Snapshot 2014

It's time once again for our annual family snapshot. The little details of our lives that I haven't documented elsewhere. 

Here are some snippets from our lives (and a few pictures) to document the here and now:

I was recently looking at some photos from our trip to Hawaii last year, and was shocked when I realized that there was a point in 2013 where we only had two kids, and now we have four kids in 2014. That really put it into perspective for me how quickly our family has grown. 

Before Finn was born, I had a lot of people ask me if I wondered what he'd look like. I responded that I had a pretty good idea. We seem to have a mold for blue-eyed, blond-haired boys.

Now that he's here, the question is, "How is life with four?" Some days I feel like I'm drowning, but thankfully that is rare. I think we reached a level of chaos when we added a third child, so what's one more?

And since I spent the first half of this year with debilitating, all-day morning sickness, nothing is as hard in comparison. The best way I can describe the feeling to someone who has never experienced nausea and vomiting during pregnancy is that it is like having food poisoning all the time for months on end. Each day was foggy. Every smell and taste was repulsive. I was unable to walk without crippling dizziness and nausea. I wondered how I would make it through. But eventually the long days turned into weeks and months and here I am with four miserable pregnancies under my belt.

I found out at delivery that I was severely anemic. I didn't have my labs drawn throughout pregnancy so there was no way to know for certain, but I had a pretty good idea that anemia might be within the realm of possibility. I lived on crushed ice during the last trimester which is usually a tell tale sign of iron deficiency. My midwife said she didn't know how I wasn't completely miserable with levels as low as mine, but my body must have adjusted. I attributed any fatigue to being nine months pregnant and besides the ice cravings, didn't notice any other symptoms. Except that my hair wouldn't hold curl, which my hairdresser told me was also an indicator of low iron. I'm now taking an iron supplement to help with the anemia because I just can't stomach a lot of red meat.

Speaking of hair, all the hair that I lost in masses after I had Crew has finally grown back. It is almost long enough to tuck behind my ears. Just in time to start the hair loss and awkward regrowth cycle all over again. 

In our church, we fast every first Sunday of the month. We skip two meals and pray for specific needs and search for needed answers. But when you are pregnant or breastfeeding, you abstain from fasting. I've been either pregnant or breastfeeding for six combined years of my life which means that in the eight years we've been married, I've only fasted for a total of about two of them. 

We only added one person to our family but I swear the laundry has quadrupled. I only wash clothes one day a week. I'd rather pound out seven or eight loads on one day instead of dragging it out. But sometimes the folding and putting away of clothes lingers for a few days now that my snuggling newborn takes priority over all chores.

Troy reads The Count of Monte Cristo every year. It's a whopper of a novel and it is his favorite. He wants to start a charity someday named "Sinbad the Sailor" based on one of the characters from the book.

Troy decided not to do any physical therapy after his knee surgery and recovery. It was partly a time issue and partly because the surgeon was bit anti physical therapy. His knee still hurts though when he runs around with the boys.

The best perk of Troy being down for months was the handicap parking pass we were given. It was a sad day when it expired at the end of August and we had to park far away at the movie theater, restaurants, and the school parking lot again.

Troy paces when he talks on the phone. That made things tricky when he was in a wheelchair and on crutches. He said his words didn't flow as freely. Now that he is mobile again, Crew follows him back and forth when he paces.

Troy is still serving as a counselor to the Bishop at church and I was called to teach the Young Women after four years as the Primary secretary.

Troy gets together with his childhood friends from Boston every spring for a fantasy baseball draft. They usually meet up in NYC or Washington, DC and spend the whole weekend drafting their picks for the season.

In that same vein, we started doing a fantasy draft for the television show "The Bachelor" with our good friends from college. It's completely ridiculous but it's actually a lot of fun. We pick our candidates before the show airs and then receive points for all sorts of things like crying, retelling a tragic backstory, taking a flight, promoting a career, receiving a rose, etc. We plug in the data to a shared Google document and the winning team takes the losing team out to dinner. It keeps us connected to our friends who now live states away from us and keeps our guilty pleasure show more interesting as well.

I have a staging area for my clothes. The key to getting ready efficiently in the mornings (especially since I have five people to get out the door) is being prepared. I like to pick out several outfits in advance and hang them in my staging area. That way, when it’s Tuesday morning and we’re in a hurry, I don’t have to ask myself that all important question, “What am I going to wear today?” I just go right to my staging area and there are options waiting for me. I am far from a fashionista, but I like to utilize the clothes I have in my closet and I like to look somewhat put together. If I don't plan outfits in advance, I end up resorting to the same five shirts that don't need ironing or layering. We don't have a ton of extra space in our closet so I have a rack that hangs on the back of our bedroom door that is my staging area (insert annoyed eye rolls from Troy who often bumps into the staging area). 

I can't wear anything with wool in it. It makes my skin break out in hives. Anything with the word "acrylic" on the tag is off-limits. This is unfortunate during the season of chunky scarves and pea coats.

I could probably write a whole post about this, but the Pepperplate app has changed my life. All of my recipes are now together in one place with no clutter. They are accessible to me from anywhere and I can create instant shopping lists. Here is a great outline of the simple process.

I am a terrible gift buyer. Gift-giving is not my love language. I think I'm too practical to buy things that I deem useless and clutter-promoting. I'm having some serious anxiety about the upcoming holidays and gift-buying expectations.

My boppy makes the best laptop pillow ever. It fits snug around my waist and it's the perfect balance of cushion and firmness. In fact, I never even packed it up in between babies (not that I had much of an intermission).

When Troy and I kiss in front of the boys, Blake exclaims in a sly voice, "Awkward!"

For some unknown reason, the boys think they must take their shirts off when they jump on the trampoline. I really have no idea why they do this. Even Crew joins in the shirtless jumping. We had a gorgeous October this year and they were out there every single night with no shirts on.

The boys love to come up with riddles while we eat lunch. We take turns giving three clues and guessing what is being described. Nash has a habit of looking directly at the item he has chosen, but Blake and I try to humor him by pretending we have no idea what he is depicting.

Blake and Nash also started a random rhyming game at dinner recently that has become a tradition. They go back and forth forever with words that rhyme and morph into other words that rhyme. It's especially entertaining when they are sitting at opposite ends of the dining room table and we have company. Trying to have a conversation over all that rhyming is a challenge.

Troy loves to take the boys out to breakfast on Saturdays. It's kind of their "thing." Sometimes he sends me blurry pictures of the boys' food choices.

The boys have learned that the key to getting me to read to them longer and delay bedtime is to play with my hair.

We play the version of war where you only go through the deck of cards once and then compare your piles to see whose is taller.

Blake and Nash are obsessed with Pokemon cards. I'm still trying to figure out what the hype is all about. They don't even know how to play the game. But they bring their card collections to school and trade them with their buddies and think it is the best activity in the world.

Blake eats apples right down to the core. There is not a morsel of fruit to be seen after he is finished.

The pace has really picked up in first grade. Blake has homework every single night. He attempts to focus on his math and spelling homework while his brothers are climbing onto the dining room table and clamouring for his attention. Whether he completes it efficiently or not is hit or miss. But we always wait until Nash and Crew are in bed to read. He stays up later than the others so he can have my undivided attention while he reads.

I wish I could volunteer in Blake's classroom more but I can't exactly commit with two babies in tow. I was able to go in a few times while my mom was in town and I had so much fun being a fly on the wall in first grade.

Blake mostly takes homemade lunches to school but he usually has hot lunch once a week. I'm already completely burned out from making lunches and I'm only three months in to the first year of school with my first child. Anything involving prep time in the kitchen is not my favorite.

It's ironic that Nash was the cop and Blake was the robber for Halloween, because Blake is our ultimate rule enforcer which unfortunately leads to a whole lot of tattling. It was a big problem when the boys were playing conference bingo during General Conference and Nash kept sneaking Skittles before topics were mentioned. 

Nash checks the front porch for visitors or packages multiple times a day. He always thinks he hears knocking.

The second Troy walks in from work (on the rare days he makes it home before the boys are in bed), Nash runs to him at full speed and declares, "FIGHT!" He sure loves to wrestle and roughhouse his dad.

Nash is particular about his clothing. He hates wearing jeans and shirts with buttons. If I lay them out for him to put on, he always chooses something else. I'm still trying to get through to him that he can't wear sweatpants to school. 

If it were up to Nash, he would wear his "Tough Guy 36" shirt every day. He loves that shirt almost as much as he loves his nie-night.

I usually lay out Blake's clothes out for him to wear to school. But when I let him pick out his own clothes, he puts on his Superman shirt without fail. It's getting much too small on him, but it has a cape which means he may never pass it on to his younger siblings.

Nash is still a serious hoarder. I have a love/hate relationship with his favorite hobby. His collectibles keep him entertained for hours, but I despise putting all those little toys back in their homes.

Nash puts up a fight about going to school. He always has a huge smile on his face when I pick him up, but I think he just really likes being home.

I have become more of a homebody as well. I feel so frazzled on the rare days when we are running from one thing to the next with no down time in between. Thankfully, I've had seven years of afternoon naps that have ensured we spend some time at home each day. And I have at least three more years to go. I really don't know what I'll do when I'm not tied to afternoon nap time anymore.

Crew can easily out-eat his older brothers.

Between Crew and Finn, there are binkies everywhere in our house. I mean, everywhere. We tried to keep them separate for each boy but gave up after about a day of Crew confiscating and sharing all the binkies. 

The boys have a habit of losing one of their shoes. Sometimes those lost shoes resurface and sometimes they don't. I found one of Crew's missing shoes in our neighbor's front yard last week after being lost for a few days. And my dad found one of Nash's missing shoes on a bike path in Michigan at least a week after he had lost it. That was pretty miraculous.

Finn and I have been co-sleeping in the guest room/nursery since he was born. I can't bear to put him in the crib that is a few feet away so he sleeps right next to me. We all get the most sleep out of this situation since I can roll over and feed him. I stay up much too late soaking in those quiet moments where his profile is illuminated by the lamp and I watch him drift into sleep. Nothing gets better than that. Life is good.

Goodbye Orange Oak

I officially reached the "nesting" point in my pregnancy. As per tradition, once I made it a few weeks past the midway point and finally felt human again, I tackled a few massive projects with my newfound energy.

I have done this with every pregnancy. When the sickness subsided with Crew, I burlap-ified our Christmas decorations and prepped our basement for a major addition. I built a headboard, a play kitchen and revamped all of the bedrooms when I was pregnant with Nash. And with Blake, I went gung ho on the nursery while teaching full-time. 

I knew exactly what to take on with this pregnancy.

The dated orange oak handrails that I have detested for years.

I have held off on updating them because each year we've thought we might move. But since our three year home has turned into our six year and beyond home, I decided enough was enough.

I saved up my meager design income to have the handrails replaced. But then Christmas, Troy's broken leg, and a surprise pregnancy happened and there were extra bills to be paid. So, I started saving again. I was all ready to hire out the job when I realized the quotes carpenters were giving us didn't even include the paint.

We decided we'd rather go to New York and Michigan this summer than spend a fortune on replacing the handrails, so I decided to take on the project myself.

Instead of having them completely ripped out and replaced, I resorted to plan B.

Paint.

Let me remind you of what the handrails looked like when we moved in.

It was definitely time to say goodbye.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I began this project.

I mean, how hard could it be to add some paint to each spindle?

It took over a week to add two coats of primer and two coats of paint. Having young children around made it more challenging, of course, so I took advantage of every single one of Crew's naps and the bedtime hour. It also happened to be the last week of school which was probably the worst timing for such a massive undertaking.

But one morning I woke up and decided I couldn't stand that orange oak one more day, and once I get an idea in my head, you can't stop me.

It was completely worth it. I smile every time I see the finished product.

After wiping down the entire surface with rags dipped in TSP solution, I used two coats of Bulls Eye 1-2-3 primer from Zinsser. I love that it dried within thirty minutes since I had little ones around who would inevitably brush up against my work. I also loved that it was water based and low-VOC. I was a little worried at first when some yellow wood spots were showing through the primer, but when I added the second coat, I had complete coverage.

I grossly underestimated the amount of time it would take to prime each and every spindle, twice. But sanding every groove was completely out of the question. 

I did minimal sanding except on the inevitable drips that resulted from painting on vertical spindles. I tried to be as careful as I could, but drips still happened. Light sanding was one thing I could do while Crew was awake, and he became my chief sanding assistant. 

After everything was primed, I painted two coats of Sherwin Williams ProClassic Interior Acrylic Latex in semi-gloss. It was an expensive finishing paint, but since the handrails are in a high traffic area of our home, I wanted to make sure to invest in a product that looked professional and would last. I couldn't be happier with the end result.

Now, to do something about those floors. Even after tons of updates, the projects in our home still seem never ending. But I think I'll be satisfied for at least a while with this major improvement. It makes a world of difference.

Mother's Day

I never imagined at the beginning of this year that Troy would (still!) be on crutches and I would be halfway through a pregnancy by Mother's Day. We couldn't have survived our recent events without all of the additional mothers in our lives.

Since we failed to get a family photo on Easter, I made it a priority to sneak a few in on Mother's Day.

Obviously, the photo opportunity went over real well.

I wouldn't ever choose to relive the last several months again, but I wanted to make sure this crazy season of our lives was documented. It's not every day that Troy's broken leg coincides with my growing belly.

Happy Mother's Day!

Hope and Heartbreak

Disclaimer: I’ve hesitated to publish this very long and most personal story. But in order to represent reality on this platform, which is a record of my family’s life, I strive to document an accurate picture of the sorrow that is amidst all of the happy and lovely in our lives. I hope that this post can be a bit of healing for me and hope to reach others who may be silently struggling. I am very aware of the blessings and beauties around me as well as the intense hardships of others. I am not attempting to complain or pity myself. I am only attempting to share my narrow experiences with hope and heartbreak.

Life is beautiful but extraordinarily hard.

Back in January, I had a week where I felt really off. I was snapping at everyone in my family for no reason. I couldn’t figure out why I suddenly felt so tired and nauseous.

And then it dawned on me to take a pregnancy test. Sure enough, two pink lines appeared instantly.

I’m pretty sure Troy turned white as a sheet as I spilled out the news. We were both shocked. I mean, we were still soaking up our baby who was only eight months old. And trying to meet the demanding needs of our four and six year old children. We were about as far away as you can get from the ready-for-another-baby stage.

How could we possibly be ready for another one so soon? We were scared. We hadn’t budgeted for the unexpected health care costs and the necessity for a bigger vehicle. Troy was working a gazillion hours and because of his church responsibilities, I was wrestling three active boys by myself on the church bench each Sunday. Adding another baby to that mix seemed unfathomable.

But I instantly also felt comforted that even though the timing was crazy, this meant that our daughter was finally on her way. Ever since our third boy was born, I had a strong feeling that if we were ever going to blessed with a girl, it would have to be in God’s time, not ours. If having babies 17 months apart, enduring endless nausea and throwing up while still breastfeeding another baby, and being primarily in charge of the responsibilities at home and at church was what I had to do to finally meet our daughter, then I thought, Bring it on. Sign me up. If this is how I have to pay the price, I’m willing.

I had a good attitude about our unexpected turn of events from the get go. I found myself so excited to experience the newborn stage again. I never feel more alive than when I have my own newborn nuzzling tightly against me. I felt so blessed that I would get to experience that again. I have a friend that had a difficult time getting and staying pregnant, and, as a result, has children spaced far apart. She always says, “You take them when you can get them.” That’s how I felt about this baby. The timing was just nuts, but it didn’t matter. I’d take her when and how and I could get her.

Plus, I wasn’t sure if Troy would agree to have more children at all. And I didn’t know if physically, I could go through it again. Most of the time we avoided the topic altogether. But it came up in January when we were talking about life plans. Shortly after our conversation, Troy came home from work and announced that he had good news; he thought we should have another baby. Not as in, ‘Let’s have a baby right now,’ but, ‘I’m on board with another baby in the future.’

Within a week, we found out we were pregnant. So, this “surprise” baby was already in the works when Troy came to that realization, which we took comfort in knowing was part of a divine plan.

And then we started getting hit with trials from all directions. Our old porcelain kitchen sink fell during replacement. It missed Troy’s head by an inch and tore out the plumbing pipes from our walls. We had endless bouts of strep passed from family member to family member. Every technology item we owned seemed to be breaking down. Then, of course, it all culminated in Troy breaking his leg three weeks after finding out we were pregnant.

I probably seemed a little melodramatic back when it all started. It would have been a challenge for anyone to take on the extra work of an incapable husband fresh out of surgery plus the demands of three small children.

But I was pregnant.

I could hardly take care of myself, let alone two children who needed to be carted back and forth from their schools three cities over, plus a baby who was very needy at mealtime and always at risk for falling down stairs, plus a husband who needed help with basically everything, plus a growing baby within me. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was at my worst, and I had so many people within my stewardship who were relying on me.

Usually during the first few months of pregnancy, I rely on Troy to pick up the slack until I feel human again. He makes dinner whenever possible and puts the boys to bed to give me some relief. When I was driving to the only open pharmacy to pick up Troy’s meds late on Valentine’s Day night, after spending all day in the ER and learning that he would be off his leg for close to three months, the tears started flowing. My nausea was at its worst. My hormones were at their peak. I had a little breakdown when I realized that not only was I losing any help I was going to get during those first few difficult months of pregnancy, but I was also gaining an additional person to take care of who couldn’t even dress himself.

We decided early on that we weren’t going to announce the pregnancy until we were certain about the gender. It was just way too hard last time having the pressure of so many people “hoping for a girl,” and then feeling like I was disappointing them when it wasn’t a girl. We told our parents and a few close friends that we couldn’t hide the sickness from and that was it.

I felt guilty asking for much help because no one knew that I was pregnant in addition to Troy being disabled. I figured that everyone probably thought I was completely capable of taking care of my family. And had I felt human, Troy’s post-surgery care would have been an adjustment, but it would have been manageable.

Nevertheless, life pressed forward and we settled into a new routine. It wasn’t easy. Troy hobbled across the house on his crutches in attempt to help me when I was throwing up. I did my best just to survive and meet the basic needs of everyone in my family. I dreaded the dinner and bedtime routines that completely fell on me, at the time of day when I felt the worst. We weren’t much of a parenting duo.

However, once again, I felt the sweet peace that all of these challenges that were flying our way were necessary in order to finally be blessed with our daughter. She would be the silver lining in it all. I did a lot of studying and praying about trials and blessings.

I’ve found that when you begin to pray for something that really matters, many times things get worse, not better…That ought to be a signal to a man or woman of faith: “I’m on the right track. I’m doing something that’s making a difference and I will now double my faith.” Gene R. Cook

There were a myriad of other personal experiences that led me to believe only one thing. After years of feeling so certain of our daughter’s existence, that had only led to confusion each time a boy was declared, she was finally growing within me. And I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Out of the blue, about a month after I found out I was pregnant, our six year old started praying for our family to have a baby girl. We didn’t tell the boys about the pregnancy because we didn’t want them to share the news with everyone. But Blake has always been very spiritually in tune. Over the course of several weeks, he came up to me a handful of times, patted my belly, and declared, “Mom, I think there’s a baby in there!” or, “I can feel a baby kicking in there!” Obviously, he couldn’t feel any kicking; I wasn’t even showing. But he was spot on about the baby. And I did not prompt him in any way to start praying for a girl. In every single prayer, mealtime or bedtime, he stated, “We really want one girl baby.” I think it got to the point of annoyance for Troy, because Blake never, ever forgot.

Of course, my biggest fear was setting Blake, and myself, up for disappointment. I went through some of my darkest days after learning that our third baby was a boy. Regardless of how much I absolutely adored him when he was born, I didn’t ever want to experience those difficult months again. But hope is a funny thing. No matter how defeated I felt when I found out I was carrying a third son, I couldn’t accept that I would never have a daughter. I still had a glimmer of hope that our baby girl was on the horizon. 

The way that everything was falling into place this time felt so inspired and gave me so much hope. But I was scared. to. death. that my hope was going to turn out to be foolish. I tried the best I could to have faith in the countless experiences I had that led me to believe that we were going to be blessed with a daughter. Yet, the wounds from the last time, when I was “so sure” it was a girl, were still raw, and I feared what was completely out of my control.

The weeks passed until I was far enough along to go in for an early ultrasound. I was so nervous. After scheduling the date, I almost canceled three times. There was so much pressure riding on a result that would only last a moment. On one hand, it was easier not knowing, because I was sparing myself grief if the result didn’t turn out as I was hoping. On the other hand, I had to find out sooner or later, and I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with. Plus, I wanted to start celebrating!

Two of my best friends came with me on the big day. I went to an elective ultrasound clinic because I just couldn’t wait any longer. I told the ultrasound tech, who claimed to be a retired OB from Europe, to please not tell me the gender unless he was 100% sure.

Within minutes, my biggest fear came true. 

The tech hardly glanced my way as he typed, “It’s a boy” on the screen. 

There were no sirens or loud screams.

There was no rushing or comforting.

In one instant, my dream was just over.

I was left with a cocky foreign man who was completely insensitive to the fact that he had just destroyed all of my hope. He declared, “I not going to lie to you. I 300% sure. You come back in 10 days, I 500% sure. Four healthy boys, you should be happy.”

I turned my head away from the screen as my heart completely sank. I couldn’t even find any tears at first. The hope and faith I had mustered up through all of our trials was indeed, foolish. It didn’t matter how many miserable pregnancies I had endured, how hard I had tried to be a good person, or how many boys I had born before. I was still not going to be blessed with a daughter. I feared that I would never meet her, though she felt like a real person to me. Now, I would only see her in my recurring dreams.

My whole body felt numb. I didn’t want to move. I wanted a do-over. I had gone through the ultrasound a thousand times in my head, and it never ended in heartbreak. I was geared up to celebrate after a long couple of months full of challenges. Really, a long year and a half. She even had a name. I was not prepared for this. Not again.

After coming to terms with the fact that I had lost the battle, the next several weeks were almost unbearable. I felt every range of emotion. Denial. Heartbreak. Doubt. Hopelessness. Devastation. Entrapment. Anger. Loss. Grief. Pain. So much pain. I felt completely forgotten.

My heart was ripped open because it literally felt like I had lost a child. Even if she didn’t have a body yet, I had to bury her. She was gone.

The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence. For the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child or friend, we have all manner of words and phrases, some helpful, some not. Still, we are conditioned to say something, even if it is only “I’m sorry for your loss.” But for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held? Laura Bush, Spoken from the Heart

I spent every moment I had to myself sobbing. Not crying, but sobbing. Weeping, blubbering, heaving while standing with buckling knees in the shower. The boys asked me day after day why I was so sad. But I couldn’t let this be their burden too. I didn’t want to tell anyone anymore. 

I woke up most mornings with swollen eyes and a heavy harrowing ache in the center of my chest, a weight that took blistering effort to carry myself out of bed. There were occasions where I truly felt I could not stand up because my physical frame could not sustain such crushing pain. Sometimes I went to bed feeling like I made peace and progress throughout the day only to wake up the next morning feeling like I was back at square one. 

What made the emotional turmoil worse was that I was still so physically sick. The constant nausea combined with intense headaches from crying so hard were a crippling combination. More reminders of what I would most likely never have.

I was ashamed. My body had failed me in producing a daughter once again. I felt like less of a mother because I would never have certain experiences that to me, defined motherhood. I didn’t know how I could ever feel complete as a person when I would always have a longing for our missing daughter.

I was tempted to feel jealous and envious. Why was it seemingly effortless for everyone else I knew to see those three parallel lines on their ultrasounds, when it was impossible for me? I was pleading for a righteous desire, after all. The envy hit me hard when a week after learning the result, I watched our church’s satellite broadcast intended for women, young and old. Daughters and mothers and grandmothers were gathered together for a single cause. I felt nothing but immense pain as I noticed mothers holding the hands of their daughters. I longed for the love they shared and the special relationship they were nurturing. Bonds that I would probably never experience.

It was one thing for my prayers not to be answered, but to explain that concept to our six year old, who had all the faith in the world, broke my heart. He kept on praying for our girl baby, every single day, until we finally mustered up the courage to tell him the truth. We sat him down and told him how excited this baby brother was to join our family, but his reaction was just as we anticipated. Lots of tears and confusion because he had prayed so many times for a sister. He said, “Maybe I should have prayed for a boy so we would have had a girl.” It was another dagger in my heart to see that trusting boy’s faith shattered.

I knew I should be asking questions such as, What am I to learn from this experience? What am I to change? How can I remember my many blessings in times of trial? But I couldn't help but consider the questions that led me into blind alleys. What have I done to cause this? Why does our family have to suffer this? I know that trials are a part of life, but why does it have to be this? I thought we had suffered enough the last time around. I never fully recovered from the sorrow back then, and that was when I still had a glimmer of hope. Now, my hope was diminished.

My great-great-grandmother had a daughter. My great-grandmother had a daughter. My grandmother had a daughter. My mother had a daughter. I can't bear the thought of generations of motherhood, going further back than I even know, stopping with me. Not being able to pass on the divine gift of strength that comes from strong, smart, faith-filled women who have a common purpose.

The world tells you that it is desirable to have children of both genders. That you are more blessed when you get to experience both. Both strangers and acquaintances alike ask you when you’re going to try for the other gender. And when the more desirable outcome doesn’t come to fruition, you should “just be happy” that you have healthy children. 

What a conflicting message.

Let me make this very clear. My disappointment has nothing to do with the baby boy growing within me. A healthy child is the greatest miracle of all. I know that I will love a fourth baby boy with as much vigor as I do our other three. But I feel immeasurable grief for burying the dream of our daughter all over again, when I have always felt her presence.

I have a part of my personality that wants everything to be fair. It’s not fair that some families lose their babies. It’s not fair that I have friends that have a hard time getting pregnant, or can’t get pregnant at all. And it’s not fair that I can get pregnant easily, but I endure miserable pregnancies that never result in a daughter. I’m well aware of those struggling with infertility. It’s an invisible disease that many keep to themselves for years. I’m not in any way saying that our trials are the same, because a newborn is still going to be placed in my arms at the end of all of this. I’m wary of coming off as insensitive. But I, too, silently suffer. I feel a profound sense of loss for what I may never have, even though I am told I should feel grateful my blessings. Pain is pain, regardless if I can find someone who is worse off.

I wish I was one of those women who could be completely happy with a houseful of boys, I really do. It would be much easier. And hopefully someday, I’ll get there. I’ve read countless accounts of women with all boys who are actually offended when they get the inevitable comments from strangers about trying for a “pink one,” as if they are unfulfilled with their lives. But that isn’t me. I have a deep hole in my heart for the daughter I may never meet.

I’ve learned, through study and my own experiences, that the death of a dream can be just as heartbreaking and life changing as the death of a loved one. You have to deal with the death of a dream with the same steps of recovery, and then be ready to move on to your “new” life and accept the change. While I believe that God knows better than me what our family needs, it doesn’t discount the fact that I still need to deal with the dream dying and move through the stages of grief. Especially since I have been fighting for this dream for such a long, long time. I am having a hard time letting go and thinking of a new dream to step into.

I wish I could end this post differently. I wish I could explain the meaning of all of these trials and heartbreak and why this dream was lost after I put so much faith in it. I wish I knew why I was being stretched in ways I never anticipated.

I don’t know when I’ll reach a point where I will be able to “give up” and hand my dream of a having a daughter over to God. Oh, how it hurts. I still have that nagging feeling of inadequacy that somehow I failed. But I hope to make peace with succumbing. 

Heartbreak is oh so real. It has to be worked through. No amount of hope can kill the emotions that must be processed in a broken heart. Yet, hope is enabling. It is a belief that someday, not today and probably not for many days, but someday, it will be okay.

I hope I’ll eventually lose the sharp pain I feel when I see other mothers and their daughters interacting, or walk past the “off limits” side of the children’s clothing store. I hope I’ll start believing the long list of reasons why a family of all boys can be a blessing. I hope that this heartache, though intense beyond what I could ever imagine, is not final. I hope that Heavenly Father can help me feel whole again. I hope that the greatest pleasures in life have yet to unfold.

I hope, in months or years to come, that there will be a sequel to this post. I hope I will be able to look back and understand why everything happened this way, and appreciate how much it made me grow.

I still hope, even though hope seems lost.

Photographs of the dance art of Martha Graham

Another Brother

Another brother is joining our family in September.

Thoughts on Perspective

A question I often get asked now that I have three children is, "How is it having three?" 

I always respond that the transition from two to three has by far been the easiest.

Maybe it's because Crew is the most low-maintenance baby on the planet. Or maybe I'm more relaxed as a parent. Or just accustomed to the chaos.

But mostly, it's because once Crew was born, I finally felt human again.

I remember vividly a fall day just over a year ago. I had mustered up the energy to meet up with friends at a park. One of my friends, who is the sweetest person in the world, was ranting about how difficult it was to cram in dinner and homework and extracurricular activities with her four children each night.

I remember thinking in that moment that I would give anything, anything to trade places with her. Because even though her life was admittedly crazy, she felt good. She could actually make dinner for her family and drive them where they needed to be without keeling over.

That took place, of course, when I was pregnant and basically bedridden and wondering how I was going to survive each day. I made a mental note that even when the inevitable craziness started swirling around in my life, I would not take for granted the ability to feel well and focus on things other than survival.

Now, whenever I start to feel overwhelmed with commuting to and from school, filling bellies, helping with homework, folding mounds of laundry, nursing a baby all day long, cranking out design work, and manning three active boys all by myself on the church bench every Sunday, I remember how I felt last year at this time and remind myself that nothing, nothing could be worse.

Many events this fall triggered flashbacks to being pregnant again. I have some serious aversions associated with many autumn activities. The start of school and the events associated with that literally made feel nauseous at times. I can't ever look at a rake again and even going to the pumpkin patch was a stretch.

Coming from where I was a year ago, I have a whole new perspective on having three children. In fact, it's a breeze in comparison.

I'm feeling especially grateful this fall to feel like myself again. Even if it means I had to resume cooking dinner for my family.

I am His and He is Mine

I have to admit that I was really worried about bonding with this baby.

I had such a grueling, emotional pregnancy that left me numb towards having any sort of connection with the life growing within me.

But something transformed when I held that perfect fresh-from-heaven newborn baby close to me.

When I looked into his eyes, the look on his face just whispered to me, "I am yours and you are mine." He forgave me for my tardiness in loving him to my core.

I really needed that quiet week alone to officially fall in love.

It helps that I feel my most alive when I am the sole person sustaining another life.

It helps that Crew has been an absolute angel baby. So far, our easiest. He sleeps all the time, only wakes briefly to eat during the night, and I don't feel sleep deprived at all. I'd like to take the credit for his easiness because I'm so much more relaxed with baby #3, but I think he really is just a good baby.

It helps that I adore newborns to tears. Especially my newborns.

When I have a newborn, everything else seems to fade into oblivion. I toss out my to-do list day after day and sink into this baby bliss where no matter how hard I try I cannot soak my newborn in enough. The expressions. The curled up body. The breathing. The crying. I love it all.

It's not fair how quickly they grow out of being newborns. Don't get me wrong, I love the little people they become. But watching those little cheeks plump out and packing away that first stack of too-small newborn clothes always puts me into panic mode. It makes me wish I could keep my babies that small forever. And the panic of them growing up too fast seems to get worse with each child.

Right when I have a newborn is when baby fever hits the most for me. Not that the newborn I am holding isn't enough...quite the contrary. That new baby fills my heart to the very brim. But the thought of my little Crew being the last newborn I'll ever bring home from the hospital makes me feel like I just got kicked in the stomach. I never ever want to be pregnant again, but I can't imagine that this is the last time I'll have a newborn nuzzled tightly against me with his perfect smell and tiny chest rapidly rising and falling.

I'm trying my best not to worry about what the future holds (especially since Troy declared that we are done bringing children into this world). I'm going to soak this newborn in with all my might before he becomes a full-fledged baby. I know all too well how quickly the time will pass. And for now, I am his and he is mine.

The Waiting Game

Every day now, I wake up with this panic that today could be my last day of "freedom" before the baby comes.

And because of that, my energy is through the roof.

I'm running circles around Troy who keeps reminding me that I should be taking it easy, but I feel like these are my last days to get any remaining projects done before I'm nursing a newborn around the clock and simultaneously taking care of a five and three year old.

It took me all week to put the furniture back and hang everything on the walls after our massive painting job was finished. And places that I thought were clean needed to be deep cleaned again and all the windows needed to be washed. But I couldn't stop there. I had to sew/paint curtains that flowed with the new wall color, naturally.

Here's a sneak peek.

And in between conference sessions and hosting a couple of different groups of friends over the weekend, I deemed it necessary to completely clean out our garage. Because when will I find the time to do that once the baby is here? I think Troy wanted to stifle my insane energy at that point instead of being disturbed from his nap to help me out of guilt.

I'm feeling a little sense of relief now that our house is mostly put back together. The schedule for the basement is; Monday-paint walls, Tuesday-tub surround, Wednesday-tile bathroom floor, Thursday-carpet goes in. So, we're getting there. And hopefully we'll get our kitchen cabinet fronts and backsplash up in the next few days as well.

I'm sure I'll invent approximately 16 other projects that need be done in the meantime as well.

Since I'm not feeling super miserable, I'm actually grateful for this little waiting game and each day of productivity I'm rewarded with at this point.

Thank you, baby, for staying put. I'm sure all of this extra exertion will eventually catch up with me, but the baby does have to come out at some point, right?

iPhoneography: Chaos

Our lives are a tad on the chaotic side as of late; as evidenced from my phone:

First of all, there is the basement remodel. We're making progress, but the race is still on to try to finish before the baby comes (and for everyone to shift bedrooms). With the remodel comes so many little choices; tile, tub surround, vanity, grout, paint, carpet, and on and on. It seems like we are always running around town picking out things. And then re-picking out things when we start second guessing.

We're transforming many aspects of our main floor as well. And for some reason we decided that now might be a good time for a massive painting project. Which means that everything is off the walls and our furniture is piled up in the center of each room. The only appliance left in our kitchen is the dishwasher for the next week or so while the cabinets are revamped. Thankfully, we have a refrigerator in the garage, but we're learning to survive without a stove and oven. Easter dinner to go?

On top of all the disarray at home, our church boundaries were realigned this week. The meetinghouse that we attend is assigned by the geographical location of our house, but from time to time the boundaries are realigned to accomodate growth. In this case, my dear friends from church that have become family to me were split in three different directions.

We are losing some of my favorite people. We still have book club and playgroup to keep us connected, but it's going to be really sad not seeing the same faces at church each Sunday. We mourned about the changes while our children hunted for Easter eggs, oblivious that they are all getting split up as well.

I'm not the only one who the boundary realignment affects. Troy was asked to serve in our new bishopric (which consists of the bishop and his two counselors that oversee the congregation).

Logistically, for him, it means lots and lots of meetings. I'm already used to that from other church responsibilities he has had, but what will affect me the most is that Troy will now sit up on the stand by the pulpit every week instead of with our family. And I would be lying if I said I didn't shed a few tears at the prospect of sitting alone with two restless boys and a newborn for 70 minutes every Sunday. It is quite the circus to keep Blake and Nash quiet and entertained and not arguing, but throw in a newborn who will need to be taken out and fed, and I'm feeling a tad overwhelmed at managing the chaos without Troy by my side.

One thing is for certain. Troy's Sunday afternoon snoozes have come to an end.

All of the things I have mentioned so far seem manageable, however, if Blake wasn't simultaneously giving me a run for my money. He has reverted back to having 5 or 6 accidents a day and I am completely at my wit's end with him. There is nothing more frustrating and infuriating than a having a five year old struggle so much with potty training. We're considering going back to occupational therapy again.

Oh, right, and I'm going to have a baby any day now. I just passed the point in pregnancy where I delivered Nash, but we could clearly use some time to get our lives somewhat back in order before this baby makes his debut.

I'm just counting my blessings that we are all healthy at the moment. And I took a little break from the chaos to get my pre-delivery pedicure. If nothing else, I have pretty toes.