Heart of the Mama - Page 28 of 40 -

the one about these days

November 10, 2014 /

This one is for us.

It’s for us to read and read again whenever we forget.

It’s our reminder to take everything one baby step at a time.

The other night, I looked at you before we fell asleep and asked if we could stay young forever. We both sighed and agreed that years down the road, we will look back and believe these were the best years of our lives.

Everyone says that, but I am really starting to feel it in my gut. In my heart.

These are the best days. The ones where we trip over at least 3 pairs of pink and purple sparkly shoes when we walk in the door. The ones where we fill our grocery carts with oodles of granola bars and fruit snacks and unsweetened applesauce. The ones where, if you looked close enough, you’d surely find a diaper on the floor, under a bed, behind a couch, in a perfect just-changed ball, still needing thrown away.

These are the very best days. The ones where bedtime started as snuggles and stories and ended with tears and bribes and “not that blanket!” or “I want milk!” or “just one more book, Papa.” The ones where combing the knots out of their hair after bath time is a 30 minute process and PJs aren’t donned until the 5th time we ask. The ones where we flop on the couch in a heap of exhaustion, ready to go to bed at 8:30 because we know that ~~6 a.m.~~ 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. will come too soon.

Chaos and crazy and, my God, the crumbs…everywhere, on everything. We’ve got fingerprints on the TV and the windows and mirrors. There are piles of laundry needing washed and more piles of laundry needing put away. We could open a toy store with what we find under our couches alone.

But these are the best days, and ~~even~~ especially when it’s hard, we must remember this. Sure, they will always be “our babies,” but they won’t always be our babies. There won’t always be Doc McStuffins Band Aids on the legs of our dining room table or ponytail holders camouflaged into the carpet or washable marker on just about everything. Eventually, this place will look more like a house and less like a daycare and it will all be ours again.

We will be ours again, too.

Which is why I want you to know each and every day that I love you.

Sometimes, “I love you” sounds more like “Babe, you have a booger on your pants.”

or “That shirt smells like baby shit, Sweetie.”

But in all the ways, I love you.

At the risk of sounding like a maniacal creeper, I want you to know that I watch you. When you think no one is looking, I see you.

I see you in the playroom with the girls, tiara on your head and bracelet on your wrist.

I see you weaving impressive braids into our oldest’s hair. You’re (scary) good at it.

I see you spinning and tossing and twirling the girls, one right after the other, over and over again, because it makes them squeal with joy. And almost puke. But mostly, squeal with joy.

I see you selecting Disney on Pandora while you make them eggs for breakfast and singing along, unashamed, to almost every song.

I see you holding and swaddling and shushing the baby so that I can get some rest.

I see you.

And in all the ways, I love you.

These days…the ones of coffee at 6 a.m. and coffee at 10 p.m.. The ones of midnight shuffling to the kitchen to fill a sippy with milk. The ones of finger prints on the walls and stickers on the furniture and crayon on anything but a coloring book. The ones of staying awake a few minutes longer, though desperate to close our eyes, just to watch them sleep.

These are the very best days.

I’ve always known, but now I believe.

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the one about everything

October 29, 2014 /

Speechless.

I have tried to write this post so many times, but with each try, I fail to find the words.

For the first time ever, I think I am speechless.

I’m going to try this one more time.

At my 25 week appointment, when we learned that my cervix was dangerously short and could be threatening a pre-term delivery, we were told then that our chances of carrying Shiloh to 36 weeks were very slim.

So we started the procardia and the progesterone injections and the bed rest along with weekly/biweekly ultrasounds and non stress tests. A few weeks later, I began managing my gestational diabetes. I wrecked my van by colliding with public transit, and the rest was history.

The one thing keeping me going was knowing that I will eventually see her face. Someday, this will all be over, and I will hold my baby. The daily challenges and obstacles that plague me will be a distant memory. That day will come.

Luke has told me multiple times throughout our relationship in a variety of circumstances, “It won’t be like this forever.”

I wanted to make it to 37 weeks. I told myself I would. And at 37 weeks, 2 days, Shiloh was born.

Just like the pregnancy, her birth was different than my other two. But I suppose now that I think about it, her labor and delivery serve as a fitting metaphor for the pregnancy as a whole.

Though I knew in my gut that this it was true labor, the process was slow. I didn’t progress as quickly as I did with Charlotte, leaving me to labor for about 12 hours through the night. Like my pregnancy, it felt like an eternity. Like the end was nowhere in sight. Like the anticipation and anxiety alone would cause my heart to just give out and stop beating.

Luke was there, of course, but as he drifted in and out of sleep throughout the night, I was left to my own thoughts and management of my pain and feelings…as I often was while alone and on bed rest. I hated nearly every minute of having my activities restricted, but I can’t tell you the strength and self-control I gained as those weeks passed by. And there I was, utilizing that same strength and self-control in my hospital bed, preparing for her arrival.

By the time it was actually “time,” the pain was a 14 on a sale of 1-10. I’ve never felt anything like that before. And all of a sudden, even though I begged, there was no time for an epidural. Again. What seemed like a slow and sluggish labor quickly became fast and intense. In a similar way, my pregnancy seemed to drag on forever, but all of a sudden it would be over before I knew it.

They called for the anesthesiologist anyway, and I saw his feet beneath the curtain at the entrance to my room. But it was too late. It was time to just get through it. I had experienced each and every physical and emotional pain throughout this pregnancy, and now I had one last obstacle to hurdle.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t made for a TV movie. I didn’t feel in control of my pain or my body or my words whatsoever.

I yelled that my head was going to explode.

FYI…It didn’t.

And within minutes, the tiniest, most beautiful, dark haired beauty was placed upon my chest. Healthy as could be. Calm and peaceful. Perfect in every way.

I don’t remember crying. I’m sure I did a little, but I don’t remember it. I just remember feeling victorious. I remember feeling insanely proud and relieved.

Shiloh Frances, 6 pounds, 5 ounces, of pure joy.

After learning that we made it to 37 weeks, a well-intentioned person told me with a chuckle, “All of that for nothing, huh?”

I almost bought into that line of thought, too… but then I look at her and think… for nothing?

11 shots of progesterone in my butt (and another 2 shots of steroids)

150+ procardia pills to swallow

200+ finger pricks to test my blood sugar

80+ doses of metformin

Roughly 4 combined hours of NST monitoring

10+ cervical and abdominal ultrasounds

1-3 appointments weekly for 10+ weeks

Plus bed rest, food restrictions, and missing countless social events

It was not for nothing. It was for everything.

And I would do it all over again.

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the one about how i can wait

October 14, 2014 /

Yesterday morning, I didn’t want to get up and going. My back hurt, and I had another night of sleeplessness between the hours of 4-7 a.m. My girls didn’t care about that, though. I would say “Up with the sun,” but since the sun doesn’t come out until nearly 8 a.m. these days, these girls are up way before the sun.

I fumbled around, my 36 week pregnant belly adding to the overall clumsiness of my usual morning fog. I got the girls set up with some Doc McStuffins, blankets, and granola bars, and I slid back into bed.

Just as my eyes started to close again, I heard the familiar sound of an over-saturated diaper squishing between the legs of an almost two year old, with best friend Blankie dragging behind. I was expecting to hear, “More milkie!” or “I nack,” code for I want a snack.

But all I heard was, “Hi. Mama.”

Yes, she punctuates her sentences just like that…with a big pause between “hi” and “mama.” It’s just one of about three trillion things I love about her.

She toddles over to my side of the bed and extends her arms to me. With as much strength as these flabby, haven’t-seen-a-gym arms could muster, I lifted her up and over my belly mountain to the other side of the bed.

In what seemed like one, fluid, continuous motion, she snuggled down underneath my blanket, laid her head on the pillow beside me, and fit herself neatly into the bend of my arm.

Pretty soon, she won’t be “the baby.” A new baby is due to arrive any day, and even though Charlotte is still wearing diapers and relying on pacifiers, she will look instantly older the second Shiloh takes her first breath.

And so for that reason alone, as much as I want to meet this new life who will certainly flip our family on its head…well…technically she has already flipped our family on its head…, as much as I am ready for the stress of this pregnancy to be a thing of the past and for my diabetes/diabeetus to go away so I can drink a legitimate Starbucks…

I can wait.

I’ve waited 36 weeks, the past 11 of them feeling more like 11 years, to meet this new baby. But I can wait a little longer, because for now, I’ve still got a baby curled up in my arms. She needs me. She wants me.

Still clutching the granola bar I had given her when she first woke up, she began nibbling on it. Little pieces were falling from her hand, onto my sheets and into the creases of her neck. I picked up the remnants that had fallen away and popped them back into her mouth. And before long, she was doing the same for me. Her little fingers holding tiny chocolate chips, dropping them into my mouth as I had done for her.

Every now and then, she would pat my arm and say, “Mama” in the same way an adult would say with a sigh, “I just love you.”

The moments ticked on and Doc McStuffins ended. Full daylight was streaming in through my windows. Surely it was time to get up and moving. Laundry needed started. Lunches needed packed. Girls needed dropped off at preschool. Grocery store. Doctor’s appointment. I needed to get started, but I reminded myself that I can wait a little longer.

I can wait.

I can wait because right now she’s still the baby.

And regardless of whether or not Shiloh decided to come that day, it would still be Charlotte’s last day as a one year old.

Today, she is two.

I can hardly believe it, but I lived 28 years on this Earth before knowing this sweet and lovely child. She has enriched our family and given us so many reasons to smile in her short 24 months.

Everything she says, and nearly everything she does, is cute.

I mean…throwing food on the floor or dumping board games out is kinda cute, but not really.

I am so excited to see the little lady she becomes. She’s got quite the fire inside of her, and I know she will make such an impact as the years lead on.

But I can wait.

I can wait because right now, maybe for even just one more day (or hour), she’s still the baby.

And she won’t share granola bars with me forever.

Happy birthday, my sweet, precious, baby Charlotte.

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the one about the olaf bag tutorial

October 5, 2014 /

By now you know that I am on bed rest, which kind of just means to not leave my house unless I have to do and not do anything strenuous or unnecessary. While I am not confined to a “bed” all day, I do go stir crazy and long for my past life of activity and fun.

Siiiigh.

However, one blessing has been all the time it has allowed me to get projects completed for the baby’s room and for my other two girls. I have enjoyed working on items for my Etsy shop, Opal and Aqua, and attempting crafts that I normally wouldn’t try due to lack of time or motivation.

I put together a little project yesterday to go with my girls’ Halloween costumes. I recently wrote this regarding the fact that we were going store-bought all the way with costumes this year, and that Noelle would be Anna from Frozen and Charlotte would be a ladybug. The only problem was that when Charlotte tried on her ladybug costume, she flopped around in revolt and screamed her head off.

I am picking my battles, so I immediately ordered her the Elsa costume that goes with Noelle’s, and it is perfect! I can’t believe they even make these dresses this small, but it is the cutest thing I have seen. I’m telling you, JCPenney dress up outfits are where it’s at!

So, on one of my outings to Target (don’t get excited…30 minutes or less with a chaperone is hardly a Target trip), I noticed this* Olaf trick or treat bag. I thought it was cute enough, but when I looked at it up close, I realized that not only was it overpriced, but it was also barely big enough to hold a Kit Kat. What the heck is that? My kids trick or treat for the single purpose of bringing home a crap ton of candy for their mama, and this year it is more important than ever that they collect an impressive haul. Once this diabeetus is out of my system, I plan to go NUTS with the fun size chocolate bars. This bag simply wasn’t going to cut it.

*P.S. I couldn’t find a link on Target’s website. As you can see, people are already selling these on eBay. I wish I would have bought one to mark up and sell on eBay, too…but that would just make me heartless and disgusting.

I liked the idea of the Olaf bag, though, so I got to looking in my craft closet and found all the supplies I would need to make two bags, one for each of my girls. I didn’t spend any money on this, and it took about an hour to do. If you don’t have a ready stash of felt and hot glue gun sticks, I bet you could make one bag for less than $5 total.

The best part is that I didn’t measure or sew anything, so if you are not into those types of crafts, you can still do this!

This is what you’ll need:

2 copies of an Olaf face that is roughly the size of a piece of computer paper
At least a 1/2 yard of white felt for one bag or a whole yard for two bags
Individual sheets of felt in white, black, brown, and orange (just one sheet per color will be fine)
Sharp scissors
A good glue gun that gets nice and hot with the appropriate glue sticks
Screaming children running in and out of your work space — optional, not recommended, but whatevs

First, I needed an Olaf face to use as a pattern, and I came across this from Catching Up with Kate. I printed it at 250%, black and white, and made two copies. I didn’t want to print all the pages of his body (once enlarged, it is about 9 pages), so I just selected the page with the face on it and printed that one.

Prior to cutting anything, I laid my large piece of felt out, folded it in half, and placed one of the printouts on the fold. This was going to be the template for the size of the bag. The fold of the fabric made the bottom of the bag, so I just needed to cut around the other three edges. I widened the bag just a little, so I cut a little more than inch around the sides of the paper to make the bag slightly larger than the piece of paper. Remember, I want lots of candy!

I did this twice (along with everything) because I made one for each of my daughters.

Next, I began cutting out the features of Olaf’s face. These next pictures are disturbing and not recommended for children under age 12.

I have two copies of the face so that I can cut out not only the whites of Olaf’s eyes, but also the dark shadow around the eyes to make them stand out. I also did this with the mouth and teeth. One copy was used for the mouth, and the other was used for the teeth.

After cutting out his eyes, mouth, nose, and eyebrows, I then held each piece up to the corresponding color of felt and began cutting around them. There is no exact science to this. I just held the pattern steady against the felt and trimmed around each piece. I doubled my felt because I was making two bags.

Don’t mind my grown out Jamberry thumb. I mean, at least it’s a testament to how long they stay on when you can see 4mm of growth at the bottom, right?

I began laying out my felt pieces on my bags, using Olaf’s (butchered) face as my guide to placement. I had to play with it a little before I found an arrangement that looked right to me. The good thing is that Olaf makes lots of fun expressions throughout the movie, so you can’t really mess it up.

I decided he needed some hair, so I simply cut some random brown hair (they kind of looked like tree branches) and placed them behind the top piece of felt of my bag so they would look like they were coming out of the top.

The next step was to glue! Hot glue works really well on felt and melts all the fibers together very nicely for a strong bond. You don’t need to sew or secure anything!

Once I had the face pieces where I wanted them, I simply lifted them up a corner at a time (so I wouldn’t lose my placement) and started gluing. Of course I had to burn my fingers a few times, but what project is complete without some burnt skin?

After the faces were glued, I opened the bag and placed a strip of glue along the edges of the bag, one edge at a time. I pressed the edges together firmly and they were sealed! No need to glue the bottom since I used the fold, and if I were to glue the top…well…that would be stupid.

All that was needed were some handles! I cut two strips of felt for each bag that were about the length of the bag itself. I placed the first handle behind the top piece of felt and glued the edges in place. I then flipped the bag over and did the same thing for the second handle.

Ta da! The finished product!

Are they perfect? No. Do they have hot glue snot strings? Yeah, you’ll find a few. But…will they hold lots and lots of candy for this starving-for-sugar mama? YOU BET…and that’s all that matters!

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the one about time

September 21, 2014 /

You all know the story by now. On July 30, at just over 25 weeks through this pregnancy, my world was rocked when an ultrasound revealed that my body may not be able to carry this baby to term.

This day was the beginning of weekly progesterone injections, daily medications to swallow, and very restricted activities.

For the past 8-ish weeks, I have probably spent 80% of my waking hours sitting or lying down. It hasn’t been fun, and it hasn’t been easy. Prior to pregnancy and parenthood, “bed rest” sounded like Heaven. Hours a day of cozying up in bed with a good book or Lifetime movie, people waiting on me constantly, not having any responsibilities to tend to or tasks to complete.

Yeah, right.

The whole term “bed rest” is laughable to me because, at the end of the day, my husband still has to go to work, my girls cannot be in the care of others all day everyday, and things still have to get done. Trash needs taken out if my husband forgets. Laundry needs done or we won’t have clothes to wear. Floors need cleaned or CPS is going to come and take my children away. When we are out of milk and it’s a billion hours until my husband can pick some up, well…I go and get it. My girls still need driven to preschool, and it is just easier if I do it. Some weeks, I have 2-3 appointments with the doctor(s). I have to get myself there.

Yes, we have had countless offers from people who want to help us. And we have taken them up on a lot of them. We have had 2-3 meals delivered to us weekly since the beginning of August. This has been such a huge burden to have taken off my shoulders. Friends and family have taken our daughters on outings for hours at a time to provide some relief to both them and me. But I cannot, and will not, rely on others for everything, so we just do the best we can.

I’m still not working. I’m still not doing photo sessions. I’m still not exercising. I’m still not taking my girls to the park or going on walks or taking a day to go to Indy for shopping or a nice dinner. We aren’t using our zoo or museum memberships. We haven’t been to the library in too long. I’m not on my feet for longer than 30-40 minutes at a time…because it is exhausting and painful and not what’s best for me or Baby Shiloh.

I’ve missed out on weddings, birthday parties, family gatherings, and countless opportunities to make memories with my husband and children.

Tired. Depressed. Sad. Anxious. The absence of life’s simple pleasures has brought me down.

So, yesterday, we took an hour to do what families do in September.

We went to an apple orchard.

Why?

Because time waits for nothing, and time could care less about bed rest.

I’ve watched 8 weeks of sunny Summer days pass by without enjoying any of them, and in another 8 weeks, the leaves will be gone and the trees will be bare and Shiloh will surely be here, which means I will be a new mom again…learning how to balance parenting my toddlers and tending to a newborn.

I need to make memories with my girls now. I need to see them smile and play and experience now.

Because it will never be just the four of us again.

Time wouldn’t have cared if I missed her climbing to the top of this straw mountain.

And it wouldn’t have cared if I missed this smile.

Time wouldn’t have cared if I missed the enjoyment of her first apple cinnamon donut.

Complete with cinnamon sugar. Everywhere.

Time wouldn’t have allowed me a redo of this moment.

Or this one.

Or this one.

Time is going to pass anyway.

I can’t slow it down. I can’t stop it. I can’t do anything about it.

I can’t afford to miss another thing.

One hour of “Mama, look!”

One hour of “I did it, Mama!”

One hour of “Mama, come with us!”

One hour of normal.

One hour of time we will never get back.

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