New location!
October 18th, 2007Just wanted to let everyone know that we’ve moved the blog to a new (and free!) address. This site will be going away next month. The new address is:
http://lifewithjack2.blogspot.com
Enjoy!
Addiction?
September 30th, 2007Do you think we have a problem on our hands?
Just kidding. The last two pictures are just chocolate milk. We don’t give our child coffee on a regular basis. 
Also…this is what happens when you leave a 2 year old alone for 2 seconds…when he has a bowl of soup in front of him.
Sunday
September 23rd, 2007Here is the latest verse I’ve been meditating on…
“Commit everything you do to the Lord.
Trust him, and he will help you.”
Psalm 37:5
The Message translation:
“Open up before God, keep nothing back;
he’ll do whatever needs to be done:
He’ll validate your life in the clear light of day
and stamp you with approval at high noon.”
Psalm 37:5-6
This about sums it up…
September 21st, 2007I read this today on another blog (http://www.dooce.com) and it took the words right out of my mouth. I just had to share…
“But becoming a mother was nothing like that for me. It was an identity that I did not grow into. It happened immediately without any transition. It was, I am a mother, and I don’t understand what this means. And for a long time I felt really guilty that I didn’t understand it, that I wasn’t okay with it.
I felt guilty that I really didn’t enjoy staying at home, guilty that sometimes I wished to be any other place than here. Everything that they tell you about the love you’ll have for your child is true, but there’s all this other stuff that is true, too, stuff that you’re afraid to talk about, stuff that you carry around and try to hide. Stuff like resentment and fear and anxiety and longing.
It wasn’t until Leta was about two years old that I grew into my identity as a mother, that I finally stopped feeling guilty and embraced my version of that role. I knew that I loved my child, that I would do anything for her, but that I don’t necessarily do this thing like many other women. And that’s okay. I am okay with being the mother who doesn’t get a thrill out of sitting on the floor and playing blocks for two hours. I am okay with being the mother who does not look forward to Little Gym. I’m okay with being the mother who lets her child go another day without a bath because tonight? I’m too tired tonight. I’m okay because I know that none of these things make me a bad person.
Going on this trip forced me to realize another facet of this, that although I wanted to be the mother who could travel with her kid, I’m not. I can’t do it. I do not enjoy it. And I’m inclined to feel guilty about it, because I want that photo album with pictures of our family in front of interesting and far off places. But to get that picture I know the hoops we’d have to jump through and the false smiles we’d have to wear on our faces, and I’m just not the type of person who has the strength to go through all that trouble. And it’s probably going to take me a little while to get there, but one day I’m going to be okay with the fact that there is nothing wrong with feeling this way. “ http://www.dooce.com
Ohhhhhh, BOY
September 17th, 2007My mom and her fiance were here visiting the end of last week and over the weekend. We had so much fun! Jack was sooooo happy to see Nana. Can you tell?
Yeah. They’re in love.
We had a great visit. Chuck (my mom’s fiance) was sooooo kind and let us use his Marriott points to stay at a hotel in Minneapolis one of the nights they were here. It was so nice to have a night away and it was even nicer to sleep in the next morning! So refreshing.
Here’s a picture of us right before we went out to dinner Friday night.
Our weather has been beautiful. We took advantage of it and went to the park while Nana and Chuck were here. Here’s a picture of the boys looking at the water.
So….today was our first day back to our “normal” schedule and routine of the week. Jack and I were getting ready to go outside to play when things started to go south. Jack was on the porch and I came inside to get the dog’s leash. Then I heard him screaming. I ran outside to find him face-down on the concrete patio. He had fallen down the one step on the patio and did a face plant on the ground. Oh, my poor baby boy. His glasses are ruined and we had to place an order for a new lens. It should be here by the end of the week. Ugh. After the tears were dried and the blood was wiped off, here’s what we were left with…
By the end of the evening, he started to develop a nice bruise under his left eye. I’m sure it’ll just be purty by tomorrow morning.
End of summer goodness…
September 4th, 2007Fun at the lake.
Jack has discovered just how good ice cream can be.
Best buddies!
The many faces of Jack
August 29th, 2007Really…no words are needed.
Do a little dance…
August 27th, 2007A moment of honesty…
August 25th, 2007I hesitated posting this, but the Lord placed in on my heart to put it out there. It is nerve-wracking for me, but I was reminded of this verse -
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. II Corinthians 1:3-5
I share my story in the hope of comforting and encouraging anyone that needs it. (It’s long, so bear with me!)
I don’t remember the first four months of my son’s life. I think our brains have a way of blocking out memories that were bad and we don’t want to remember. Kind of like how I don’t remember Junior High. I was tall and awkward and didn’t have any friends. I don’t remember much about Junior High. I remember my teachers and I remember a few specific events, but I don’t remember many of the people I went to Jr. High with or what those years were like. It’s amazing to me how two years of my life can be almost completely erased from my memory. The same thing happened when my son was born.
In December 2003, my husband and I decided that we were going to try to get pregnant. I was so excited. My dream was to be a mom. Growing up, I always wanted to be the mom when we played house. My mom was a great mom. She put her heart and soul into being a mom. I wanted to be a mom like her. I knew that getting pregnant might be a challenge for us, since my cycles had always been a little wacky. Sure enough, it took us almost exactly 1 year to get pregnant. We were absolutely ecstatic when the digital pregnancy test said “pregnant.” Amazing! We had done it! We were going to be parents! When I was around 15 weeks pregnant, we moved back to our home state to be near family. After all, we wanted our child to be close to their grandparents and have the security of family nearby. After we moved, it was my intent to find a job and work through the rest of my pregnancy. Turns out it wasn’t that easy for me to find a job. As my pregnancy progressed, I eventually gave up the idea of finding a job. It didn’t make sense for someone to hire me while I was very pregnant and I didn’t want to work for someone for a couple of months and the not come back. So I decided to stay home for the rest of my pregnancy and start preparing for the baby.
I found a wonderful doctor in our new town and absolutely loved her. It was a small hospital and my doctor seemed to genuinely care about me and my unborn baby. Before we got pregnant, my husband and I decided that we weren’t going to find out the sex of the baby. So at my 20 week ultrasound, when the technologist asked if we wanted to find out if it was a boy or a girl, we stuck to our guns and said we didn’t want to find out. The entire pregnancy, I was on the fence as to the sex of the baby. Some days I was 100% sure it was a boy, other days I was 100% sure it was a girl. Toward the end of the pregnancy, I was more leaning toward girl.
I remember when I was about 8 months pregnant, I was laying out on our deck, trying to enjoy the sun (even though I was sweating like a pig and getting sunburned…ahhh, the beauty of pregnancy) when panic and fear struck in my heart. I began thinking about our finances and how we were in major amounts of debt and our income was barely covering our expenses. How in the world were we going to afford a baby? What if we could never go out or have fun again? Did I really want my life to change this much? For a split second, I thought “I wouldn’t be that upset if something happened to this baby. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of it or it causing us to not be able to afford things we want. Maybe it would be a good thing if something bad happened.” And then I broke down. I thought, “I’m not fit to be a mother! If I think these things about my baby already, what am I going to do when it gets here? I can’t do this!!!” I called my husband and freaked out over the phone. I cried and cried and cried. I felt so bad. I felt like I had wished something bad upon my baby. I prayed that the rest of my pregnancy would go smoothly and that I would have a healthy baby. I would have died if something really had happened.
My due date was July 27, 2006. As that date drew closer I became very anxious. Like any other very pregnant woman, I wanted this baby out! My dad, who was living in Minnesota at the time, was scheduled to come out on the 27th and stay for one week. I told this to my doctor and expressed my concern that I wanted him there when my baby was born. They agreed to induce me on the 28th, only one day after my due date! My blood pressure was also getting very high and they didn’t want me to develop pre-eclampsia; they stated this as another reason for the induction. So on Thursday, July 28, I went into the labor and delivery room at the hospital and began my induction. Several hours into labor, I was contracting on my own and making progress. At around 4:00 pm, the doctor mentioned to the nurse that I shouldn’t eat or drink anything for the rest of my labor. The nurse explained to me that there was a possibility I would have a c-section because I wasn’t dilating past 6 cm. So at around 6:00 pm, the decision was made to perform a c-section delivery. I already had an epidural, so they “upped” the medicine to make me more numb. I told the anesthesiologist that I was still feeling contractions in my lower back. They gave me more medicine. By the time they wheeled me into the OR, I was numb from my neck down. But I could still feel pain in my lower back. I had a hard time breathing from being flat on my back and from the anesthesia. And then I started to panic. I was shaking uncontrollably and couldn’t focus on anything. Everyone kept telling me that I was doing great and that my baby would be here very soon. They pinched my stomach several times and asked me if I could feel anything. Nope, couldn’t feel a thing. Except for the pain in my back. By this time, I figured that the pain and discomfort I felt was just normal and part of my nervousness. They made the incision and I still didn’t feel anything. Then they put their hands inside of me to pull the baby out. I screamed in pain. I could feel every movement they were making. I felt them pull and tug at the baby and it hurt. They told me that I should feel pressure, but no pain. I let them know that I was definitely in pain. They stopped the procedure and asked me if I wanted to continue with the surgery or if I wanted to be put under general anesthesia. I remember my first thought being, “well, you’re the doctors, shouldn’t you decide?” But I just blurted out “I don’t know!” They decided that they would pull the baby out and then they would put me under. So I screamed throughout the rest of the procedure. Come to find out, they had to use a vacuum and forceps to get the baby out. That’s not standard for a c-section delivery. Since I could feel what they were doing, I was tensing up my abdominal muscles and causing them to contract. So it was a fight between the doctors and my body. At 6:45 pm, I felt a release from my body and then the weight of a baby on my legs. The anesthesiologist placed a mask over my face, I took several very deep breaths (I wanted to be out quickly) and fell asleep.
It still pains me to this day that I didn’t get to hear my baby’s first cry, I didn’t get to hear them say “It’s a boy!” and I didn’t get to see the look on my husband’s face. All I have now is pictures to put together and imagine the scene playing out. My husband must have been torn between making sure I was OK and watching our new baby boy. I can’t imagine what was going on in his mind and heart during those moments. We have a few pictures from the OR, but not many. From what my husband has told me, it took our son one minute to start breathing on his own. I would have panicked if I had been awake for that. But after oxygen and a little help, he began breathing and working out his new set of lungs. While I went to the recovery room, my husband took our son to the L&D room where my family was waiting. In that room, he was measured, weighed, got his first shots and ointment put in his eyes.
I woke up around 8:00 pm in the recovery room. I forced myself to open my eyes. I did not want to stay asleep any longer. I made myself wake up and remember what had happened. I just wanted to see my husband and hold my baby. The nurse said, “you had a baby boy.” And I wept. I wept because I was alone. I wept because my husband didn’t get to tell me that we had a son. I honestly don’t remember the order that people came into the room in. I know that my mom and dad came first, but I don’t remember if they had my son with them, or if my husband did. But my husband came in after my parents. He leaned down and kissed me and told me that we had a son. I told him that I knew, the nurse told me. He was disappointed that he didn’t get to tell me. He later let me know that he had requested that they not tell me, but apparently they didn’t listen. I held my son for the first time. All I remember thinking was “his skin is so soft.” It wasn’t like anything I had ever felt before. It was the softest thing I had ever touched. His eyes were dark and his skin was pink. He was swaddled in blankets and it was hard for me to hold him because I was lying down and still waking up. Shortly after, we were wheeled back to the L&D room. He started crying. He was hungry! My baby had been alive for almost 2 hours and hadn’t eaten yet! I started to feel guilty for not being able to feed him until now. And then the guilt only got worse when I couldn’t breastfeed him. I tried so hard to get him to latch on, and it just couldn’t be done. I was still groggy from my medications and felt like I couldn’t handle a screaming baby any longer. I told the nurse that I wanted to give him formula because he was hungry and I wanted him to be quiet. I didn’t want him to be hungry anymore. So I gave him his first bottle that night. Throughout the rest of my stay at the hospital, I tried breastfeeding many more times. Each time I failed. What kind of mother was I if I couldn’t feed my baby the way God intended? I remember one of the nurses (Pennie – she was my favorite. Thank you, Pennie!) came in one day and asked me how I was doing. I said fine, but I was holding back tears. She asked me, “are you sure?” And the tears started flowing. I told her my true feelings about not being able to breastfeed and she reassured me that I was doing the best that I could and that even though he was on formula, I was still taking care of my baby and providing for his needs. Her encouraging words helped, but I still struggle to this day with the fact that I wasn’t able to breastfeed my son.
I was in the hospital for 4 days. I had to stay an extra day because of an upper respiratory infection I got from the general anesthesia. I was on an array of antibiotics, pain killers, stool softeners and some others I don’t remember. I had to write down everything I was taking and what time I took it so that I wouldn’t mess up. And then I had to write down when my baby ate and pooped, so I wouldn’t mess that up.
Like I said, I don’t really remember the first four months of my son’s life. I remember crying over feeding him a bottle and feeling so guilty when he had tummy problems from the formula. I remember standing at the top of our stairs, crying because he wouldn’t fall asleep…ever. I remember rocking him and crying because I didn’t want to be there. I began to hate the rocking chair. Everytime I had to get up at night and sit in that damn rocking chair, I cried. I hated sitting there, waiting for him to finish his bottle. I was sleep deprived and all I wanted to do was sleep. I remember crying when he wasn’t doing what the books said he should be doing. He didn’t fall asleep like they said he should and his fussy period wasn’t when they said it should be. He was fussy all day long. He cried for what seemed like hours on end. When we took him to the pediatrician at his 2 month appointment, she said that he might have a “touch” of colic. I remember looking up at a plaque in his room that says, “Children are God’s Greatest Gift” and thinking “no they aren’t! Whoever wrote that must not have children!” I remember faking a smile whenever someone said that he was so cute and that I must be so happy. But I don’t remember my son. I don’t remember his first smile. I remember him smiling sometimes, but I don’t remember the first time. I don’t remember watching him sleep or feeling the warmth of him sleeping on my chest. I have pictures to help me remember, but when I look at them, it’s almost as if I’m looking at someone else’s pictures. I have to ask my husband, “when was this?” “how old was he here?” “where was I?”
I had a hard time admitting that what I was feeling wasn’t normal. I don’t even remember what finally clicked with me that made me go to my doctor’s office. I just remember thinking that I couldn’t go on the way I was. I couldn’t function anymore. I was beginning to resent my son and hated spending everyday alone with him. Everyone told me to go out and do things with other moms, but I couldn’t find the motivation to do that. My doctor told me to exercise, but I couldn’t find the time or the motivation to do that either. Since we had recently moved to a different state, all of our close friends were very far away. Our family lived a couple of hours away, so they could visit on the weekends, but it just wasn’t what I needed. I needed the support of friends that had been there before and could encourage me or give me a break when I needed one. Part of me is still upset that we had moved to begin with. The “what-ifs” kill me. What if we wouldn’t have moved? I would have delivered at a different hospital and might not have had the complications I did with my delivery. I might not have had PPD at all because of that. I would have had friends to support me and keep me company. I would’ve had a wealth of parenting advice and love from all of those friends. I might not have gone through any of this at all. I was so lonely when my son was a newborn. As a new stay-at-home mom, I had to pretend that I really enjoyed it. People would comment on how much of a blessing it was for me to be able to stay home, and I would give the fake smile and agree. Truthfully, I hated it. I hated waking up every morning and doing the same thing. Trying to keep my son from crying all day and trying to get him to fall asleep. Feeding, changing, watching him, feeding, rocking, trying everything humanly possible to get him to sleep, feeding, changing, and so on. What frustrated me the most was that he was completely different than what I imagined he would be. He was a demanding, high-needs baby and I was convinced that he would be easy-going and delightful. I couldn’t tell what he wanted when he cried. His cries all sounded the same to me. I had read so many books before he was born and none of them were working now! I made charts for his sleeping patterns, highlighted passages in multiple books, read them night and day, and cried over the fact that my son was different from every baby in the world because he didn’t do what these books said he was supposed to do. I did things that went against what I wanted to do, just because the books said I should. I lived and breathed by the things that the books said. I honestly should’ve thrown those books away the day we brought my son home. I admire people that can read those books and take knowledge from them that will work in their life, but I am not one of those people. I read a book and I feel like I have to follow it word for word.
I remember when my son was about a month old, I got a horrible bladder infection. I was up in the middle of the night crying and peeing blood. I decided to go to the emergency room to get help. I remember sitting in the exam room at 2:00 am, feeling relieved that I wasn’t at home. Even though I was in an emergency room, in immense pain, I was glad that I was anywhere but home. Something was wrong.
It took me about 4 months to talk to my doctor and tell her that I wasn’t doing that good. I needed help. It was hard for me to admit that. I didn’t want to take drugs to help me feel better, but I couldn’t do it on my own anymore. I felt like an absolute failure. I felt like a failure as a mother and as a person. What kind of mother can’t handle being a mother? She prescribed me an anti-depressant. Within a few weeks, I was feeling much better. I was able to be a participant in my son’s life, not just a by-stander. There were still days when I struggled with being a new mom, but I think that every new mom has days like that.
Skip ahead two years to today. My son is 2 years old and a rambunctious toddler. I am still on anti-depressants. I have tried once to come off of them and just wasn’t feeling “right” with that experience. I just wanted to sit on the couch all day and do nothing. Today, I am taking steps to improve my overall health and once again feel prepared to come off of the anti-depressants. I am in the process of weaning off of them and it’s making me very sick. But, I know that my body has become dependent on this drug and that it will take some time to get it out of my system.
I love my son. He is the reason I wake up in the morning (literally!) and I can’t imagine my life without him. I still have times of self-doubt and worry. I wonder if I am being the best mom I can be or if I am failing in certain areas. Dealing with postpartum depression was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. But, I know that it has helped shape me into the mother I am today and I cherish every moment just a little more because of that. I pray that my story can be a source of encouragement for other women going through the same experiences. Sometimes it helps just to know that you’re not the only one. Sometimes it helps to know that someone else has thought the same things that you do. Life is strange. It never turns out the way we thought it would. God has other plans for us.
Isaiah 55:8-9
“ ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’ ”
What we did today…
August 22nd, 2007Today I decided it was time to take the Minnesota State driver’s license exam. The window of time in which to take the exam is very limited. You can only take it on Wednesdays or Thursdays between 10:00-11:15 am. (WHAT???) So, I arranged for Lonnie to watch Jack while I tried to pass a driver’s exam. I studied hard (5 minutes before I left), had my checkbook and Washington State driver’s license in hand. So, here’s how the rest of the morning went:
Trip #1 - Find out that I need at least two forms of ID. And since my name has changed (when we got married 7 years ago), I needed my marriage license if any of my ID had my maiden name on it. So, I head back to the house in search of more ID. Run into the house, grab birth certificate and marriage license out of file box.
Trip #2 - Find out that our marriage license isn’t a certified copy. It’s just the original. Doesn’t count for anything. The nice man decides to let me go ahead and take the test anyway. Take the test and find out that I passed! Whew! All of that studying paid off. The nice man tells me that I just need to go home, find a certified copy of our marriage license and bring it back in. Then they will release my temporary license to me. So I run back home, dig through the file box and discover that we don’t have a certified copy of our marriage license! Uh, maybe that’s because the original that we’ve had for SEVEN years has been enough to get us previous driver’s licenses, get us into different countries, etc. But, apparently, that’s not good enough for the grand state of Minnesota. So, I gather up my Social Security card, passport (with my maiden name on it) and my first-born son.
Trip #3 (with toddler in tow) - I throw all of my ID on the desk and ask if that’s enough. NOPE. Not enough. My SS card means nothing. Old driver’s license - nothing. Passport - nothing. Marriage “license” - nothing. Birth certificate - nothing.
And what ticks me off the most is that there are people there taking the test that can’t even SPEAK ENGLISH. But yet, my hundreds of forms of identification from the UNITED STATES aren’t good enough to prove that I am able to operate a motor vehicle in the state of Minnesota. So now I get to wait for a certified copy of our marriage license to arrive in the mail from Las Vegas. And Lord only knows how long that will take. In the meantime, I’ll be driving illegally on the roads of Minnesota. WATCH OUT!