Emerson's room

So I suppose it goes without saying that all pregnant women are entitled to going a bit off the deep end during their 9 month journey.  I would say that I have used that entitlement quite often; however, where my most frantic, overbearing, and altogether unpleasant moments have reared their ugly heads have been in relation to preparing our baby girl's nursery.  Don't ask me why, but from the moment I found out that we were expecting a baby girl, I immediately started to put nursery details together at a break-neck pace.  My husband could only sit back and watch as I planned out every painstaking detail.  I wanted it to be gorgeous.  It would be very girly while still staying understated.  Most of all, I wanted a calm place for her, a retreat in a world that is overwhelmingly overstimulating.  Well, of course, my mother and I had the best laid plans ever.  We knew how we wanted each piece of furniture to look and knew where each accessory would fit.  

And then the fun part began...we had to find the 'perfect' things we had planned out in our heads.  Now, some of you already know this about my mom and I, others of you do not.  We plan lovely ideas that we are convinced are the simplest, most commonplace ideas anyone could ever have.  No matter how many times we are proven desperately wrong, we always say things like, "Oh, that will be easy to find," or "I've seen things like that a million times."  Let's just say, when we actually go out to find these 'commonplace' items, we nearly always come up with nothing.  Well, our tradition remained true and many, many weekends were spent out aimlessly searching for these 'easy-to-find' treasures. My crazy pregnant brain was have mini panic attacks left and right because, many times in the process, I was absolutely convinced we would never find what we needed at a price we could actually afford (of course, I could easily find everything I needed in an astronomical price range...).

Now, the furniture and accessory shopping aside, the truly arduous part of the nursery was transforming the room itself.  My poor, sweet, unsuspecting husband offered up his man-power to help me paint and prepare the room.  Before the makeover, the room designated as 'the nursery' was a teal blue color that made me want to die a little bit.  It was an awful color.  However, I never knew how truly hateful I would become of this aqua tone as the room makeover progressed.  I chose to paint the walls a lovely pale, champagne-tinged pink.  Well, let's just say that the pink had a very hard time covering the blue.  A very, very hard time.  My husband, being the gem that he is, painted 2 heavy coats on the walls and then subsequently agreed with me that the blasted walls were still blue.  Another gallon of paint later, we finally felt like the pink won the battle.  We then hired someone to install the crown molding that I had to have in her room...trust me, it is a very important detail.  We then realized that the ceiling was actually not white as it had looked for so long...no, it was blue.  More blue.  The previous owner had painted the ceiling that terrible aqua color and then gone over it once with white paint, leaving it a slightly lighter shade of vomit-inducing aqua marine.  Three coats of ceiling paint later...we finally felt like the ceiling was white.  Success.  However, I then looked at the baseboards and closet doors and noticed how yellow the trim paint was.  It wasn't white and crisp and I felt that it really compromised the pink on the walls.  So...my dear husband got to paint all of the trim in the room.  Needless to say, my husband's labor of love for our daughter was definitely played out in all of the hours he spent, paintbrush in hand, in her nursery.  

Well, I have to say, I am very pleased with the results of our work.  With the help of my very talented mother, I think we created a room that I always pictured my little girl to have.  I can't tell you the relief it brings me to know that her room is ready for her arrival.  

These pictures will give you some idea of how everything came together.  Forgive me for the amateur shots...I'm definitely not a photographer.  

Day 175

Remember that one time I decided I would start a blog?  I did it.  I wrote something that was incredibly difficult to share and then I got very overwhelmed with how to follow up on it.  I sincerely apologize for my lack of updating.  It was truly due to the fact that, until now, I had no idea how to move on from that first post.  Now I think I understand how to do it...pretty much, I'm not going to try to upstage it.  That first post will always and forever be the most impacting part of this story.  All follow up posts are probably going to be a bit of a letdown after that first story, but I've accepted that.  Nothing can compare to God performing a miracle and I'm certainly not going to try.  

We are officially at 25 weeks and the baby seems as healthy as she could be.  Yes, that's right...she.  It's a girl!  We found that out weeks ago, but I didn't think to share the news via facebook or anything.  I am genuinely terrible at communication, which is another reason starting a blog was a huge stretch for me.  These days, baby girl is wiggling, kicking, and jumping all over the place.  It's gotten to the point now where she wakes me from a sound sleep in the middle of the night.  I look at it as a tiny preparation for the wakeful times to come as a new mommy.  My favorite past time right now is to watch her little movements pop and poke my belly all over the place.  It's very strange but incredibly awe-inspiring to see how strong she's getting and how big she's growing!

I can safely say that nearly all of my fears about this pregnancy have dissipated.  Up until about 20 weeks I still struggled endlessly with fear about losing the baby and something going terribly wrong with her development.  Of course, God quickly proved me wrong every step of the way.  It seemed that right when I became convinced something was wrong, God would prompt the baby to do something to show me how silly it was to worry.  My favorite example of this came during our 20 week ultrasound.  At that point, I still hadn't felt the baby kick and was fearful that she wasn't moving and she was weak.  This fear was immediately alleviated when the ultrasound tech showed us our baby girl.  She was wriggling and moving like crazy during the whole exam and, of course, all looked perfect with her development.  I am so thankful to have a God who is so patient with my doubting heart.  It's amazing how, even when God chooses to show up in such a big way, I can still convince myself that I should worry about the outcome.  I definitely don't deserve this incredible blessing, but I am so humbled and thankful to have received it.

Lately, I've been working on praying for baby girl as she's growing and developing.  I obviously pray for her safe delivery; however, I also pray for her to be a strong believer who can share her journey of life with people to bring them to Christ.  This child already has such a powerful testimony in the womb!  I can't wait to see the amazing person God has created her to be.

A Year in the Starting Gate

I'm not going to lie, every fiber of my being is screaming at me to rethink the decision to share this story.  It's such a human tendency to keep the hard stuff hidden and to celebrate the good things openly and outwardly.  This story is tricky though because so much of what makes it good begins with the bad.  So, even with a chorus of voices in my head telling me to do just the opposite, I'm going to share everything.  I'll tell you now that this story has a very long set-up.  So bear with me as I give you the back story, which leads to the real story.

Kids have always been something I have wanted.  For as long as I can remember I have looked forward to having my own family, my own children.  Sam and I had been married about 3.5 years when we decided to start thinking about our family.  Our story begins in November 2011.  

After about two months of trying, I was ecstatic to find out I was pregnant.  I wasn't surprised.  After all, women in my family have a history of being healthy mothers...no issues, no history of problems.  I thought, without a doubt, we were in the clear.  Actually, to be perfectly honest, I pridefully believed child loss was something I would never have to deal with.  The thought hardly crossed my mind.  I was pregnant.  We were going to have a baby.  Begin the 9 month countdown.  

Things got interesting about 11 weeks along.  Looking back on it now, I see the warning signs I missed.  I won't go into them in detail since that can get a little gross.  But I will say this: my body was giving me cues.   I just missed all of them; my doctors missed all of them.  About 11 weeks in, I started spotting.  A trip to the emergency room later, we were given the worst news.  The pregnancy had stopped progressing at 6 weeks; I would imminently lose the pregnancy.  After about a week, my body started to reject the pregnancy and I ended up back in the hospital, in an operating room, and left to deal with the emptiness.  That's the only way I can describe it.  I just felt empty...and broken.  Of course, I asked God all of the obvious questions you ask in crisis. Why me?  Why now?  Is there something wrong with me?  What I didn't do was surrender it.  Instead I clung to it.  The only thing I could think of was recovering and getting pregnant again.  I didn't want to waste time.  I had tunnel vision set on the future and I had to try again.

We were successful again in April 2012.  Of course, we were so excited to get another chance and, once again, I managed to convince myself that nothing like that first time would ever happen again.  I was thrilled, I told too many people way too early, and then the bottom fell out...again.  We made it to 5.5 weeks this time.  I barely had time to celebrate the pregnancy before it was over all over.  No hospital this time; luckily my body took care of itself...but the toll of the second loss was somehow more than the first.  I was inconsolable.   But still, that stubborn, fighting voice in my head propelled me forward.  It said, "Try again...don't waste time."  I listened to that voice for the second time.  One would think I could have learned from my mistakes.  

Since I didn't, we were pregnant again in late July 2012.  Three pregnancies in less than one year.  Once again, we were excited; however, this time, we were apprehensive.  I felt scared the moment I found out.  I don't know if it was divine discernment or if I had just learned my body's cues extremely well, but I just knew something wasn't right.  Everything positive in me tried to convince myself that I was just being paranoid, but the sense of foreboding continued.  At 5 weeks, I was experiencing my third miscarriage.  I was in disbelief.  I was broken, a mess.  I was ashamed of my body, of the losses, and of the failures.  

3 miscarriages in less than one year.

How does a person cope with that?  How can you move on from that?  What comes next?  I'll be perfectly honest, I was scared to death.  I didn't know what the next step was.  Of course, at this point I truly believed something must be wrong with me physically.  I thought I must be infertile or that something in me was hostile towards a developing baby.  So, that's the road we went down first.  

Looking back on it, I feel like God led us in this direction just to quiet my inner demons.  We went through all of the tests, many of which were extremely invasive and uncomfortable.  We jumped through all of the hoops.  A gazillion blood draws, pokes, and prods later, I was given a clean bill of health.  Absolutely nothing showed up.

At this point, about 2 months had passed since my last miscarriage. Sam and I weren't even considering trying again until we figured out what the problem was. With this clean bill of health, we were left scratching our heads. If it isn't physical, what is it? Is it possible we are just that unlucky? It was at this time I heard (and when I say heard, I don't mean an actual voice...I know that happens...I can't wait until that happens for me, but this wasn't one of those experiences) God reassuring me, "Nothing is wrong with you. I showed you that." I'm not sure how I heard it, but those words were on my lips. They were in my head...even though I tried desperately to refute them. Somehow, it was easier to believe something was wrong.

I was at a crossroads. Either I could go down the same road of stubbornly trying again and again...which somehow, even after all of that mess, seemed humanly appealing. Or, I could try another tactic. I could invite God in to this whole mess and ask Him for guidance and help. It's actually a little pathetic that the two options even competed with one another. Written out, I know it's obvious which to choose. I know you're all screaming, "Choose the second option!" For me though, it wasn't so clear.

Enter an angel. Seriously, I'm convinced she's an angel. A close friend of mine came in to work gushing over a book she was reading. A book about prayer and praying intentionally. Cynically, her descriptions of the book made me roll my eyes inwardly and think things like, "Oh brother, I can't take this right now." She knew better than me though. About a week in to her reading, she gifted me with the same book. It is called The Circle Maker by Mark Batterson.

I'll be honest, my first experiences with this book left me inwardly gagging. Obviously, this was a good indication of the condition of my spirit: cynical, doubting, hard. The text made it seem so easy. Pray unceasingly for what you want, get specific, name your miracle, God will deliver it. Um, yeah. Sure. Sounds great. For some reason though, I kept reading. One story actually struck me. It was about a mother who had tried for years to have children. Obviously I could relate to that. It softened my heart and opened my mind. I heard a small voice telling me things like, "You could try it. What could it hurt?" Heaven knows my relationship with God could use some work. Even if it just gets me praying again, I guess that would be worth it.

So I dove in. I went all in. In the beginning of November 2012, I began a fasting regimen. Now let me be perfectly transparent, I had never in my life tried anything like this before. I feel like the word 'fasting' brands you as super-spiritual...well, you've obviously read this whole story...you know that isn't the case. But I did try it.  As Sam and I eased back into 'trying' again, I fasted for 14 hours a day for 14 days. During this time, I prayed more than I ever have in my entire life. Everyday I would meet God for about an hour and just tell him what I wanted. Exactly what I wanted. I got awkwardly specific. It felt weird...I had always been a very vague prayer. But I realized that vaguely praying doesn't really give God a chance to show you all He can and will do. I prayed, I asked. I begged. I remember going to church during this time and looking at Jesus' prayer in the garden. He asked God, if it were possible, to change his fate. Ultimately though, He accepted that God's will would be done. It slammed me...if Jesus asked for a change, why did I think I shouldn't? Why shouldn't I ask? What could be more intimate than asking God to do something so personal? It takes more trust to ask than to sit back and attribute anything that happens to God's will. That's easy. Asking is hard; it's vulnerable.  It's risky...because you might end up with a solid 'no.'  Then again, you may end up with a resounding, miraculous 'yes.'  The risk is definitely worth it.

After my 14 days, I had a renewed vigor for God and I saw God's hand through all of our mess.  Just as importantly, I became aware of the times I shut Him out when I should have invited Him in.  I'm no theologian...I don't know if God causes things like miscarriages to happen. I just don't know. All I know is, He absolutely, 100%, without a doubt used those awful experiences to draw me closer to Him.

God is faithful. He is so good. After two weeks of fasting and praying, we were pregnant again. I felt peace. Seriously. I am not kidding. I had no fear. It was different. I had asked God to allow me to get pregnant again only when it was right...only when it was a baby I would get to meet. I knew He listened.  One of the things God and I talked about during those 14 days was that, when he gave me a baby, I wouldn't keep quiet about it.  I told him I would shout it from the rooftops.  I wanted everyone to know that God was the One who gave me this miracle.  It wasn't me, it wasn't owed to me, it was a gift.  It is an incredible gift.  This blog is my rooftop and, I hope these words I've typed scream out this story.

I'm now 12 weeks pregnant. We've seen the ultrasound pictures, we've heard the heartbeat...it's actually happening. Does it scare the crap out of me to post this blog before I'm holding a baby in my arms? Absolutely. I'm not naive to how delicate this whole process is...I know so much can happen. But with our story, 12 weeks in itself is a miracle. We are blessed to have met this baby on an ultrasound and to have heard this baby's heart beating. It's the greatest feeling in the world. God is faithful. He redeems messed up situations.

The most important thing I learned through all of it? Never stop talking to God. When you speak to Him, you'll hear Him...and hearing Him will forever change your life.