failed me in every way possible, and I guess in the back of my mind, I needed to know I could do this. She called the doctor again and they said as long as the baby handles the contractions that we could try a little longer. They turned off the pitocin and just let me progress on my own, switching positions every 15 minutes now.

Around 12:45, I really started to feel everything. The contractions got terrible, I felt a ton of pressure, and I panicked that I was going to have a c-section and feel every little cut. I hit that little epidural button with every chance I got and made your dad check to see if it was ever actually turned on.

Our second nurse came in and said she was going home and introduced us to our third nurse. She was a little thing with a calming voice. The second nurse left, assuming I’d be in the operating room in a matter of minutes. I told the third nurse about the pain I was feeling and she checked me. I was at 9.5 cm! I tried to not get too excited, because with you, I was stuck at 9.5 cm for 6 hours. She turned the pitocin back on to see if I could get enough to be ready to push. I felt ready to push, but knew it was going to get worse and I wanted to be ready, I knew I didn’t have it in me to push for too long, I had nothing left.

I watched the clock tick, as each 15 minutes passed, I debated on hitting that red button and telling the nurse it was time, but I was so scared I wasn’t actually ready. At 1:45, I couldn’t take the pain and told her I wanted to push. She checked me and I was complete. I started pushing at 1:55 and soon after I started, she told me to stop so she could get the doctor. Praise the Lord.  I want you to deeply enjoy this next picture.  The best part about it is, I told myself that I would “look better” during this delivery so the pictures would be better.  Nailed it.

The doctor came in all disheveled. Her hair was a hot mess and you could tell she had just got up. She was surprised to hear that I was complete after all I’d been through. I pushed through one more contraction with her there and then they got ready. Two baby nurses came in, chubby was there- which still ticks me off, nurse number 3 was there, and the doctor was there. One more push and out he came at 2:28 am. The pain was unreal, but the sound of his cry was incredible. I didn’t cry, I think I was out of tears at that point. They put him on my chest and I couldn’t believe how big he was. They started to stitch me up and your daddy and I just stared at this little man that made our family complete. This little man that had surprised us from the very first pregnancy test all the way through delivery- all 20 something hours of it.

We named him Michael Joseph after both grandfathers (and your daddy, too). At this particular hospital, they don’t weigh or measure the babies right away, they have a golden hour where you can snuggle, breastfeed, just get to know your baby and then they do measurements, screenings, and a bath. However, after about 10 minutes, they all wanted to know how much he weighed, so they broke that rule and brought over the scale. In Colorado, most people have smaller babies due to the altitude. In fact, it’s not uncommon to have a 5 pound baby full term. Imagine their surprise when my 8 pound, 10.6 ounce butterball came bursting into the world- ok, not bursting, he took his sweet time.

They moved us up to a room in the Mommy-Baby section of the hospital, which was right upstairs where I delivered. I assumed we’d be there for a day and then get discharged. Well, I guess I still haven’t learned my lesson. Your next letter will give the details on the following days- including the first time you met him.

I don’t really know my plan with this blog right now, because now I have 2 babies to write to. I guess I’ll have to change the name to Dear Paxton and Michael. 🙂 I hope you don’t mind that I take up a little bit of your letter to write to your brother.

I love you,

Your Mom.

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Dear Michael,

Welcome to this crazy life and Happy Birthday! I’m sorry that it was a rough ride getting here. Please know that we will make it up to you with kisses, snuggles, and soaking in your sweetness every chance we get. I want you to know how much you do complete our family. We had no idea we were going to be blessed with you, and although it was a bit scary, we are so lucky that God picked us to be your mommy and daddy. You are simply beautiful. I know there are big plans for you and I want you to know that we’ll support those plans in any way we can. I can’t wait to learn your ways, watch you develop, and simply love you. I can’t wait to watch your big sister show you the ropes. I can’t wait to watch your daddy play with his little boy. Your mommy is a little crazy, she does things in a big way, but know that you will be loved in a big way too. Dream big, sweet boy.

I love you,

Your Mom.

Dear Paxton,

I’m a bit of a to-do list queen.  But not in the practical sense.  I love to make lists, but I also love to get sidetracked on the way.  For example, if cleaning my room is on the list, I might get distracted and go through 14 photo albums on the way.  I’m also pretty popular with the “add it just to cross it out” method.  If I feel I’m not very successful with my list, I’ll add some things I’ve already done just to cross them out and feel better.  Works every time.

Whether or not we write them down, we all have a “to-do list” on life- a series of events we anticipate will happen to complete the crazy ride how we feel it should go.  Growing up, my list probably looked something like this:

1.  Have some awesome slumber parties with my friends.
2.  Eat way too much candy.
3. Run away from home.  (I may have tried this once, but always ended up at Grandma’s so I was easy to find.)
4.  Make good grades.
5.  Be decent at a couple different sports.
6.  Graduate high school.
7.  Go to college to become either an artist or a professional babysitter.
8.  Get married to a farmer or a cowboy (or simply Kenny Chesney if he was available).
9.  Adopt a couple kids.
10.  Raise my little family on a farm somewhere with 10-12 dogs, a couple horses and a pond.

It was a good start, but my list slowly started to change.  Some items became more important, while others were erased instead of scratched off/completed.

I’ve always heard that if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.  I think God has probably had a couple good chuckles at my to-do lists- especially the one for this summer.      If you would’ve asked me in January, this was my to-do list for the summer of 2014:

1. Your dad and I would both get teaching jobs in Colorado before school got out in May.
2. Our house would sell and we would move out in June, right before moving to Colorado.
3. We would buy a house in Colorado, and be ready to move into it when we got here.
4. We would spend a couple days painting, organizing, and preparing a nursery for your baby brother.
5. We would spend the rest of the summer taking you around to a million really cool places in Colorado.
6. We would make several trips to the swimming pool (both because you love to swim and because I wasn’t keen on being pregnant in the heat of the summer).
7. I would start work in August and have a couple weeks to meet the staff, my students, and feel like I fit there.
8. Sometime early September, I’d go into labor at home, we’d drive to the hospital, have an easy delivery, and be home 24 hours later to start our new normal.
9. You’d quickly fall in love with your brother and we’d be complete.

Haha.  I wasn’t/haven’t been able to scratch anything off that list.  In fact, I learned pretty early on that this list was just to make God laugh.

Our big move out to Colorado went pretty well.  Grammy drove out with Jersey and Echo. Grandpa Joe and Grandma drove out in Casey’s truck hauling a huge trailer packed full with our stuff.  We drove out in our SUV (with 3rd row seating- remember, it comes in handy).  I woke up the morning of the move throwing up while your daddy packed the vehicle to its limit and got you ready to go.  We were off.  We stopped several times along the drive.  We learned that many places don’t have changing tables, that Kansas is ridiculously boring and hot, and that if I don’t eat every 15 minutes, I get crabby.  We may have already known that last one.  We changed your diaper on a blanket in the grass… multiple times.  We played countless episodes of Bubble Guppies, because you made it clear you were in fact, not going to nap.  Your dad was amazing dealing with my leg cramps and cravings.  About 15 minutes from Grammy and Pop-Pop’s house, you finally fell asleep.  But it was a time I’ll never forget, because right before you did, you said, “Mom-mom, hold hand?”

The next day we moved everything we own (except a few boxes/laundry baskets) into two separate storage sheds.  All that stuff… it’s still there, in case you’re wondering.  We moved into the basement…address number 4 for our family in a matter of weeks.  We started with you in one room and Daddy and I in the other bedroom.  It took me no time to figure out that the arrangement wasn’t working.  The dogs would get up super early with Pop-Pop and you could hear every single pitter pat above us.  I was at the point in my pregnancy where if I got woken up, there was no going back.  Between the heartburn, the leg cramps, and the overall feeling of being kicked repeatedly from the inside out, not much sleep was happening.  Your dad could sleep through a bulldozer clearing out the entire house.  Me, on the other hand, can hear a twig break 3 houses down and be up for the rest of the night. I moved into your room (which was much more quiet- thank the Lord for your white noise machine) and for the first time in our marriage, Daddy and I slept in different rooms.

We had a brief chunk of time before I had to start new staff training at my school.  In that time, we had meetings, doctor appointments, and some house hunting.  I had my 30 week appointment with a new doctor and it was clear that they were concerned with how big your brother was.  In Illinois, I was measuring about 2 weeks ahead, no big deal, I did the same thing with you.  Now I was measuring 3+ weeks ahead and they wanted to do a growth sonogram.  We scheduled it for 2 weeks later and went on our way.

It took awhile just to feel caught up from the traveling/packing/unpacking craziness.  Before I knew it,  I was headed to work.  The district I was hired with has an intensive 4 week training program from 7:30-3:30 every day.  Your daddy also started teaching summer school the same day.  We blinked and summer was over.  I was in a pretty bad mood about all of it.  I had been teaching for 6 years, did I really need to go to a new teacher training for 4 whole weeks?  I had too many things to do with you.  I had a house to find.  Grammy and Pop-Pop watched you during the days and always sent pictures of your hard work.

Jump forward to week 2 and I have my next dr. appointment and growth sonogram.  We found out that at 32 weeks, ‘little man’ was already weighing 5 pounds and 12 ounces.  I was measuring at 37 weeks and my blood pressure was really elevated. They talked about how moving to higher elevation puts you at risk for preterm labor, and I was already at risk after delivering you 3 weeks early. It wasn’t long before I heard the very phrase I feared the most- bed rest.  They were starting me on modified bed rest.  I was either to be sitting or lying down unless I was going to the bathroom.  Uh oh.  I got moved to “high risk” and was taken to weekly appointments instead of every two weeks.  They ordered blood work for pre-eclampsia and after poking me several times, sent me on my way.

I started monitoring my blood pressure at home, tried to drink even more water, and put my fat feet up any chance I got, while still going to the training.  I would come home and plop myself on the couch and it killed me.  I felt like crap physically, but I felt more like crap that I wasn’t able to take care of you.  Everyone stepped in without saying a word and all of the sudden, I wasn’t carrying you down and saying nighty-night prayers, I wasn’t changing your diapers or giving you your baths.  I wasn’t racing you up and down the deck saying, “On your mark, get set, go!”  I was just sitting there.  An extra body in the room that felt like I was slipping away from you.  We had plans, you and I, all kinds of things we were going to do before your brother came.  Memories to make and giggles to be had.  Bed rest wasn’t on my to-do list at all.

Your dad worked each day until 12:30 and then would come home and look for teaching jobs.  He was beyond stressed out at the thought of not providing for our family.  It really was hard on him and took a toll on both of us.  Each day that passed was another, “Oh crap, what did we do” moment.  We found a house we really liked and a whole bunch of ones we couldn’t afford.  Every trip to the grocery store seemed to mock us in the fact that we didn’t know if we could make it on my salary.  It was the elephant in the room, only people asked daily if he had heard anything.  My heart broke each time he shook his head no.

I went to my next appointment for 33 weeks.  They took my blood pressure and I could tell by the look on her face it wasn’t good.  She told me to lay on my left side and they’d take it again.  After two more checks, I guess she was ok with the number and I sat in that room for an hour waiting to see anyone. I could hear the doctor going in and out of the room next to me, but for some reason, I was never seen. After that long, I ended up getting sick and I was pretty much at my boiling point.  I wish they would’ve retaken my blood pressure right then.  They would’ve witnessed some incredible numbers.  I went out to tell them I got sick and to find out what was going on.  The deer in the headlights look told me that they had completely forgotten about me.  The doctor was in my room within 45 seconds.  She started asking how necessary it was that I go to work, if my due date could be off, what’s the likelihood of me not lifting my daughter and moving to full bed rest.  Hey lady, have I shown you my to-do list? None of those things are on my list.  They ordered more lab work and a 24 hour urine collection (that’s a good time in a bottle, let me tell you).  Remember when I said there’s nothing like being sick and living in someone else’s house?  There’s also nothing like collecting your pee in a jar that has to be refrigerated when you’re living in someone else’s house.  Can you pass me the salad dressing, you know, the one right behind the huge red jug of urine?

We agreed on bed rest for all but 3-4 hours a day, so I was still allowed to do half days at the trainings. She told me to not get too excited about starting the school year, because it wasn’t likely.   I was walking a thin line between making sure I was doing what’s best for my body and the baby, and trying really hard to convince all these people whom I’ve never met that I’m not lazy.  I’ve always cared a little too much about what people think of me, but the idea of appearing lazy hit me hard.  In reality, did they think I was lazy?  Probably not, but I’m a hard worker and a hard worker and bed rest don’t coincide.

With one week left of training, we started moving some things into my new classroom. It’s small and there’s not a lot of wall space, so I’m not going overboard with the cutesy posters this year.  On the day before the last day of training, July 31st, our 4th anniversary,  I went to my 34 week appointment.  They did the whole blood pressure thing again, you know… lie down on your left side, uncross your ankles, I’ll be back in ten minutes routine.  She immediately sent me back for another growth sonogram.  I wasn’t supposed to have another one until mid-August, so I was a little surprised.  The same nice technician did this one, and she remembered me from a couple weeks ago.  After a few measurements, she said, “Well, I hope you didn’t buy any newborn clothes.  He’s measuring at 40 weeks and 5 days and is already 7 pounds and 7 ounces.”  Excuse me while I go throw up, what did you just say?

When you were born, you weighed 7 pounds 6 ounces, and that recovery was pretty awful.  How on Earth am I going to deliver this linebacker that still has 6 weeks to pack on the pounds?  They think he’ll come early, and the technician joked that I’m going to have the fattest baby in the NICU. Before leaving the appointment, just for kicks, they had me do more blood work. This time they were re-checking for gestational diabetes because they said they’d never seen a baby weigh that much ever at 34 weeks, but especially when the mom didn’t have diabetes.  Awesome.   I’m afraid that people are going to think I’ve started doing drugs with all the pokes in my arms and hands.  I left the appointment and headed to meet you and Daddy for your 18 month check-up.  We absolutely loved your doctor and you put on quite a show for them.  You got an A+ in everything and you loved all the photographs of animals (especially giraffes) on the wall.  We stopped by Culver’s for ice cream and that’s about as exciting as our anniversary date was.

I finished up the training and we headed into the weekend.  Your daddy had a phone interview for a job he didn’t even apply for in one of the most competitive school districts around.  He felt good about the interview and we prayed like we’ve never prayed before.  That’s a lie.  We’ve been praying that hard since March for daddy to find a teaching job.  Sometimes God’s answer isn’t yes or no, but wait.  While mommy could talk a brick wall into hiring her, your daddy is a little more reserved in interviews.  He doesn’t understand the whole, you gotta fake it to make it mindset.  Does that make him any worse of a teacher, absolutely not…it just makes it hard to get a teaching position when you’re interviewing against professional brown-nosers.

Uncle Logan (you’ve started calling him Yolo) and Aunt Kels came to visit.  I love sharing pregnancy with your Aunt Kels and I cannot wait to watch them become parents.  I absolutely melt watching you chase Yolo around and eat s’mores with your feet up like Aunt Kels.  We celebrated their birthdays, which was a blast because you’ve started to sing Happy Birthday.  You ask to sing it all the time and when we ask you who you are singing to, 99% of the time it’s Yolo.

Grammy and Pop-Pop decided to take a little trip before school actually started.  They headed to Buena Vista, Co for 3 days and we learned even more how much we appreciate their help.  I never thought the day would come during pregnancy when I felt like I couldn’t watch you on my own, but that day has come.  When your daddy was gone real quick, I tried to walk you downstairs for your nap.  You fell down the last 4 stairs when you tripped, all because I was trying not to carry you.  I die inside every time you lift your arms up and say, “Hold you.”

We took a drive over to Cripple Creek and looked at the Choo-choos and had some delicious ice cream.  It’s hard to find things we can do where I’m sitting down and not out for too long.  Most of the things we end up doing involve ice cream…you and I both are 100% ok with that.

Monday morning came around and I had a few days off before starting school on Thursday.  Your daddy got a text message from a teacher he worked with last year that she had just got a reference call for him from some school in Colorado.  My heart leapt up to my throat.  Could this be it?  15 minutes later his phone rang with a job offer.  It was like we were able to breathe for the first time since we’ve moved out here.  It was like taking the weight of the world off his shoulders, and off mine too because I was the crazy one that insisted we make this move during such a wild time in our lives.  It meant we could possibly afford a house, it meant that Daddy wasn’t going to be working some awful job he didn’t like just to get us by.

We put an offer on that house that we loved.  It’s small, even smaller than our house at Auburn, but it felt like home.  It needs some paint, and possibly another bedroom addition.  In my head I’ve started the to-do list, but then I’ve stopped. It’s close to Grammy and Pop-Pop and to me, it’s more beautiful than those $500,000 mansions.  Screw the to-do list and just embrace the journey.  If everything goes through, we hope to close early September.  Address #5 for this summer.

I started official work Today, August 7th.  At one point, we didn’t know if I’d make it this far, and every single day that I don’t have this baby, I’m both excited and terrified!  I needed to work one full day in August to be eligible for the benefits of my new job.  I’m excited each day because it’s less time that your little brother might be in the NICU.  Maybe we’ll make it far enough that he won’t have to be in at all.  I’m terrified because I have the reoccurring fear that my water is going to break at school.  Like I’ll be shaking hands with new teachers and I’ll say, “Hi, I’m Jackie,” guuuussssshhhhh.  I’m also terrified about how big this kid is going to be.  In my new job, I get 3 paid days of leave and then the rest you have to earn.  That means I will have 3 paid days and 5 1/2 weeks of docked pay.  If I have to have a c-section due to his size, that means 7 1/2 weeks of docked pay.  The doctors have said they don’t know how long they’ll let me go with his size being such a concern, but they feel like I’ll go early on my own.  The waiting part of pregnancy is such a weird time.  Every weird contraction or kick and you think, oh crap, this is it.

I have to say, I’m pretty ok with knowing I won’t ever put my body through this again.  Pregnancy is hard, real hard.  It hurts.  Growing a baby inside of you is no joke.  Because I’m on the topic of lists, let me give you the list of the top 5 things I feel are necessary to survive pregnancy.  Maybe it will help you out one day.

1. Zofran- this is an anti-nausea medication and I live by it while pregnant.
2. A body pillow- (plus 4 other ones).  I like to think I’m sleeping in a wonderful nest of pillows, until it’s time to climb out for the 4th time to pee.  Sometimes I feel like a turtle stuck on my back and it takes me about 6 tries to throw my body in the right direction.  Still, when everything hurts, pillows are lovely.
3. Belly bands- think Spanx for pregnant women.  Belly bands are elastic strips that go around the top of your pants.  It allows you to wear old jeans that are unbuttoned and the biggest advantage is it holds everything together.  Less lumps.
4. A loofa sponge on a stick- yeah, I don’t know the technical name for this one, but if you want to reach your feet, you gotta go this route.  I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get my razor on a stick.  And finally, the most important of them all…
5. XL Underwear- yup, I said it.  I had a revelation this pregnancy, and it happened only two weeks ago.  I was wearing dresses to work and every time I looked in the mirror, I was mortified at the 6 different butt cheeks that were happening and then all kinds of other strange mountains around my waist.  In turn, I would pile on the layers trying to hide what was happening- a slip, a belly band, a tank top, whatever it took.  I was in Walgreens of all places, and threw in a pair of XL boyshort underwear.  I’ll be honest, I put them on as soon as I got in the car to drive to school.  The result= heaven.  I could breathe deeply for the first time in 8 months and some of those mountains turned into small boulders that weren’t as noticeable.  Hopefully this will save someone who is just starting the long road.  Ditch your pride, no matter what size you are, and buy yourself some big girl XL underwear.

It’s almost over.  This waiting game, the big question marks, the endless state of homelessness.  It’s not at all how my list looked.  But after this summer, I’m done with to-do lists.  Did your dad and I both get jobs before we moved out here… no, in fact, we both got jobs that we didn’t apply for, and your dad’s job came just 4 days before the school year started.  Did our house sell and we moved straight from it to Colorado… well, it sold in 2 days, before we even put a for sale sign in the yard and we moved from it, to Grandma and Grandpa Joe’s, to Grammy and Pop-pop’s in Clinton, to their house in Colorado.  Did we find a move-in ready house… no, it’s been a huge process, but hopefully, it’s almost done, and interesting that we would fall in love with a house that wasn’t listed. Do I have your brother’s nursery ready or a room for you… not at all.  Did we get to do all kinds of fun adventures this summer… no, in fact, I had bought a beautiful maternity swimsuit (is there such a thing?) back in April that I still have not put on.  The good news is, I could’ve added all kinds of things to that list, just to cross them out.  We watched you blow bubbles for the first time.  We listened to your vocabulary expand to an unbelievable amount of words.  We’ve watched you go from walking to running, which is hilarious as your left arm swings all over the place.  We bought you your first potty seat, which you like to sit on backwards.  We watched you develop the most amazing relationship with your Grammy (you’ve actually dropped the ‘gr’ and changed her name to Ammy) and Pop-pop.  While I love how much you love them, sometimes it stings a bit that it’s not me you are so excited to see.  It’s not me leaving that causes you to cry.  But… how lucky we are to know that you are being cared for by two people that you love that much?  We didn’t travel all over Colorado exploring all the sights this summer, but we sure made some memories.

I’m picking up on a trend… we sold our house without putting a sign in the yard, both of us got jobs we didn’t apply for, we found a house that wasn’t listed, we are having a baby we sure didn’t plan for….   and God is just having a good ole time enjoying my plans.  NONE of it has been easy, and none of it was on my list.  Isn’t that the way life works?

From here on out, the only items on my list are the following:

1. Love you and our family with every bit of energy I have.
2. Be the kind of woman that you want to grow up to become.
3. Show you how much God loves you.
4. Sit back and enjoy the ride- list free.

Next time I write, it will be about your brother’s birth.  How crazy amazing is that?  The ride is not over- we still will be bringing him home to a house that is not ours.  We still will be attempting to move into a new house with a newborn and a 19 month old.  It’s been without a doubt, the hardest summer I could’ve imagined, but it’s also been absolutely beautiful.  We’re blessed sweet girl, so very blessed.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton,

Here we are, our little family, in what seems like a perpetual state of homelessness.

Our last moments in our house were far from what I had imagined. I thought we’d have time. I thought it would be organized. I thought we’d get a cute little family picture by the front door. The place where we began. Instead it was rushed, emotional, and full of people. There was no family picture. In fact, instead of posing for a picture, I sat with you in the kitchen of Grandma and Grandpa’s house and I cried. I didn’t stop crying for a long time. If I only would’ve known, I could’ve been prepared. 

We moved in with Grandma and Grandpa Powell. We put our belongings in their extra garage and we lived out of boxes, laundry baskets, and spent a lot of time searching through piles. We slept in the basement, all three of us (4 with Jersey), which was somewhere between negative 20 degrees and a chilly 65.  They went above and beyond to make sure we felt at home in their house, had the room we needed, and that we were comfortable.  They let us stack boxes in their kitchen, spread our laundry in their living room. When you’re staying with someone else, no matter what the circumstances, it’s hard to feel like you’re not in the way. I’m reminded of a show your daddy likes to watch called “The Big Bang Theory.” There is a character named Sheldon, who suffers from OCD (I think your daddy can relate and that’s why he likes it). When Sheldon gets a roommate, he has him sign a ‘roommate agreement’ specifying what times he will take a shower, use the bathroom, eat his meals, where he will sit, and what kind of company is allowed. For someone such as myself, with no routine whatsoever… it’s a weird feeling to feel like you are always stepping on someone’s toes. Grandma and Grandpa were so good about making us feel like their home was our home. Katie came there to watch you while we finished up the school year. You loved the chance to play with your cousins- Grady and Liam every day.  I would take you and visit Grammy and Pop-Pop on the weekends in between picture sessions. Life went from crazy to crazier.

Your dad and I both ended up with a stomach bug and then a day later I had a terrible migraine where my vision was surrounded by little dots- floating and shooting across my eyes. It all hit on my birthday. Birthdays are a big deal to me and usually I spend the whole month celebrating mine. The teachers bring treats, I like to go out for dinner, the whole shebang. Being sick is one thing.   Being sick and not having a house is a whole different thing. Being sick, homeless, taking care of a toddler and having it all be my birthday was an entire ball of bouncing fun.

The process of switching my license over to Colorado was less than desirable and certainly wasn’t easy. It was a 38 step online application, fingerprints, essay questions, and preparing for a 4 week orientation starting July 7^th. I learned that my benefits (insurance) wouldn’t start until October 1^st with my new job in Colorado, and that they would end August 31^st with my past teaching job in Illinois. That left me with one month without insurance, the month of September…and of course that was the month your little brother was supposed to arrive. If I only would’ve known, I could’ve been prepared. We learned that we couldn’t get pre-approved to put an offer on a house until we both had signed contracts with our yearly salaries. We watched one, then two, then three houses that we loved slip away. I learned that while I had taken not one, not two, not three, but SEVEN certification tests for my degree, none of them transferred to Colorado. I was highly qualified in crazy things in Illinois, but was not even qualified to teach at all in Colorado. The answer= more tests at $115 a piece. These tests are a lot easier fresh out of college than they are when you’ve been teaching things like colors, letters, numbers, and maybe some basic mathematics for 6 years. When they started throwing around questions about various wars, branches of governments, parts of cells, cinquains, algebra and syntactic structure of various passages…I was lost. I kept thinking, if I only would’ve known, I could’ve been prepared. When I finished the test, they give you the option to cancel your scores. If you cancel, they won’t send them to the agencies you’ve listed. If you cancel, you won’t even see if you’ve passed or not. If you cancel though, you don’t have to wait another month to take the test. I stared at that computer screen for a long time trying to decide if I should cancel, prepare, and take it again. Ultimately, either God took my hand and helped move it to the “report scores” button, or I had some strange muscle spasm and my hand did it involuntarily, but I passed.

 Somewhere in this, I’ll be honest, I started to regret this leap, this whole being so adventurous thing. I started to think I couldn’t really do this. That maybe I could have if we knew all of this going into it. If I only would’ve known, I could’ve been prepared. Maybe I could swing it if I wasn’t pregnant. I hated feeling that way. I don’t look back after I make decisions, but every single fiber of my body was saying that I had screwed up. I was sick over the thought of leading our family in the wrong direction. My belly started growing and my fears grew with it. All of the sudden I had been faced with packing up a house, a classroom, a studio. I couldn’t lift heavy boxes, I couldn’t keep up with you, and things seemed to be unraveling all around me. I learned that panic attacks and heartburn feel very similar and I’m not really sure which I’ve been having more of. I had fellow teachers, friends, coming into my classroom to tell me goodbye. I felt like I was choking from the inside out. When I moved to the little town of Auburn, I had no idea that the people I would meet would become my lifelong friends. People I care about so deeply, that have been with me through 6 years of meeting your dad, getting married, switching positions, getting pregnant, having you, then finding out there was a surprise on the way! If I only would’ve known, I could’ve been prepared.

I’ve heard it over and over again, “Jackie, you’ll look back on this and laugh.” I call BS on that. I won’t look back and laugh. I will look back and say, “That was really hard, and really stupid, but it was also the best thing for our family, our little girl and our little boy on the way.” I’m not leading this family in the wrong direction, I’m helping steer our family towards more family (Uncle Logan, Aunt Kelsey, Baby Martin on the way –wooohooo, and Grammy and Pops). Leading towards more family is never the wrong direction. Grammy asked me one time right after I found out I was pregnant and was mildly, or majorly freaking out, “Jackie, what’s the most important thing to you- is it to be in Colorado? To have a house? To have a job you love?” That questions was easy, the most important thing is you. In Colorado, you wouldn’t go to daycare with someone I know nothing about, you would go to Grammy and Pop-pop’s house. Decision made. Knowing you will be taken care of is the most important decision we can make as your parents.

 So here we are, homeless. Jumping from address to address in a matter of weeks. I think the post office thinks I’m messing with them to see if they can keep up. I’m not sure I can even keep up. Your daddy is still living with Grandma and Grandpa Powell right now. He’s working during the day trying to save up some extra money. As soon as school was out on June 9th, you and I moved to Clinton with Grammy and Pop-pop. We are staying here for 2 weeks until their house closes, and then we’ll move back in with Grandma and Grandpa Powell for a week before packing up all of our things in a trailer and heading out to Colorado on June 28^th. It’s a weird feeling to watch them pack up their house- my childhood home. I’m so glad you’re here during these two weeks to soak up the country life. It’s where I learned to play in the dirt, ride a horse, bait a hook, hold a snake, camp out with friends. It’s where we brought countless pets home including a couple cows, pigs, chickens, horses, guinea pigs, rabbits, and the more usual- dogs and cats. I learned to love and appreciate animals and what they give us- although that lesson was a little harder. It’s where I got baptized. It’s where I learned who I really am, what I’m really looking for in life. It’s where I got married to your daddy. Now, the house seems empty, but those memories will always be there, and just while you’ve been with us, a short 17 months, we’ve made some pretty incredible memories with you at the ranch.

Just to keep with the trend, we will move in with Grammy and Pop-pop in Colorado. We don’t have a house yet, and we will have to put things in a storage shed and continue to live out of boxes. We don’t know if your brother will come home to their house, our own house, or a tent on the side of river somewhere. I feel like we’re driving past a sign on the interstate that has the town name written in a language we can’t understand and the mile marker is a big question mark… mocking our decision to do this at such a busy time in our lives. We don’t know where we’ll end up, or even how long it will take to get there. It’s a pretty unsettling feeling for someone who likes a general idea of what’s to come.

One thing has remained the same in all of this mess…you are our refuge. When I’m overwhelmed and feel like giving in, I drop what I’m doing and I take some time to just be Mommy. I fall into your crooked smile, your wobbly attempt to run, your endless peekaboo games and I realize that I’m just where I need to be- even if that means homeless. You’ve been such a trooper switching between houses, cribs to pack n’ plays, highchairs to eating on my lap, having Katie as your babysitter to having mommy back for a couple weeks (with A LOT of help from Grammy and Pop-pop). We spend so much time sitting back and laughing (hard) at you. You never stop, but in a good way. Your wheels are always turning. You walk around with your hands either clasped together behind your back, or on your hips with your palms turned up.  You carry your giraffe EVERYWHERE, usually with those two fingers still in your mouth…if they’re not behind your back. I tried to outsmart you and buy two Mr. Giraffes, because I’m one of those moms that can go days without showering, can hike and get dirty with the best of them, but gets annoyed by kids with dirty blankies. My plan was to always have a clean one on standby. You quickly learned that there were two, so now when you only have one, you tell, “TWO” until we bring you the second. Maybe a third one is in order. If I only would’ve known, I could’ve been prepared.

You also love to be outside, to get dirty. We got you a sprinkler that you like to pick up and squirt at us, but honestly, one of your favorite things is just a couple buckets of water and some cups. You still love books and you are able to identify and say an incredible amount of words. You use sign language for more, please, and thank you, but you also say the words now. Please is my favorite because instead of using one hand, you get antsy and use both, which looks like you are playing the guitar and then you start hollering “peeeeaaaasch” in the best speech impediment possible. You flirt every time we’re in public, but you pick really old men to flirt with. You are loud and you aren’t shy. You get pretty upset when people aren’t paying attention to you and you crack yourself up on a daily basis. You spend a lot of time looking at/kissing yourself in mirrors. You love dogs still and have recently taken up harmonica playing. I’m not sure whose crazy idea that was…yes I am, it was Grammy’s. People keep telling me you have a dangerous amount of me in you. The world is not ready for the both of us. It better get ready, because neither of us is slowing down. 

You love to “clean” things…especially with a broom. You sweep up about everything and you pick up anything on the floor that doesn’t belong there- crumbs, pieces of paper, bugs. You love to unroll the toilet paper rolls and throw them away. Actually, you love to throw everything away. Just in the past couple weeks, I’ve found 5 whole rolls of toilet paper, a toothbrush, a pen, my cell phone, 3 balls, 63 cents in change and a jingle bell in the garbage can. You think it’s pretty funny to get out of the bathtub and pee on the floor. I still forget that you do this and the other day I got you out of the tub and you took a few steps, started laughing, stuck your belly out and peed. Immediately after, you grabbed a towel off the rack and started wiping it up. You’re something else. If I only would’ve known, I could’ve been prepared.

You’ve started sleeping on your belly a lot with your butt up in the air. It’s one of my most favorite things in the world. At Grammy and Pop-pop’s house, sometimes I sleep in the same room as you and sometimes I sleep in the other room. Either way, I’m on an air mattress (try to climb out of one of those when you are super pregnant) and you are in your pack n’ play. I went into your room the other night and got all settled in bed with my 12 pillows, ok I’m exaggerating, it’s only 6. I finally drifted off to sleep when I hear “HEY!”  I opened one eye first, and then the other, not moving a muscle. There you were, standing straight up, giraffe in hand, sleep sack on, pointing at me and yelling “HEY” over and over. I tried to play opossum, but it was clear that you knew I was there and you weren’t lying back down. I got you out and put you in bed with me. Secretly this is one of my favorite times, probably because it rarely happens. I don’t care that it means no sleep, I simply love the chance to hold you. You started by my side and fell asleep. Then you wiggled your way down so that you were lying with your back arched across my belly, arms spread out down one of my legs and up my chest. It couldn’t have been comfortable. Well, just like always, your little brother started kicking and squirming in my belly, but it was so hard that it kept waking you up. At first you would look at me in utter disbelief that I was doing this to you. At one point you started elbowing my stomach. I think it was your first fight with him…I’m sure it won’t be your last.

Here we are, homeless and crazy, and absolutely where we need to be. I can’t wait for things to settle down a bit, to be done taking pictures for a while and to just breathe. I can’t wait to watch a movie with your dad, to spend a whole day soaking in your smiles, to meet your little brother. If I only would’ve known that it was going to be like this, I could’ve been prepared. I could’ve been prepared for laughing so much around you that I’m crying. I could’ve been prepared for feeling like the entire world was spinning around us, but you just sit on my lap and say, “Wheeeee,” telling me to just enjoy the ride. I could’ve been prepared for knowing that although there are things I might do differently in this move, I’d do it again, because it’s all for you, for your future, for our future as a family. When I get asked what my address is right now, I don’t know. What I do know is that we’re surrounded by family. That eventually, we’ll have a place to call home. Eventually, your daddy and I will both have jobs…whether or not we’re qualified to teach them. Eventually, you and your brother will spend your days with Grammy and Pop-pop while we spend too much time away from you in order to support our new life out west. That we are doing all of this, because if I only could’ve known I wouldn’t change a thing in the long run.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton,

I said last time I wrote that I’d write soon on all your big adventures.  Needless to say, it’s been awhile, and a hundred things have changed.  Here’s what’s going on in our little world…

Turns out this pregnancy started much like last pregnancy, with the exception of the fact that we were completely shocked this time around.  I learned to balance the puking, the zofran, the teaching and the mama gig the best I could.  I learned to go to bed right after you go to bed and to eat every 2 minutes to try to keep the pukes away.  I always pictured our family with 2 or 3 kids, and all of them girls.  I don’t know why, that’s just what I pictured.  I didn’t know if the other two would be adopted or if there would even be another two.  The minute I found out I was pregnant, I thought it was a boy.  I knew you were a girl from the minute we saw that plus sign, and while I wasn’t 100% sure with this one, I had a hunch we’d be buying a lot of blue.

In late March, your dad and I flew out to Colorado for a job fair.  I was absolutely sick over this, but it wasn’t pregnancy type of sick…it was leaving you for the first time type of sick.  That’s a much harder job than I imagined.  There was once a day when Jersey was 6 months old and I took her to be spayed.  I had all these elaborate plans of getting the house cleaned and taking a nap, and doing all the things I couldn’t do when she was around.  Want to know what I did?  I sat in her spot on the couch and I cried.  I cried for hours, and then I cried some more.  I saw one of her toys, I cried.  I looked at her food bowl, I cried.  I saw a dog on tv, or one of those stinkin’ ASPCA commercials, and I cried.  The vet recommended that she stay overnight for observation… I picked her up 2 minutes after they called… and considering we lived 8 minutes from the vet, that was pretty impressive.

Leaving you was a million times worse.  Grammy and Pop-Pop were watching you, and I knew without a doubt that you wouldn’t think twice about me, but that didn’t stop me from missing you.  You see, the moment you were born, my heart was complete.  Anytime that you’re not with me…there’s a chunk of my heart that’s missing, that’s walking around somewhere else outside of my body.  Again, just like with Jersey, I had plans.  I thought I’d go out to eat with your dad, Uncle Logan and Aunt Kelsey and enjoy the fact that I wasn’t having food thrown on me or trying to worry about making sure you are eating, then just at the time I get ready for my first bite, you are finished and ready to get up.  I thought I’d sleep peacefully all night long, not waking up to check the monitor ten times an hour, just in case.  I thought we’d take advantage of not worrying about nap times and spend the whole day off on adventures.  Here’s what really happened… I cried.  I cried the whole way down the lane after we dropped you off, I cried the whole way to the airport.  I cried the entire flight… so much so that I wore my sunglasses on the plane.  Once you discover what your heart has been missing, it’s not easy to feel ‘incomplete’ again.  I cried when we went out to eat and the table next to us had a little kid.  I missed eating my food cold.  I missed saying goodnight prayers with you.  I missed being able to look at you all night long and know the rest of my heart was just in the room next door.  You had a great time and didn’t even show much of a reaction when we got home.  In fact, I think Jersey was more excited to see me after her 8 hours at the vet…and she was coming out of anesthesia.

You took your first steps right before we left, but refused to walk for Grammy and Pop-Pop while we were gone.  Right after we got back, Grammy and I loaded up our car and we drove down to Florida to see Gee and Papa.  It was a crazy idea, but I knew if we didn’t do it then, we would never do it.  It was a 16+ hour drive, and we decided to leave early afternoon and drive through the night.  I had a suitcase packed with little sun rompers, 6 swimsuits for you and 5 different sun hats.  I couldn’t wait for you to get your feet in the sand and feel the swimming pool.  Turns out, it was in the mid 60’s the whole trip and overcast.  Despite the weather and a pretty massive headache I had for several days, we had a wonderful trip.  You lit right up when you saw Gee and Papa.  You pushed your walker in circles around their house, and ate about 16 pounds of fish that week.  Being the crazy photographer/mom that I am, we took you to the beach just to get some pictures.   Kind of like the time I shoved you into a pumpkin with just a diaper on and it was 45 degrees and windy.  It was completely worth it.  Just seeing your chubby thighs in a swimsuit again made my heart swell.  Lord, I love those legs, that belly, those cheeks, that smile.

Somewhere around week 14 and 15, the puking slowed down.  I went from 6-8 times a day to just 1 or 2…and then eventually just a couple times a week, which is where I live right now.  I never had stretches like that with you, so I’m thankful each and everyday when I make it to bed and have felt ok for the day.  I never got a rush of energy when I hit the second trimester like some women get, but I did feel like I was no longer a walking pile of exhaustion.  I began to enjoy the little kicks this time around.  I’ve embraced the elastic band at the top of my pants once again and I’ve tried to figure out how to possibly keep you on my lap as long as I can with there only being limited lap space.  I did a vote at school to see if the students thought I was having a boy or a girl.  They voted by picking a color and suggesting what I should name the baby.  One student wrote “Luceou Max” and told me as he hung it up, “By the way, Mrs. Powell, your baby will be Mexican.”  Another student picked “Junior” for a girl, and possibly my all time favorite, a little boy in another class decided it would be a boy and I should name him Dynamite.  Winner.  Teaching is like being a mommy, you absolutely never know what each day will bring.

 At 20 weeks, we found out…

It was the first appointment we took you to, and I can’t believe people take their child(ren) to these appointments all the time!  You didn’t like when they turned the lights off, then you hollered when the lady touched my belly with the special camera.  You thought the stirrups were part of an awesome new jungle gym, and you ended up walking out with the doctor’s tape measurer that she uses to measure all the pregnant ladies’ bellies.  We are sooooo excited to have a little boy and for you to have a little brother.  I still can’t believe it though, especially as I pack up all of these pink clothes!  I should let you know, your daddy and I went gender neutral on… NOTHING!  I swore the entire first pregnancy that I would never do it again, so it was all girl, all the way.  The stroller/carseat combo is purple.  The activity mat is pink, the crib set, all the toys, several of the bottles, your cozy coupe, even the little baby bathtub is pink!  Your handsome little brother might just have to learn to rock the pink.

I’ve spent some nights being pretty nervous about this new baby thing.  I don’t know if I would be like this under normal circumstances, or if it’s the mixture of moving, switching jobs and having a baby that has gotten to me.  You had a really rough week where you cut all 4 molars, had an ear infection (your first one), a sinus infection, and ended up with roseola (104 degree fever for 3 days and then a rash) and on a 10 day dose of amoxicillin.  You would only sleep at night for short periods of time when the fever was down a bit and while I was holding you.  Then you’d wake up soaked with sweat and miserable.  As awful as you felt, I cherished the brief moments where I could hold you in my arms, stare at your closed eyes, and listen to your sweet snore as you held me, and my heart, with those chubby fingers.  One of those nights, it all came together for me.  I spent some time crying (if you haven’t picked up on it, I’ve done a lot of that this pregnancy) and just looking at you.  I panicked.  It was official, I was never going to be able to love another child like I love you.  I had a full blown breakdown where I was screaming from the inside out, but never made a peep, I couldn’t risk waking you up.  My arm was asleep, half of my body was covered in your sweat, the other half was freezing because the covers had been pulled off in the midst of your constant moving.  But somewhere in that beautiful mess, I realized just what we were doing.  I wasn’t taking anything away from you by bringing another chid into this world.  We were giving you the gift of a brother. We were giving him the gift of you… a sister, to teach him, to make him laugh, to grow with. But more than that, we are giving life to a new little miracle.  We are bringing another child into a family that will love him unconditionally, will do anything to protect him and raise him in the best way we know how.  I’m not dividing my love between two kids, I’ll be experiencing a new love…one I didn’t even know my heart was missing.  From that moment on, I’ve been nothing but excited.  Well, maybe still a little exhausted, but much less worried.

Mother’s day was today.  It wasn’t how I would typically picture Mother’s day.  But that’s where we’re at right now.  We spent the morning packing, which consists of me putting things in boxes and you taking them out.  We put pictures of our house on Facebook on a weekend and had an offer by that week.  We close this Friday.  It’s all happened so fast, and I will do what I do best when we leave this house for the final time, I’ll cry.  I didn’t picture forever in this home, but our forever started in this home, and that’s hard to leave.  We are moving in with Grandma and Grandpa Joe until school gets out, and then we’ll head to Colorado at the end of June.  I have a  teaching position lined up, but we don’t have a house and daddy is still looking for a job.  We’ll move in with Grammy and Pop-pop when we get out west.  I don’t know if that will be for 2 weeks, 2 months, or even longer.  I don’t know if your brother will come “home” to their house or if we’ll have our own place.  I don’t know if I’m going to attempt to set up a nursery in a tent by a river somewhere.  There are so many question marks.  I do better with exclamation points and periods… question marks make me nervous.

I’m not much of a help on the packing front, as my big ole belly tends to limit what I can do.  We’ve done what we can while Daddy is at track most nights and some Saturdays.  I’ve continued to take pictures and have probably pushed myself entirely too much, but that’s not a surprise.  So this morning, you and I packed, and we went outside and we played.  You swung in your little pink swing and you carried your broom around “sweeping” off every piece of grass you could find on the patio.  You napped, I showered, and then we went to the grocery store with Daddy before going to Grandma and Grandpa Joe’s for supper. We squeezed in a little ice deli in there- and you loved it, of course, but not as much as I did!  It certainly wasn’t an extravagant day, and yet it was beautifully perfect.  I was with you and daddy, that’s all I wanted.  (That’s a lie, I really wanted PF Changs, but it didn’t work out). 😉

Here’s the deal with becoming a mommy… YOU spend your entire teenage years trying to make YOU look better, be more popular, impress others, etc…  YOU find different guys and YOU want them to tell YOU how beautiful YOU are.  YOU judge relationships on how they make YOU feel.  Eventually YOU find the guy that accepts YOU for YOU.  Then all of the sudden, YOU hold the most precious gift that YOU’VE ever been given…and immediately YOU realize, it’s no longer (and it never really was) about YOU.  I don’t care to impress people anymore, I care that you know I’m completely comfortable being goofy, dancing, reading,  singing… if it’s what makes you happy.  I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m beautiful, it’s written all over you, because I was a part of creating something that is beyond any capacity of beautiful that I could have ever imagined- you.  I don’t really judge a day on how I feel, but on what you’ve learned, how many times you’ve laughed, and those precious moments I’ve felt your hand pat my back when you hug me.

You’re a busy girl right now, walking all over the place, exploring new things.  It’s a busy time in our lives, living out of boxes, soon to be sleeping all in the same room. You have mastered the art of saying “no.”  You don’t just say the word, you shake your entire body and close your eyes to make it more dramatic.  You also have started really flirting… with super old men.  We went out to eat the other day and you spent 25 minutes raising your eyebrows, giggling, and “talking” to a man a couple tables over.  Every time he spoke (not to you, but to his table full of people) you got all excited and bounced up and down. It’s a crazy ride, this whole motherhood thing.  How’d I get so lucky to be able to share it with you?

I love Mother’s Day, because I love being a mother.  I love the challenges, the fits, the sleepless nights, because for those brief moments, there are a million more full of snuggles, giggles, or my favorite… when you stop what you’re doing, walk across the room, and plop down on my lap like you just needed to remind me where you ultimately belong- with me.  

Ps… sorry to not include much about your daddy in this one.  That’s what you get for a mother’s day post!  Daddy is still as amazing as ever… even more so now that you like to let him hide and go find him. 🙂  We love the nights that he doesn’t have track meets and he can be there for bath and bedtime.  You’ve started to “knock him over” which you think is pretty funny.  You typically do this right after bath time, when you are trying to escape the bathroom and run around the house naked.  It’s all good and fun until you start pounding on the front storm door…which is solid glass.  Wonder what the neighbors think?

I love you sweet girl,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton,

My mind has been going a million different directions lately, but for some reason, I can’t seem to stop thinking about one person.  I feel like it might be because I haven’t ever jotted down anything about her for you, and I don’t want one more day to go by, one more chance to forget anything about her.  Let me tell you about Exit 96A.

Exit 96A is off interstate 55.  It’s on the way to Clinton, when I’m going to see Grammy and Pops.  It’s where I used to turn, drive a few miles, cut through the Rochester school parking lot, and pull into the familiar 2-story white house that was packed with character, antiques, and a feeling of comfort.  Jones’ house.

In my second year of teaching, there were some change-ups on staff due to lower numbers of students in the middle school.  We found out that we were going to be getting a new teacher from the Middle School, Sarah Jones.  I didn’t know Sarah Jones well, but I knew I’d like her.  We played at a staff basketball game together, we saw each other briefly at district meetings, and we shared a couple work acquaintances.  I was walking Jersey one day after school and she pulled up her white SUV on the side of the road.  I can still see the license plates.  We chatted about life at the elementary school, any reservations she had, and I promised to take her under my wing… a really funny thing to do to a veteran teacher when I was still a newbie.

Jones was in the classroom across from mine.  I was teaching kindergarten and first grade resource and she was teaching in the structured classroom.  Her classroom was for students with higher needs than what could be met in the resource room.  It took no time for us to become friends.  We set up our desks right across from each other…not that either of us ever spent any time in them.  She appreciated the students and would do anything in the world for them…they were her drive.  One of our students would say something hilarious, and we’d immediately say, “Go tell Jones what you just said” or she’d say, “Go tell Powell what you just told me.”  We shared a love for education, a love for struggling students, and a genuine appreciation of sarcastic, quick-witted humor.

It was a visit to her house one afternoon that my love of photography really took off.  You couldn’t help but be inspired when you walked into the house.  She had old windows hung up all over the walls, her two kids’ pictures inside.  She had old keys on the walls, a room that stayed Christmas all year, and a room full of red vintage toys.  In the kitchen was an old wash basin, the adjoining bathroom was red,white, and blue, and her in-ground pool was always a happening place.  The house screamed from the inside out.  She got the house by walking up to the front door, knocking on that door, and asking if she could buy that house.  It wasn’t for sale, there was no sign, but she knew she wanted that house, and she got that house. That’s exactly how Jones lived.

She was married to an amazing man and father, named Lance.  They met at Eastern Illinois University (the same college I graduated from, years later).  Lance was a basketball star and all the girls thought he was a hot item.  They called him “Lance Romance” and hung signs in the windows of Andrews Hall.  Despite the many girls screaming for him at the games, he knew one of them could scream louder than them all.  They had a love for each other that was so obvious.  They also couldn’t have been any more different.  She called him “dead with a heartbeat” and talked about how nothing really ever got to him.  She was loud spoken and wore loud clothes and just was loud all over.  Lance was/is a well-recognized lawyer.  He dressed in suits and ties and spoke very little when we were around.  He didn’t really have a chance to say much.  Your dad and I would go out to eat with Lance and Sarah.  Your dad and Lance would talk about nothing (aka… sports, numbers, whatever) while Sarah and I gave the waiter a hard time, told stories, and imitated various people/kids and tried to guess who the other person was.  It was like looking at us (your dad and I) in 30 years, only it worked even right now.

Jones had a son and a daughter, both fairly close to my age.  The fact that she seriously could be my mother, didn’t matter to me, or to her.  People often said it was a darn good thing we didn’t meet until later in her life, because we would have caused all kinds of trouble together.  We would go and watch her son play basketball at Eastern.  She’d stand up and do this half yelling/half barking sound and throw her arms up in the air when he scored.  You always knew when Jones was in the gym, room, hallway, house, etc…

One Thanksgiving, I don’t know exactly why, but we ended up at that familiar two story beautiful house.  Growing up, holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas were reserved for your immediate family.  That’s the thing, we were all her immediate family.  When we showed up to a table covered with food from one end to the next, we weren’t the only “adopted family members.”  Taylor’s basketball team, the ones who didn’t have a place to go, were all there also.

Her wardrobe was something that I can’t even begin to explain.  When people are no longer in your life, or even when they are, but they are changing, I feel like you always picture them the same exact way.  For instance, it doesn’t matter how old my dad (Pop-Pop) gets, I picture him with a dark beard, a dark head of hair, walking uncle Logan and I through the timber to hunt mushrooms.  It doesn’t matter that his hair has long changed, that’s how I still see him.  I picture your daddy in a blue shirt and khakis, just like he was wearing the first time I ever saw him and told people I was going to marry him.  I see Jones in a tie-dye karate uniform.  She had some amazing clothes, she was very stylish, but every once in a while, she busted out an old karate uniform that had been tie-dyed various shades of yellows, greens and blues.  She wore one of those strands that turn your glasses into a necklace when you’re not wearing them.  Only hers was made of colorful beads.  She rocked a hair-do that most could never pull off, let alone be brave enough to say, “Hey, I want to try this.”  She oozed coolness.  She had a bright yellow pea coat in the winter, and she loved to wear TOMS shoes, the sparkly ones.  Every time I put yours on, I think of her.  She walked with intent, as fast as she could, and her feet turned out to the sides every step she took.

By the end of our first year working together, she had me driving down to Arkansas to shoot her brother’s wedding…in a cave.  It was my first wedding, and it was in a cave.  She kept saying, “Powell, if you can shoot a wedding in a cave, you can do anything.  You need to get shirts made.  I shoot in caves.”  It was a beautiful intimate ceremony, and I grew even closer to her family.  I heard stories of her growing up, of her parents passing away too soon, I witnessed the bond between herself and her brother.  We took some really amazing pictures, because she has the same eye for beauty that I do.  We laughed as her window got stuck rolled all the way down and the cowboys took her entire door apart to fix it.  We put our bare feet in a creek called “Little Sugar.”  A creek she used to put her feet in when she was little.  We stayed in a little rented condo, her, Lance, your dad and I.  We talked about coming back down in the summer and canoeing/floating down the river.  We never got to take that trip.

Moments were precious for Jones, and nothing was taken for granted.  One day while at school, after months of not feeling right, she started bleeding heavily and had to go to the hospital.  After tests and speaking to several doctors, she was diagnosed with uterine cancer.  It made me really mad.  I’d lost several people to that stinkin’ cancer word, but I never imagined it hitting someone so full of life.  She kept a positive outlook through the entire ordeal.  She had ups and downs, and somehow managed to teach through chemo appointments and a prognosis that didn’t look promising.

She found refuge in teaching.  She was one year away from retiring.  One year away from watching her son graduate from Eastern.  One year from relaxing by her pool with her feet up.  One year from really living, and she was told she was dying.  Most people would give up, but that’s not Jones.  She came to school everyday she could.  She hugged her students tighter, she laughed a little more, and as much as she didn’t care what people thought of her before, now she was downright blunt with her opinions.  She carried herself with a grace that was reflected in her friendships, her students’ eyes, and her family’s love.

Her classroom was moved down the hallway on her last year of teaching, and I was not happy with that move.  I found reasons to have field trips down to her classroom, and I soaked in her spirit every chance I got.  She got bad news, then some better news, and then really terrible news, all in a matter of a month.  We brought the staff together to pray and I challenged the teachers to be as dedicated to the field as she was in those last few months.  I challenged myself.  We celebrated her retirement and the retirement of our social worker.  Instead of a typical retirement party, we had a full-blown beach themed extravaganza.  We had a slushy machine, a photo booth, and even did a song and a mad-lib dedicated to her.  She sat up there, wearing her beautiful blonde wig, and heard stories from fellow teachers.

I couldn’t really imagine school without her in it, and it’s hard to believe there was a time when she was at a different school.  She was one of the first people I told when I found out I was pregnant.  I texted her a picture of Jersey wearing a shirt that said, “Look who’s going to be a big sister” and she replied back, “Cute dog, what’s the shirt say?”  I told her to zoom in, and she replied, “You know I don’t know how to work this damn phone, call me already.”  We went to her pool early that summer, and we just relaxed.  She showed me how her hair was growing back, fuzzy and gray, and we watched as Jersey swam circles in her pool.  Like me, she loved dogs like people and earlier that year she had to put her beloved golden retreiver, Bizzy down.  Biz had her own couch in the Santa room, she was spoiled rotten.  The funny thing was, she escaped every chance she got.  Bizzy would escape out that front door and hobble along to the neighbors house.  But she always came back, and when she did, Jones tried to be mad, but Biz just wagged her tail and knew she was loved.  At the pool, Jones talked about being short of breath, and just in general pain.  Something that she had become a master of hiding, so I knew it wasn’t good.  When we walked at Relay for Life that year, it took on a whole new meaning.  You see, both her and the social worker that had retired that year had been diagnosed with cancer.  They both took their last breaths within a couple weeks of each other.  You wait your whole life to start living, and then you start dying.  It’s a sick, sick thing.

Jones started to fade pretty fast after that last visit.  She responded to less phone calls, and wasn’t up for as many visits.  I knew how terrible this form of cancer had to be, because if anyone could beat it, it was her. I was sitting at home one afternoon right before the new school year was starting when my principal called and asked if I was home. Not a good feeling.  We talked about Jones, how she was really starting to decline and we cried and talked and cried some more.  I was on my way to Springfield when I got the call from David, her brother.  David was the one who got married a few summers back.  He always called her Sally, even though her name was Sarah.  I always got a kick out of that.  As soon as I saw his number, I pulled over, I breathed deeply, and I tasted the salt from a tear before I even mustered up the courage to hit answer on my phone.

“Sally’s slipping, Jackie.  She doesn’t have much time left.  Can you come over?”  I turned my car and headed to Exit 96A.  I pulled in, and David came out immediately.  He hugged me and said, “She really wanted to meet that baby of yours” and I fell to the ground.  I choose to not remember the way I saw Jones that night.  It was the first time that we both remained in silence for more than 5 seconds.  I kissed her forehead, hugged her family, and told her to go on home.  It was also one of the first times she actually listened.  I drove home and forced myself to remember the feisty woman in the tie-dyed karate uniform.

I got the call the next morning, August 21st, 2012 while I was teaching my brand new class.  I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the doctors talked about me being ready for this new baby around August 21st of this year. Her funeral was beautiful, just like her life was.  There were TVs projecting school plays she had been in, along with a slideshow of pictures that were just sneak peeks into her wild ways.  On my way out of the funeral home, I glanced at the line, stretching clear outside, to see those same basketball players from that Thanksgiving meal.  Everyone in that line, no matter their relationship, was family.

I tell people all the time that you have the fire that Jones had. I see it in the turn-out of your feet, the spark in your eyes when you’re getting ready to do something you shouldn’t, and the way you stand there and cuss me out in your own language when I take something away from you, like a permanent marker, a pair of scissors, you know.  Several times since she’s passed, I have felt like I had a guardian angel looking over me, looking over you.  I have no doubt she’s watching you grow up and cracking up that I’m pregnant again.  I can see her sitting up in heaven, playing fetch with Bizzy, drinking strawberry daiquiris (because she couldn’t handle tequila) and saying, “Atta boy, Tony” when she saw me panic as I saw that plus on the pregnancy test.  I might have to name this next baby Sally, or at least call him/her that.

One of her last texts to me said that she was sorry I was still hugging the toilet, to put my tootsies up and let Tony the tiger wait on my every need.  I loved that woman.  I was devastated when I dropped my second phone in the toilet for a lot of reasons.  The main reason was it held something precious…my texts from Jones.

Jones taught me a lot about life.  Which is pretty remarkable for someone who was technically dying for most of the time I knew her.  I can’t quit missing her, and I won’t ever quit.  I can’t stop picking up the phone to text or call her, even a year and a half later.  I still have trouble walking by her classroom.  I tore off her name on the copy box in the teacher’s lounge, because I couldn’t stand to be reminded that she wasn’t there. Don’t wait to start living.  Live from the beginning.  Live a life that draws people to you.  Don’t worry about what people think of you.  Don’t live cautiously, live recklessly.

I have been really terrible about keeping in touch with her family.  I’m embarrassed to say that it’s been a year and a half since I took Exit 96A.  The last time I did, I went to drop off some food and a gift card basket filled with popcorn and beer from the staff at our school.  That’s what she would have wanted for her family. I sat at that familar kitchen table and I felt empty.  I looked at Lance’s red-rimmed eyes, and I felt broken.  For him, for her entire family, for anyone that ever knew her…I felt broken.   I’m embarrassed to say that both Christmases since, I’ve had a card for the family, but I can’t figure out how to address it- The Jones Family or Lance, Taylor, and Kassie Jones.  It just seems incomplete.  I know that I can’t imagine the void that they experience just based on the void I feel.

I hope you have an Exit 96A in your life.  Someone that takes how you think, and completely challenges it.  Someone that no matter her age, understands you, your quirks, your passion, and your desire to change the world.  Someone that will bend over backwards for you, and at the same time will be the first one to tell you when you’re being a drama queen.  Someone who isn’t afraid to wear a tie-dye karate uniform, and someone who rocks it.  Someone who lives, no matter what she’s dealing with.  Live, sweet girl, live.

I promise to write soon on all of your recent adventures, but for today, just know that 96A is the most important exit on that interstate.

I love you,

Your mom.