I read an article yesterday that was about the nursing relationship between a mother and her baby. Any mom who has nursed a baby can tell yup that there is a very strong and unique bond. He tells my body what he needs and I provide for him. It is a beautiful thing, but it’s also hard. A lot of pressure on an exhausted, still recovering and stressed out mom.  I adore my baby, just as I did, and still do adore my big kids, but I am ready for this bond to start stretching a bit. I could really use a haircut and coloring. I would like to have the energy and time to put into healthier eating instead of making food choices bases on what I can eat with one hand.  I would like my body to finish up recovering so I can run.  I am trying hard to live in this moment, but I keep looking around my dirty house thinking about what I should be doing while I hold my baby and try to stay awake.  

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One More

Back in September I was in the best shape of my life and I when I found out that Cory and I would be welcoming one more little Coobs baby into our family.  I very smugly assumed that I would continue to work out and eat healthy throughout my pregnancy, which would be easy of course, based on my past two easy pregnancies.  As September came to a close, so did my career in Crossfit, as I hurt my back doing kettlebell swings.  No big deal, I would still have running to keep me on track.  As October rolled on, I did complete a relay run, but that was about that for me and running.  Every attempt to go for a run resulted in an evening of sore hips and pelvis.  By November, I gave up.  In many ways.  I was getting fat anyway, I couldn’t work out anyway, and so the downward spiral of my health set in.  I was lucky that the real problems didn’t start until after our family trip to Disney, at which point I found that I could no longer lift my legs independently, and so the act of putting on and taking off pants became the chore that swinging weights and running laps had once been.

Here I am, June 6th, the day that I had been scheduled for an induction had little Eliot not decided to come on his own. Bless his heart for ending my misery before the 42 week mark.  For that I will try to forget the last couple weeks of pregnancy where every night I went to bed wondering if these contractions were going to do the trick of sending me into real labor, or if they were just going to keep me awake and make going to work the next day a miserable experience.

On the night before Eliot was born I was feeling pretty desperate to have my baby.  I had cried to my doctor that day at my appointment, basically begging for an induction and I went home defeated.  I put on my running shoes, that had been neglected for months and decided to put the pain my pelvis aside and go for a long walk in the miserable afternoon heat.  This was a last effort on my part to force this baby out.  My walk was followed by a long bath and then a sudden shift in the pressure in my pelvis.  Something was going on, and I wasn’t sure what that something was.  I had told myself early on that I would not go to the hospital until I was in so much pain that I couldn’t stand it, but times were desperate and if i could just get to a point where they would keep me and start pumping in the pitocin, I was going to see the end to this miserable pregnancy and the beginning of getting to know my baby and starting to work on getting myself back to myself.  I made a call to Labor and Delivery and when Cory came home from work we headed in to get checked out.  at about 7:00 the on call doctor checked my progress that showed that I had progressed from a 2-3 cm status at noon that day to a good 4 cm and that the baby had dropped down, which explained the shift in pressure that I had felt.  I was told to walk the halls for an hour and come back to see if any progress had been made, or if the results of the test indicating whether or not my water had broken had come back positive.  If either of those things were the case, I would earn my ticket to labor and delivery admission.

After an hour or so of walking I told Cory that I didn’t hold out much hope and we might as well go back and learn my fate.  To my surprise, I had progressed from 4 to a 5-6 cm and was told we were staying!

We got checked into our room at about 10:30 at night.  I told Cory that he should get some rest while he could and I decided to try to keep the progress moving by pacing the room.  At about 1:00 I decided to labor in the whirlpool tub. This had been the key to a comfortable drug free labor with Thea and I was sure that given my last labor, I could handle it again.  Again my smug certainty based on past experience proved me wrong.  Lets just skip ahead to 5:00 AM when my contractions had basically stopped and I had given up on the tub, as it was likely a bit too relaxing to keep my already lazy labor moving.  I had figured that by 5 I would have a baby, but as it turns out, 5:00 was the time that the doctor decided to break my water to get things moving again.  I was given a short deadline to make some progress or the pitocin would be started.  Pitocin is often the end of a natural labor so I was once again walking the halls to try to move things along.  In my broken water there was meconium detected, which was a small worry for all of us.  It meant extra doctors in the room for delivery in case the baby had adverse effects from the meconium.   After more walking and then some laboring in bed with the stronger contractions post water breakage I was fully effaced and 7-8 cm at 7 AM.  The next 4 and a half hours were the most miserable of my life.  I had natural childbirth with Thea, but my labor was half the time and I did not lose an entire nights sleep.  By about 10 AM I was crying and wondering if I would be able to survive.  11:30, it was finally time to push and I had never felt such relief as I did at that moment.  Eliot was born at 11:48 after a fast trip down the  birth canal.  I wasted no time getting him out of my body and as a result, he didn’t really get the squeeze to clear out the amniotic fluids that I new baby needs.  When my girls were born they were both plopped right onto my chest.  With Eliot, Cory was able to cut the chord and the Doctor passed him in front of my face so I could catch a glimpse of him, but he was wisked away and checked over before I got my hands on him.  After a quick trip down the hall to the Transitions nursery in the NICU Eliot began to cry like a newborn should and was brought back to me for my first opportunity to hold my baby BOY.  Cory and I were both a bit overwhelmed by the moment…and I had tears in my eyes as I inspected his sweet little face that resembled his Daddy so much, or his little hands…the exact miniatures of Cory’s large hands.  All of the miserable memories of pregnancy and the long and uncomfortable labor melted away as I looked down at my boy.  My last trip through labor and delivery was a fruitful one, and our family is completed with a sweet little prince.

For a week now I have woken up to his beautiful brown eyes looking over at me.  I know newborns don’t smile, but there is undoubtedly a feeling of love and happiness in his eyes as he peers at me and waits for his morning nursing session.  I could not be more in love with my one last baby, and my completed family.  As we begin the journey of the last first time, I am drinking in every moment.  Memorizing the way he smells, the sweet little baby faces he makes for me, the adorable way that he stretches his little body.  I am spending my days in the recliner, holding my sweet boy and cuddling him every moment that he will allow it.  One last time I have the honor of nursing a newborn baby from a tiny helpless being into a strong and chubby baby and I am enjoying every minute of it.

 

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I should know better

If you go to Google on my computer currently and type in “signs” the search field will automatically add in “of labor” as the most logical search.  It knows me too well.  

By the 3rd time you would think I would know better than to even bother asking the all knowing internet what my fate might be.  I have seen so many message board posts and yahoo questions discussions about what this or that may mean, as far as the impending labor is concerned.  The fact is, its all worthless.  I read to make myself feel better.  Looking for the mom who posts about how she felt *exactly* the way that I am feeling right now and hours later her labor started.  

I am over analyzing every pull and tug that I feel from my rib cage to my you-know-what.  Or wait, maybe this headache behind my eye is a sign that the end is near? It could be, right? 

How about the endless advice about the many things that *might* have worked to put someone else into labor.  After having tried EVERYTHING at least twice now, I should know better.  But I don’t.  Anyone have any ideas for me?

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I am not blessed

It has been a long time since I gave any credence to the saying that “everything happens for a reason.”  The first time something happens around you that is senseless and wrong the mind begs, “Why?  Why me? Why them? Why now? Why not?”  My momma also told me, no one ever said that life would be fair. I hate to give the impression that I am complaining about my own life.  I can’t think of a single legitimate complaint.  It’s when I see the suffering of my friends that I have to ask, “Why am I the lucky one?” Why was I blessed, and not them.   I am struggling with guilt.  And until recently, I would have told you that I am blessed beyond what I deserve.  And it’s killing me to accept it. The truth is, that I am not blessed.  God doesn’t love me extra, and he certainly doesn’t favor me over any other human. Like my own father, he wants the best for all of his children, and some of them are luckier than others when the chips fall to the ground. To finally accept that God knows just as well as I know that I do not deserve any better is to make peace with my own good fortune and to show gratefulness in the face of injustice to others.

I turn my heart to God and I want an answer.  I am angry.  If I clung to the “everything happens for a reason” argument, I would have turned away from God long ago.  For some things, there is no reason.  If God has a plan, a plan for each of us to prosper and to have hope, then what the hell do you call this world, where children are given a death sentence before they are given a birthdate?

I will never know why, and honestly, I don’t think there is a reason.  The world is a place full of ugliness and overflowing with both hate and compassion to those that are forced to face that ugliness, but I am not blessed by God to have felt the mercy of a safe home, of healthy children, of healthy parents, of loving relationships.  I am fortunate.  I am lucky.  I am aware that God does not bless in the way of big bonuses or even happy lives.  He blesses us all with the ability to come to him with our sorrows.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,
for they will be comforted.

I am not blessed.  I am grateful, I am humbled and I am angry and I am heartbroken.  How could I not be?

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How are you feeling?

Yesterday at my monthly OB appointment I told my doctor that I didn’t really know why I was gaining so much weight, I was really trying to cut out the sugar.  Today I ate a double decker oatmeal creme pie, and only then did I look at the package to see the 480 calorie load I had added to my day.  And I didn’t even feel bad.

After work I picked Thea up from daycare and drove on snowy slippery surfaces to the stoplight where two lanes of traffic turn onto a major Coralville street.  And then I totally cut off an angry man in a minivan just like mine as I merged onto 1st Ave.  I did feel bad about that one.  

 

I am feeling fat, flighty and tired.

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Starting Over

When I started announcing my pregnancy one of my less tactful friends responded with, “Wow.  You guys are starting over!”  I guess that is one way of looking at it.  It doesn’t happen to be the perspective that I am approaching this development with.  The way I see it, I am holding on to something that has brought me 8 years of happiness so far in my life.  Being a mom is the most important job that I have. And I like to think that my day job is pretty important too. Cory and I didn’t approach this decision lightly.  We talked extensively about life, and about what we wanted our lives to look like 20, 30, 40 years from now.  Babies are a lot of work.  I don’t think anyone can deny that.  But as one of five children, I also know that family is the most important thing in life.  I won’t ever regret pulling back from the biggest projects at work in order to birth and nurse a third child, because this baby, just like my other two babies, is a vital part of my family, and my family is my life. So here is to starting over, and to growing the most fulfilling parts of our lives in 2014. 

Maybe I will start posting on my blog too, as long as I am hitting restart. 

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Inies and Outies

I love to read the Huffington Post and this article was on that I enjoyed because it validated many of my own quirks.  Of course I have known that I am introverted from the time I knew what an introvert was.  I was one of very few kids that I knew who actually enjoyed quiet reading time over recess.  Some might say that is because I was/am overweight and lazy, but I will go with the introversion theory.

As a parent I am finding that the differences between introverts and extroverts effects me more than ever before.  Cory is a pure extrovert, but luckily he is also independent and it rarely causes any conflict because I can always hang out at home with my blog and my books while he socializes with friends and neighbors.  

Leila is such an interesting kid.  She challenges me, she impresses me and she schools me from time to time.  If you have ever read any of those first chapter books for kids that focus on a little girl main character, such as: Ramona, Junie B. Jones, Clementine, then you have a taste of my Leila.  She is the character that authors love to write about, Leila loves to read about and teachers don’t know what to do with.  She is her Daddy’s girl, and a true extrovert.

The problem is, I can’t send my 7 year old daughter with an impulse control problem out on her own.  So now, I am learning to take care of my extrovert.  

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And really, I hate to brag, but my daughter has been the star of every little girls book series know to modern kids.  So she is a pretty big deal.

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We Are Not Runners

Its been a couple of years since health and fitness became important to me.  Out of my 32 years, that means that the first 30 were spent NOT focused on health or fitness.  This summer has had its ups and downs.  Tough Mudder made me feel like I was going to die, and after the pulled muscle that I brought home from Minnesota with me, I haven’t really been able to push things too hard, but yesterday was my first 5K of the summer.  I finished in my worst recorded 5K time, but I did score a really nice Nike dry fit shirt, a Backpocket pint glass filled with BEER and a Scratch cupcake.

This morning was the annual healthy kids event.  This was my first 5K run ever last year and I enjoyed running alongside my girls as well.  We started the morning with a 5K for Cory, in which he proved that he actually IS a runner.  With a time just under 27 minutes, he placed 3rd in his age group.

I try to do a good job of exposing my kids to lots of experiences, and to teach them to push themselves and to their best.  There are lots of kids who have grown up with athletic parents.  Kids that can beat me in a 5K.  My kids aren’t those kids, but today they both made me so proud of them, for being them.  Thea ran the 400 meters and I joined her about half way through and held her hand as we pushed through the last 100 meters.  You could tell she was struggling, but she did it!

Leila. My Leila can be such a stubborn little thing.  It is a blessing and a curse to me as I try to steer her through childhood.  Today as we discussed which races each of the girls should do, though Leila doesn’t really do any running, she decided right away that she would run the 1 mile.  I knew it would be hard for her, I think it is important to let her try.  We explained that it was 4 times around the track and she was certain she wanted to do it.  After the first lap Leila was in last place out of the 10 or so kids participating, but sticking with it.  Lap two as she neared the corner where Thea and I were waiting to cheer her on, I could tell she was fading.  With more than half the distance to go I decided she needed some extra encouragement and I hopped on the track next to her.  She wanted to walk and I told her that we could walk, but she needed to pick a point when we would start running again.  She stubbornly rejected all of my suggestions, “We can start running at that cone”  Leila would quickly respond, “No!”

On her own terms, she decided when to start running and as we started lap three, it was obvious to both of us that the volunteers had lost track of us and assumed we were on lap 4 with the faster kids in front of us.  Leila told me she couldn’t do it and wanted to stop, but as we came around the track after lap three and everyone cheered on our finish, my girl kept on going.  I can’t even put into words how proud I am of Leila.  At a time when she wanted to quit AND everyone around her thought she was done anyway, she kept going.  She finished the mile.  Last place, and proud of herself.

Unfortunately, the race staff thought that she had finished the shorter race that had started while we were finishing our last lap of the mile and gave her a medal.  Because I had left Leila to finish on her own while I ran along with Thea, I wasn’t there to correct the mistake in time.  When Leila showed us the medal we talked about what had happened and all agreed that we needed to give back the medal and let them know that some little girl that finished the 400 meter race in second place did not get the medal she deserved.  I am not gonna lie, there were some quiet tears from Leila, and I was secretly hoping that they would let her keep the medal, but she gave it back.

As we made our way back to the car you could tell that Leila was really struggling to keep it together.  I got down on my knee in front of my big girl and with tears in my own eyes I told her, “I have never been more proud of you then today Leila.”  And I meant it.  She showed such great persistence, commitment and most of all, character.  A weekend full of athletic ups and downs has reminded me that my 36 minute 5K may not make me feel like a winner, but raising kids that are set on doing their own personal best, and participating even when they may not have a competitive advantage or advanced skills does make me feel pretty awesome.

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Semi Tough Mudder

Some time last year Cory sent me an email during the work day to tell me that his co-workers had made this rediculous suggestion to him that they participate in a tough mudder race, and didn’t I agree that it looked totally crazy and not at all like something he should do?

I think he was suprised when I quickly responded, “Do it!”

I first joined a gym and decided to try to get not so fat and unhealthy in November of 2010. By mid 2012 I was still fighting that battle, but had developed a love of exercise and personal improvement.  Though Tough Mudder did look a little bit crazy to me, it also looked like an awesome way to challenge oneself physically.  I would have signed up too if I had any “work out friends.”

Its funny how things work out though, because as Cory managed to convince himself to go for it, he also convinced my brother, and our neighbor Dave, who  who in turn also convinced a couple of his church friends– a couple from the other side of North Liberty, to also sign up.

That’s right–a couple.  Once I saw another girl on the list, it seemed like maybe I wouldn’t be totally out of line to sign up myself…so I did it.  I signed up for the 10-12 miles of running, coupled with 20 or so physical obsticles ment to challenge both your athleticism and your mental grit.  Two things that are very much a work in progress for me.  In the meantime, I made a friend in Bridget, the other tough mudder mother – who has proved to be a good friend with a laid back attitude and some common interests.  Already this endeveaor has proved to be a positive thing for me, and I had still had months to go before the actual event.

Through Bridget I was invited to participate in the Market to Market Relay race, running from Jefferson Iowa to Des Moines in a relay team of myself and 6 other mom’s in our 30’s from Johnson County.  It was a day that I was very nervous about leading up to, but again proved to be an awesome experience, getting to know more women who enjoy running for exercise without feirce competiveness.  I ran my very best that day and I am looking forward to our next relay where the same team will run from Omaha to Lincoln in October.

As the race was fast approaching Cory and I realized that we needed to serious about training.  I had been running for quite some time but had really stopped losing weight, and as much as I liked my running, I wasn’t getting any faster…I needed to kick it up a notch, and Cory needed to get started.  At Christmas I had a chance to catch up with my cousin Brian who was looking great, and obviously feeling great too.  He had dropped a lot of weight and was loving a new, healthier lifestyle.  Brian told me about his Crossfit gym and the kinds of work he had put into his new found health and seeing his results certainly piqued my interest.  A quick internet search led me to the Pro-Fit Gym in Coralville.

I could go on and on about the gym, about crossfit and about all of the reasons I love them both, but this is already getting pretty windy and I haven’t even made it to the actual race yet, so know that if you ever want to know more, I am more then willing to brag about my awesome gym and all of the cool things I have been able to challenge myself with over the past few months.

Again, the Tough Mudder had brought me another blessing, the knowledge of the upcoming challenge pushed me to step outside of my big box gym and really work hard.

Race day was only a day away and I was making myself so sick with worry about what was to come…

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Sweet and Sour

Every summer goes by quickly, I guess that is just part of getting older.  When I was a child I remember feeling like the summer days with no school friends to play with would drag on forever, and then every school year seemed to last an eternity while I waited to make it to the next class up.

It is one of the cruel realities of this world that it takes so long for a person to realize that time should be savored and not wished away.  This summer feels like a new reality for my little family.  Leila and Thea are still little of course, but their brand of little no longer requires nap times, or even a reasonable bedtime on special occasions. We can take them to a wedding and let them cut loose until *we* are the ones that need to go home and get to bed.  We can take them on an all day boating adventure and watch them swim around independently while we get to enjoy the water at our own pace.

It is certainly a stage to be relished, and I am trying to do that, but part of me is having a hard time letting go of the times of chubby baby bodies in swim diapers, and boat naps taken on my lap…and I can’t think of a better reason to miss the fireworks then to need to have the baby in bed before dark.

Rants from Mommyland is a  blog that I really enjoy, and while I was away enjoying vacation with my big girls they published a post that both hit home to me, and made me really question how I feel about this phase…the sweetspot.

My first reaction was to say, “No, say it isn’t so! I can’t be there yet. ” Sure, some things are getting easier, some things are sweeter, but just like a high school homecoming queen claiming their years at BFE high school as the best years of her life, I wanted to spit with laughter at the idea that this was *the* spot to be in.  Maybe for you.  But I refuse to move on to the next step and leave behind all of the wonderfulness of babyhood that made that spot so sweet.

Last week I took my daughters into a store called Justice. A store that only sells items that include at least one of the following: sequins, fluorescents, rhinestones or animal prints.  In this store my girls demanded to pick out their own flair.  There really wasn’t anything sweet about that.

Raising my girls has been full of sweet and sour…sometimes nearly too much of either to handle.  Every bad day is outweighed by the days when they show me how beautiful and smart they are growing up to be.  It’s always a balance, no matter the age, stage or time of year.  As our summer is starting to come to a close, and my baby girl moves on to her last year of pre- school, and Leila heads off to second grade I am doing my best to savor the good, and use the bad to remind me of all of the savory moments I have to fall back on, like the memory of Leila maneuvering around the stumps of Truman lake in a kayak all by herself.  And of sweet Thea as she sits on the floor meticulously putting together a puzzle, taking it a part, putting it away and getting out a new one, one that is “really really realllllyyyy hard!”

God has blessed me, and the blessings keep coming.

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