Adjusting

My kids are old.

No one in my house wears diapers.  No one uses a sippy cup.  No one sits in a highchair or a booster at the table. (The car is another story.)  No one needs me to dress them or feed them.  

It's weird.  I almost don't know what to do with myself.  Almost.

Because now I get to do things like homework, reading, PTA, soccer practice, activity days.  Still busy, just different.  And I honestly couldn't tell you which phase that I like better.

Acceptance

I'm not very good at this lately.  And the thing is I miss it.

I have a confession.  At least I think it's a confession. It might just be more than you wanted to know.
I have decided that my non-perfectionist traits are actually a blessing in disguise.  Did you know that about me? I'm the farthest thing from a perfectionist.  I'm the queen of: "Eh, that's good enough."  Which is why there are paint drips on my wall, why the shelf is just the tiniest bit crooked, why my metal star decoration is unevenly gilttered.  It's also why my end table is covered in a layer of dust, the bathroom sink is covered in a layer of toothpaste and the kitchen counter is covered in, well, everything that doesn't really have a place.  But here's the thing:  I'm really not that stressed about it.  You know those people who are like, "I just can't sleep unless my house is clean."  That's totally not me.  My house is never clean.  And I'm really okay with that.  It's just taken me a while to be able to say that.

And it feels pretty good too.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Stop it

I have decided that I want to weigh in on "Wear pants to church day."  Not so much about the cause, or the reasons or the group, but mostly on the reaction. I have spent the past few days reading dozens of articles and many more comments about the event.  I have seen some eloquently written arguments both in favor and against.  I have seen many not so eloquently written arguments, both for and against.  But there is one comment that I have seen pop up time and time again, that won't leave me alone:

If you have a problem with the church, feel free to leave it.

Well, guess what, brothers and sisters.  They are. "In droves."

But these women, members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, are questioning the way things are done.  But rather than leave the church, as you have so kindly suggested, Anonymous commenters, they have the courage to speak up and ask the question.  And it reminds me a little bit of a 14 year old boy who had a question about which faith was truly for him and had the courage to speak up.  Or later, when that boy's wife had a question about the rather unsightly habit of chewing tobacco.  I have a testimony that this is the true gospel, but I am also reminded that the Lord said: "I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom; for unto him that I will give; and from them that shall say, We have enough, from them shall be taken away even that which they have." There is room for more if we are ready to receive it. 

It doesn't really matter what I think. It doesn't matter whether I think that this is the best way, the most appropriate way to bring these issues out of the darkness.  What matters is that these issues are there.  Rather than disdain, reject or mock these very real issues, which by the way is what brought this to pass in the first place, I would like to remind you of the words of an apostle of the Lord: "Stop it!

It’s that simple. We simply have to stop judging others and replace judgmental thoughts and feelings with a heart full of love for God and His children. God is our Father. We are His children. We are all brothers and sisters."  (Elder Uctdorf, Apr. 2012)

November Sunset

who are you,little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window;at the gold

of November sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

ee cummings

My Newest Crusade

Happy Thanksgiving!

The End. . .

Since I dragged the story over the past two weeks, I won't make you wait the additional month that I waited, thinking that the bleeding had finally stopped. . . . On three separate occasions. I finally called, which resulted in more blood tests, ultrasounds, and ultimately an emergency D&C.

It's been two weeks since the D&C.  Overall, the ordeal lasted a full six weeks.  I think it's over, but I almost hesitate to write that, because I thought it was over before. Several times.

One of the most comforting things about this whole experience is that fact that I wasn't alone. I don't mean that my husband was there, he was, he was fantastic, what I mean is that almost every woman I told replied with a sympathetic nod and, "I've had one, too. It's hard."  I never felt like I was the only person to go through this, like no one else could understand, because those closest to me did understand   Completely.  When I told them what I was going through, how I was dealing, there was a look in their eyes that was more than just a sympathetic listener. And it really made a difference.

Anyway, now that's all out, we can talk about more enjoyable things.  Like my new obsession with fruit.  Or redecorating my house.  Or my new role on the PTA board.  But I had to get all of that off my chest first.  Thanks for listening.

The Phone Call

On the Monday after the big Baptism weekend, I headed back to the midwife for another blood draw to check my numbers. It was a quick, in and out appointment and they told me to call back tomorrow afternoon for the results.  I had readjusted to the idea that I was still pregnant and was doing everything in my power to remain that way, including religiously taking prenatals, going completely off caffeine, and taking it as easy as possible with four children on summer vacation.  It was kind of an afterthought that I called the next day.

The receptionist answered and I told her the reason for my call.  She didn't put me on hold to retrieve the information.  On a side-note, to all receptionists out there who work in medical offices, please put people on hold before discussing their devastating news with your colleagues.   She chatted about my HCG numbers with someone else for a good two minutes before someone had the sense to hit the hold button.  By that time, however, I was done. I knew what my numbers had been before, and from where they were now, it was over. Hope was lost and I was done.  The smart receptionist picked up the line, promised a phone call from the midwife and sure enough, 30 minutes later the phone rang.

Have I mentioned that I love my midwife?  I don't think that I could have made it through this whole ordeal if it hadn't been for her.  She was not cold and unfeeling, nor did she cry over the phone with me, but she told me what I needed to know in a way that I needed to hear it, interspersed with the occasional, "I'm so sorry."  She called almost every day that week just to check on me, and commiserated with me, having had a miscarriage of her own. If your in the Salt Lake Valley and looking for a fantastic midwife, email me and I send you her info. I will recommend her up and down for the rest of my life.

Over the phone that afternoon, she gave me my options.  I went for the quickest, least invasive one and she gave me the details. Then I laid in bed and watched Gilmore Girls for the rest of the day. I credit Gilmore Girls with my sanity that day.  I think if I hadn't had some thing amusing to take my mind off of everything I would have gone completely crazy.  And at one point that afternoon Tayleigh and Seth climbed in bed with me. Usually snuggling in bed consists of maybe 10 minutes of snuggling and evolves into either a tickle fight, or me kicking them out because they just can't hold still.  But that day, both laid snuggled up next to me, quietly for over an hour.  It was exactly the reminder that I needed, that even though I had lost something, I still had 4 wonderful little bodies to hold and adore.

Bedrest, it is

I spent the next day trying not to do anything. I walked slowly, when I had to walk at all. I didn't lift anything heavier than my purse.  And I kept my phone in my hand, all. Day. Long.

Around 4:30 I thought I would go crazy. I made unsuccessful phone calls to the OB's  office and to my midwife, with promises of return phone calls, but really nothing helpful.  Finally around 6:00 that night, my midwife called me with the news.

The ultrasound had revealed a heartbeat. It was low, but it was there.  My blood work revealed that my numbers hadn't risen, but they hadn't fallen either.  For now, I was still pregnant.  And still on bedrest.  A bit of an inconvenience, really, as my daughter was to get baptized that weekend and family was coming into town.  John took care of what he could, but once again, my saintlike sister stepped up to the plate and cleaned my house for me.  I was so incredibly grateful.  She and my mom and my sister-in-law helped me with the lunch.  It was a success.

We made it through the baptism weekend.  I like to think that more attention was on my daughter than on me that weekend, and for that I am grateful.  It was a beautiful experience and it was so comforting to be surrounded by family. It buoyed me up for what was to come.

The Aftermath

Have I mentioned that I have a sister?  One. I have exactly one sister, an amazing specimen of a human being.  She is my closest friend and probably the only person in the world who fully understands me.  She and her husband were driving back from St. George when they got the call that I was in the ER.  When the bad news got out, she offered to pick up my four kids, take them home with her for the night so that I could have some peace and quiet.  My children thought that they were getting a special treat, but really I was.  It was a hard couple of days, dealing with the loss.  John was fantastic, attentive, but not annoying.  By the time my sister dropped the kids off,  I was ready for them, I already missed the chaos.

Following the orders of the ER doctor, I called the referred OB's office at 10:00 Monday morning. They were less than helpful, assuring me that the earliest I could get in would be Wednesday.  I didn't have the emotional stamina to fight it, so I did the next best thing.  I turned the task over to my husband. I had an appointment that afternoon.

Usually I see a midwife. But with the ectopic diagnosis, she had referred me to an OB near me.  If surgery was needed she didn't want to play middleman and slow the process down.  So I went to a new office where I endured the longest, most uncomfortable ultrasound of my entire life.  Following the ultrasound I was sent to get my blood drawn, (without any indication of where said process would take place. . . ) with orders to return.  So, I found the lab, had my blood drawn and headed back to the reception area. I asked the receptionist  what now?   Her reply?  Go home.

What?

Go home?

I know nothing more than I did when I arrived. That's it?

So I asked when I could expect to hear the results.  She asked which Dr. I had seen at the ER. I told her.  She pulled out her handy chart to check.
"No, no.  You saw Dr. So-and-so."
Again, too emotionally drained to even argue.  Apparently Dr. So-and-So would be in on Wednesday, so I could expect to hear something then.

I walked out of that office, swearing that I would never be back.