One Year Ago Today

One year ago today, it was 05/21/2015, a sunny Thursday.

One year ago today I headed to work just like any Thursday.

I was more tired one year ago today, though, being 9 months pregnant and having stayed out til midnight the night before with my little sister, to catch the theater’s last showing of Cinderella. We had lots of plans for the upcoming Memorial Day weekend – pedicures, barbecues, walking a baby out. It was sure to be a fun, relaxing final week of pregnancy before the baby arrived!

The baby. Leonidas Owen. I dreamed about him, before I even knew I was pregnant. I dreamt about his name and about his birth – woke up in the middle of the night in a panic thinking I had dropped him after a very real, and very intense, dream. Three days later I tested and saw two little lines. After several months of waiting and hoping, it was finally our turn for baby #2! We were excited and looking forward to the second round of pregnancy, hoping it would be different than the first where I vomited for 42 straight weeks.

It was different all right.

• At week 6 I blacked out at my desk from severe back pain, and ended up in the ER. They said they couldn’t help me since I was pregnant, and sent me to the chiropractor and then home.
• At week 7 I was back in the ER, and this time they kept me for 4 days, thanks to a nasty bout of gallstone pancreatitis.
• Weeks 7-13 I was considered high risk and on a very restricted diet while waiting for the pregnancy to advance far enough for surgery to be reasonably safe for both of us. Lots of doctor appointments, and another 2 ER trips took place, and then finally, a laparoscopic cholecystectomy (gallbladder removal).
• 2 days before the 15 week mark, on the way home from a post op follow up appointment, we were rear-ended and our vehicle totaled. Back to the hospital we went. Ultrasounds showed a hematoma on the placenta (internal bleeding). I was once again high risk. The bonus was, they confirmed that we were indeed having a baby boy!
• Weeks 15-20 were frequent appointments to monitor both baby and hematoma, to ensure the former was growing, and the latter was not.
• At week 21 during our anatomy scan, they noted that the hematoma had resolved and I was no longer high risk. I was SO happy to go back to the nurse midwives I had begun my care with.
• Weeks 21-29/30ish were blessedly uneventful.
• Around week 30, after failing the 1hr glucose tolerance test, I spent a drab Saturday morning at the clinic in effort to pass the 3hr fasting test. Pass, I did not, but I most certainly fainted in the middle of the floor and came to with shouts of “We have a code down here!” They loaded me up on a stretcher and rolled me up to Urgent care where the kindly old doctor told me to go home and eat a nice big breakfast.
• A week or so later, after a flurry of appointments, I was given a diagnosis of “borderline gestational diabetes; diet-controlled” and a list of do’s and don’ts for the remainder of the pregnancy.
• Weeks 31-38 involved lots of finger pricks, dietary restrictions, and appointments.
• Week 39 brings us back to one year ago today.

One year ago today, we had a team lunch in the park. I had managed to waddle over with the rest of the team, enjoying the warm sunshine, despite the exertion required to walk the few blocks with a giant baby belly. We were enjoying a nice picnic lunch under the clock tower when a co-worker stopped on her way to the restroom and asked if I would like to walk with her. I answered “sure, why not! I don’t need to go, but by the time we get there I surely will.”

We walked over to the Carousel and made our way to the restrooms. Discovering they were the one-sie type, I waved her into the Ladies with a comment of “I’ll use the Men’s – I won’t be long so I don’t mind.” Except what I HADN’T planned on was my water breaking while I was in there. It happened as I stood up, and at first I thought that maybe I still needed to pee. I sat back down and it stopped. This happened about 4-5 times – a stream when I stood, then nothing when I sat. By this time I could hear a line forming outside the door, and a few people fiddling with the handle. A moment or two later, there was a sharp knock and a “this is a staff member! Is anyone in there?” I managed to squeak out an “It’ll be just a minute”, which quickly returned a shocked “It’s a FEMALE!!” response from outside. The looks on the line of male faces when I came waddling out a moment later were absolutely priceless.

I found my co worker patiently waiting for me, and quietly said, “I think my water broke!” as we began our walk back to the team. I didn’t know what to do or say, as I still wasn’t sure if my water had broken, or I had just peed myself. She made that decision for me as we arrived back to the team and she announced that my water had broken! Cue 15 people jumping to their feet and all talking at once. I called Oliver at that point and told him to come pick me up, while a couple of people walked back with me towards the office. The fluid started gushing out at this point, and I was relieved to know it was the real deal.

20min later we arrived at L&D to check in. The nurse asked the initial intake questions, including “what brings you in?” to which I replied, “my water broke!” Her surprise was hilarious as we turned towards our room and she saw the soaked legs of my jeans – “oh! Yeah it did!”

I got changed into the gown and we settled into the room, said hello to friends that were on their way out from delivering their baby the day prior, and then… Nothing. I felt GREAT. In fact, I felt better then than I had in months. The contractions that had been on and off for the past couple of days stopped completely. I was finally not nauseous. Other than the occasional gush of fluid and the giant belly, I didn’t feel as though birth was imminent. So we waited. And waited. We ate food, chatted with the midwife, and waited some more.

Finally around 6pm or so the contractions started to become a little more noticeable. Around 8pm I opted to soak in the tub, as my goal this time around was to wait until the last minute that I could stand it before getting the epidural, so that I could still eat and drink for a while. I’m not sure the timeline after that, as the 3hrs of active labor were a bit of a blur. I labored in the tub until the adrenaline and the shaking kicked in and then I decided I was ready for an epidural, in hopes that I could rest a bit before pushing.

There was no rest to be had, though, as I was in the throes of transition. The contractions came on top of one another with little to no break. The anesthesiologist took ages to go through the paperwork and consent forms. Had I been able to speak, the choice words rolling through my head would have come tumbling out in rapid-fire succession. I settled instead for gritted teeth and a few murderous glares, which Oliver quickly translated for me. Epidural placed, they rolled me side to side a few times, in effort to numb both sides, as I could very much still feel one and it was almost time to push.

Epidural or no, this boy was coming NOW. Fortunately for me, it kicked in on the first push. I was able to focus then on the task at hand, albeit with a few moments of panic just before he was delivered, where I said “I can’t do this!!” But do it, we did, and Leonidas Owen made his début at 10:55pm, pooping on his way out. He wanted to nurse within 10min of birth and we spent the first hour getting acquainted while the placenta was delivered and a small tear sewn up. They weighed him in at 8lbs 9oz and he measured 21 ¾” long! I had to ask them to repeat the weight twice, because I didn’t believe I had heard it right the first time. I knew he would be bigger than Olivia, but I wasn’t expecting nearly 2lbs bigger.

Leo’s name means “Lion-like Young Warrior”, and that he has been, from the moment he existed. Despite a rough nine months in the womb, and a tough first few weeks, he is the happiest baby I’ve met and always has a smile or a laugh for those around him. Currently, at 1yr old, he loves eating anything and everything, red cars, balls, Daddy’s computer, and outside. He weighs 20+lbs and is quickly catching up to big sister in size and strength. We are so glad that he is ours.

Happy Birthday Leonidas Owen, love you to the moon and back!

 

Mmmm… delicious.

It was one of those “what do you want for dinner?” “I dunno, what do you want for dinner?” kind of days.  Actually… who am I kidding, every day is one of those days around here!  As per the usual, I plopped down on the couch, opened my laptop and started typing “what can I make with…” to find inspiration for this evening’s dinner.  Hmm, stuffed zucchini?  Nah, we just had that a week or two ago.  Hamburgers?  Always my default, but not working for me tonight.  Moroccan chicken?  Now that sounds fun, I haven’t tried that yet!  I printed a recipe, dutifully began chopping vegetables according to said recipe’s directions, and then about 3 ingredients in decided that following the recipe was way too boring.  Story. Of. My. Life. and the reason that I will never be a good baker.  I have the attention span of a 2 year old when it comes to following a recipe, and always end up tossing it aside and making it up as I go along.  It worked well for me tonight.  The other household member with a full set of teeth declared tonight’s dinner a win and one that should go on the menu often.  (The half-toothed one was already in bed after her delicious dinner of leftover taco meat and avocado. 😉 ).  This is the first recipe I have blogged, but I thought it would make it easier to pin, which in turn makes it easier to locate next time it is requested for dinner.  So, without further ado –

Moroccan Chicken with Roasted Vegetables!

Ingredients:

1/2 butternut squash, peeled and cubed

1 tomato, chopped

1 red pepper, chopped

1 onion, cut into wedges

1 carrot, sliced

1 zucchini, cubed

2Tbsp + 2tsp Moroccan seasoning, divided (4tsp each)

Garlic

Olive Oil

Honey

Lemon Juice

1/4c chicken broth

2 chicken breasts

Recipe:

1. Chop vegetables and combine all but zucchini in a large bowl – set zucchini aside to be added later

2. Remove toddler from her perch on top of box

3. In a small bowl, combine 4tsp Moroccan seasoning (I used a pre-made seasoning from the store, but there are quite a few recipes to be found online if you prefer to make your own), 3 cloves garlic, 1 Tbsp olive oil, 2 Tbsp honey and 2Tbsp lemon juice.

4. Pick up tripping hazards that toddler has placed in obstacle-course fashion all around kitchen

5. Pour chicken broth and combined seasoning/oil mix over veggies and stir to coat

6. Fetch water for toddler and turn on favorite tv show

7. Spread vegetables into greased casserole dish or roasting pan

8. Remove toddler from the forbidden corner of everything magical (read – Daddy’s stuff)

9. Combine 4tsp Moroccan seasoning, 2Tbsp honey, 2 cloves garlic and 1Tbsp lemon juice in small bowl.  This will be spread on chicken – add olive oil a little at a time until you have enough of the mixture to cover both chicken breasts

10. Give toddler bike helmet in exchange for cookie sheets and pizza pans strewn all over floor

11. Spread seasoning/oil mixture over both sides of chicken and place on top of vegetables in casserole dish

12. Move toddler to safe zone so that oven can be opened

13. Bake covered at 425 degrees for 40min (and pick up those pans while you’re at it)

14. Bathe toddler

15. Stir in zucchini (I took the chicken out, stirred zucchini into vegetables and then put the chicken back on top) and bake for another 20min or until chicken is done.

16. Put toddler to bed

17. Serve with couscous and avocado

Voila!  Deliciousness!

Sunday evening ponderings

Out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.

What words am I speaking these days? Are they words of encouragement, of building others up? Or are they words of pride, words of anger and frustration? What path do I choose – that of joy, of peace, of life; or of fear, of control and of anger?

Words are so important, so powerful. There is the power of life and death in the tongue, but of what does the tongue speak, except for that which is in the heart? As in most cases, I find myself coming back to the heart. What is my heart speaking? Is my heart in a place of rest, trusting in that which is greater than myself, or is it in a place of fear – wrapping myself up in controls to maintain a false sense of security and comfort? The heart is a gift, a rudder so to speak, that guides the ship of our souls – our mind, will, and emotions – in the direction mapped out by its fullness. Is it full of Christ? Is it full of fear? Is it full of self?

I see my heart reflected daily in my interactions with my toddler. Is my heart full of grace today and kindness? Or is my heart full of frustration and running on empty? When I have nothing left to give, or when I find myself on top of the world, what is the overflow of my heart? I hope it is something like this:

I hear the Savior say,
“Thy strength indeed is small,
Child of weakness, watch and pray,
Find in Me thine all in all.”

Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.

Lord, now in-deed I find,
Thy power, and thine alone,
Can change the leper’s spots,
And melt the heart of stone.

Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.

For nothing good have I,
Where-by the grace to claim;
I’ll wash my garments white,
In the blood of Calvary’s Lamb.

Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow

On Becoming Crunchy

On a scale of compost to kefir, my crunchy level falls at about a 5.

On the one hand, I don’t really know anything different.  My family was crunchy before being crunchy was a “thing”.  We were homeschooled, ate food cooked from scratch, “wore” the baby in some sort of sling/wrap and had a compost pile in the backyard.

It wasn’t a fad for us.  It wasn’t an environmental cause.  It was normal life in a big family.

I remember my favorite part about spending the night with my friends was all of the packaged food we’d get to eat.  They had toaster strudels, lunchables, happy meals, frozen things, oh my!  It was a veritable treasure trove of deliciousness!  Or so my 10-year old taste buds thought…  I looked forward to being an adult and getting to buy all of those things at the grocery store.  Until, of course, I arrived at adulthood and to my disappointment discovered that not only do packaged things not taste very good when you’ve always had home cooked food, they’re ridiculously expensive!  I suppose the price is to be expected when you consider all of the chemicals required to make that stuff though.  Darn you budgets and your dashing of dreams!

I guess you could say my journey to crunchy started with a food intolerance.  I L.O.V.E. dairy products.  If I could eat them, I would live on milk and cheese.  Seriously.  So much goodness.  Unfortunately, my tummy doesn’t agree with my taste buds (sad face).  My issues with dairy products began when I was around 10 years old and steadily got worse until, at the age of 14, the pain outweighed the enjoyment.  It was no longer worth the agony to have that slice of cheesy pizza, even as it taunted me from the dinner table.

There was but one path left.  I became an OLR.

In case you don’t know what that is, it’s an acronym I just made up for “Obsessive-Label-Reader”.  (If you’re not an OLR, turn away now, lest you be ruined for life.  Once you begin reading labels, there’s no going back. 😉 )You would be amazed at the many names that dairy products can hide under.  It’s in everything.  Almost as much as gluten or wheat is in everything.  I became quite skilled in reading and understanding all of the different names for some of the most common allergens and found a way to eat most of the things I enjoyed with substitutes or cooked from scratch.  I still was determined to eat as many convenience and packaged foods as I could though; after all, if they were FDA approved, they must be okay for you, right?  And talk about the time savings!

Of course, being an OLR and a curious person, I began to wonder what all of these other strange ingredients were.  I think BHA and BHT were my breaking point.  Seeing as we live in the age of technology where information is always at your fingertips, I opened up my handy dandy phone app whilst grocery shopping one evening to discover what these two mystery ingredients on my prepackaged sausage were.

Here’s what AdditiveWarning had to say about Butylated hydroxy-anisole (BHA) and Butylated hydroxy-toluene (BHT): “A petroleum derivative, retards spoilage due to oxidation…May provoke an allergic reaction in some people and may trigger hyperactivity and other intolerance reactions.  There are serious concerns over carcinogenicity and estrogenic effects and in large doses caused tumors in laboratory animals.  It was banned in Japan in 1958, and it was recommended that it be banned in the UK, however, due to industry pressure it was not.  McDonald’s eliminated BHT from their US products by 1986…”

Now, I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but something about McDonald’s not even being willing to use it makes me a little wary – that, or the petroleum derivative part.  Either way, I knew my love affair with processed foods was coming to an end.

With a reluctant sigh mixed with an ever-so-slight bit of anticipation, I took the plunge [back] into real food; cooking as much as I could from scratch.  I have never been more grateful that my mom taught me how to read a recipe and how to cook.  I always love a good challenge, and finding ways to make yummy foods without all the nasty ingredients has been a grand adventure.

I think a lot “crunchies” start down the au naturel path after learning about food.  I know for us, food was just step one.  My latest research project and challenge is household items and beauty products – not because I am completely dead-set against the store bought stuff [yet], but because I think it’s fun to make things on my own.

Am I a total hippy now?  Not completely.  I’ve had fast food more than once in the last few weeks and even fed my baby a french fry!  I still enjoy many of the conveniences that modern stores and technology have to offer.  I will not relinquish my Oxy-Clean no matter how many natural-stain-removal-for-baby-poop products you throw at me.  We’re bffs and neither I, nor my wallet, are ready to end that relationship.

The point of this post?  I’m in a journey.  We’re all in a journey.  “Becoming Crunchy” for me means that I take a step back from “this is the way it is done” and ask the questions “why?” and “is it the best for my family right now?”  Sometimes, the best for my family is shopping at Wal-Mart (insert crunchy gasp here).  Sometimes the best for my family is growing my own herbs and making my own shampoo.

Now, don’t worry friends.  I’m not ready to trade my bathroom for a hole in the ground and my toilet paper for a corn husk; but I am ready to look at life differently.  I am okay with (respectfully) questioning the opinions of the “experts” and making the best and most informed decisions I can, for the sake of my family.  And who knows where we’ll be 5 or 10 years from now?  If you hear a story about a family that lives off the land on the side of a mountain, but has cutting edge indoor plumbing, well, stop in and say hi.  We’ll pitch a tent for you and serve up the finest of Dr. Pepper’s. 😉

A Season of Grace

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven – Ecclesiastes 3:1

Ah, Seasons.

It’s a post that has been written many times, by many authors, on many different topics.  I hesitated to share as I knew it would probably be old news, but you know what?  Sometimes old new is good news; and sometimes hearing about another person’s process is helpful in my own.  I hope my season can encourage you in yours, whether the title is Grace, Trust, Life, Joy, or any other place that you find yourself today.

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I find it hard to write about seasons that I am in the middle of.

It’s messy.

There’s no pretty little package all wrapped up with an ingredient list and directions attached when you’re in the middle of it.  It’s a walk of faith.  A step by step journey of learning and growing and stumbling and getting back up again.

I suppose that’s why life works in seasons.  There is no growth without change and change is not always fun.  Change requires learning, stumbling and getting back up.

There is a lot stumbling for me in this season of grace.

What exactly do I mean by “season of grace”?  I’m glad you asked. 😉

Webster’s 1828 Dictionary has a list of great definitions for the word grace.  In particular, what I am referring to is  “Favor; good will; kindness; disposition to oblige another; as a grant made as an act of grace…Virtuous or religious affection or disposition, as a liberal disposition, faith, meekness, humility, patience, etc. proceeding from divine influence.”

Growing in grace is something I always expected to be easy; of course, that was during a time when the lessons were not a challenge (funny how that works).  Learning to be gracious is a lot harder and messier than I expected it to be and I seem to have continual opportunities to practice currently:

Do I respond in grace or exasperation when my toddler throws a tantrum because once more I’m mean enough to not let her eat rocks?

When things are not done correctly in a work situation, am I gracious and understanding in my handling of the situation, or do I have a poor attitude?

One that stretches me farther than I like is the uncertainty with Oliver’s work schedule – the dates for his most recent show changed 3 times after the original schedule was given – twice after the plane tickets were already purchased.  I am a planner by nature; I like things to be efficient, well-organized, clear, concise, and done correctly.  Changing a schedule is a simple enough adjustment when one works a normal 8-5 job; changing a schedule when one works out of town snowballs into many other schedules – there are airport pick ups and drop offs, babysitters, appointments to change, etc.  It takes all of the grace I can muster to even be courteous and kind in my response when I hear that the schedule has changed, yet again.

And you know what?  I fail miserably at this grace stuff, day after day.  BUT, grace also means “the free and unmerited favor of God; favor, mercy, pardon”.  In other words, every time I fail at giving grace, His grace covers me.  When I feel like I just can’t handle one more “grace-growing” situation, I have His grace to fall back on. “But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” – 2 Corinthians 12:9

Am I good about boasting in my weaknesses?  No, not really.  I like to have everything together.  I like life to be a neat little package that I can manage.  I get frustrated with myself when I respond in a way that I am not proud of.  The truth, though, is that I will never have it all figured out and that’s okay.  I will never be The World’s Most Gracious Person, but I can be the best me that is possible.  I can keep putting one foot in front of the other in this season of grace and embrace every opportunity that I have to practice.

My hope for you is that, in whatever season you may find yourself right now, you will be gracious with yourself when the process is messy – and extend the same kindness to those around you.

“May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” – 2 Corinthians 13:14

 

Olivia’s Birth

With her 1st birthday looming only a few short weeks away, I suppose now is as good a time as any to share Miss Olivia’s birth story…

June 24, 2013 – I was one day shy of being 42 weeks pregnant on the day my induction began. I had hoped to go into labor on my own, but sweet girl was happily staying put and I just couldn’t handle another 40-hour work week at 10 months pregnant.

After a weekend of walking, walking, walking and still not going into labor, we arrived at the hospital at 6am Monday morning to begin the induction. The nurse got us checked in and settled into our room and the waiting game began. The midwife on call was not the same midwife who scheduled the induction, and apparently she forgot to check her schedule that morning. We ended up waiting until 10am for her to arrive and begin the process.

The day dragged on and on after the induction began.  I was having very regular contractions, but didn’t really feel any of them until around 5 or 6pm, and even then they weren’t unbearable.  By 9pm the midwife decided that it would be best for me to take a sleeping pill and try to get some rest and then continue on in the morning.  I was disappointed because I was really hoping she would be born on the 24th since it is my aunt’s birthday, but Olivia had different plans.  The nurse took one look at me after the midwife left the room and said “you have no intention of taking that sleeping pill, do you?  Yeah, that’s what I thought from the look on your face…”  She got a bath ready for me instead and I settled in to relax for a bit while Oliver went off to the airport to pick up my mom.

They got back a little after 11pm and we caught up for a bit before settling down around 1am to try to get some sleep.  I slept for about 45min before having to get up to go to the bathroom and then dozed off again around 2am and dreamed that I was in labor.  I got up to go to the bathroom (again!) at 2:40am and knew something was starting to happen so called the nurses in.  At 2:53am I said to the nurse “I feel like I’m leaking” and then suddenly felt a huge gush and knew that my water had broken.  Adrenaline kicked in at that point and I began shaking uncontrollably.  Olivia was also still turned slightly sideways and had scooted herself back up, so the contractions became much more intense as her head was knocking against my spine.  Someone once told me that “back labor will want to make you drown puppies” and after having experienced it, I would agree.  The regular contractions had become intense, but nothing compared to the pain shooting all the way from my tailbone up to my neck.

I finally decided that I did want the epidural (I was 3cm and 80-90% effaced) and they got that done around 4:30am.  After 16 hours of early labor and 2 hours of active labor I was grateful for the relief and was able to doze off for a while.

Fast forward to the morning of the 25th – the midwife came in a little after 8am, checked and said we were ready to push!

Olivia Caroline was born at 9:40am after roughly an hour of pushing.  She had the cord wrapped around her neck and did NOT like her head being squished (her hand was near her face and I could feel her scratching in annoyance as she was coming out!), but other than that the delivery was fairly uneventful other than having to be on oxygen in between pushes as I was having trouble breathing.  They placed her on my chest as soon as she was born and we just stared at each other for a while.  She didn’t cry or make a sound until they took her over to get her stats – 6lb 13oz and 20in long.

Olivia’s name means “Peaceful Song of Joy” and we are so grateful to have her as part of our family!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yearning

noun

1.

deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.

2.

an instance of such longing.

 

It’s the conundrum of motherhood – the bittersweet passing of time as I watch my baby grow, coupled with the rejoicing at each new milestone. I’ll be honest, I’ve never been one to enjoy the newborn stage and I certainly don’t wish to go back to those few months.

And yet… there is a yearning for that time, that brief period where her entire existence was dependent upon my meeting her every need. For 10 months she was wholly a part of my being while entirely her own person; and then came the birth, the sleepless nights, the constant feedings, the diaper changes – on and on. Each moment seeming long and brief all at the same time until slowly she started becoming more of who she is. Day by day, new achievements, new milestones, new moments of independence, and I watch as my heart slowly learns to function on its own, outside of me.

Writing, writing, writing

You guys.  I’ve discovered something that helps me write more often!

It’s this thing called “Save Draft”…

I have a problem. I’m a “spaghetti thinker”, meaning I start with one thought that leads into an entirely different topic that relates to a completely isolated subject and so on and so forth. I have considered many blog posts over the last few months, but then I get so lost in thinking about them, that by the time I’m ready to write I can’t focus on one of the hundreds of things in my head. Hopefully this handy-dandy little draft button will help me write those things out and then save them for the time they are ready to be published.

Hello Life, Prepare to be Lived

I have this phrase stuck in my head lately.

It goes like this:

I spent a good part of my life living in fear – allowing life to happen to me, rather than me happening to life.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the gift we have in our time here; how am I using that time?  Am I always waiting for tomorrow to do the things I want with my life?  Am I constantly dependent on the “right” circumstances before I move forward?

I waited a long time to get over all of the fears and the “what if”s that keep me from taking risks.

And I’m tired.

Tired of waiting.  Tired of letting life happen to me.  Tired of not taking risks.  Tired of being polite to a point that is unhealthy and not speaking when I should.  Tired of never writing a blog post because I don’t want to deal with the uncomfortable comments I might receive from friends and family when they read my posts.  Tired of being tired.

So I’m done.

Done waiting.

Ready for living.

Maybe not without fears, but in spite of them.

HELLO LIFE.  PREPARE TO BE LIVED.

The Yearly Blog Update

It’s that time of a year again.

You know, the time when I remember all of the things I’ve been meaning to blog about and haven’t gotten around to…

April 2013

• Celebrated our 3 year wedding anniversary
• Still lots of morning sickness

May 2013

• Tornadoes down south where the fam is at
• Still sick

June 2013

• “Due date” (6/11) came and went with no sign of baby…
• Miss Olivia Caroline made her debut on June 25th @ 9:40am after 23 hours of induced labor (more on her birth later)
• Mom came to visit and help with the transition of a new baby

July 2013

• Baby nursed 24/7 and I watched 7 seasons of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

August 2013

• Got in a minor fender bender that messed our backs up and have been going to the chiropractor ever since
• Olivia and I went on a road trip with Daddy for work
• Went back to work the week Olivia turned 8 weeks old

September/October/November 2013

• Work/adjust to working mommy life

December 2013/January 2014

• 2 week trip to visit family (again, more later)

February 2014

• I should start blogging again…