Happiness, Joy, and the BS of Cancer...

Updates….

I feel like it’s been so long since I blogged that if I start writing, I’ll have that Great American Novel ready to go, before I can stop…It’s been a while; I think that despite my best intentions, motherhood/employment has me putting writing on the backburner.

And that’s okay.

I officially give myself permission to write when I can.

A few weeks ago, I thought, “Sheesh, it seems like I only write when I’m struggling with something that I just can’t process any other way. Things are good right now. Guess I have nothing to write about!”

Oh, how a few weeks can change things!

Sometime during the month of April, I was driving through our valley with my son in the back seat, and I was thinking about how beautiful life is for our little family right now. After so many years of heartache, our little world was as picturesque as the scenery I was driving through….but before I could embrace the happiness of that moment, I had an internal fight:

“Don’t say you’re happy. Don’t say it out loud. If you say it out loud, it will be taken away from you. It always is. You’re not allowed to be happy. God doesn’t want you to be happy. You’re not allowed to be happy.”

“That’s ridiculous. He loves us. We ARE allowed to be happy.”

“No, you’re not; just look at what happened to David’s job, to your daughter, to your car—you’re NOT allowed to be happy. God wants you to struggle so you can be broken and totally rely on Him. You’re NOT ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY.”

“I refuse to accept that.”

SHOUTS IN CAR:” I AM HAPPY!  I AM HAPPY!  (Toddler looks up in back seat, smiles beatifically, claps) I AM HAPPY!! THANK YOU JESUS! THANK YOU FOR MY FAMILY! THANK YOU FOR MY CAR! THANK YOU LORD!”

I was so nervous, so scared to proclaim my own joy…it was an unbelievable fight, to make that declaration…to state for the record that yes, Cassidy Sarah Cooley is irrevocably HAPPY.

The next internal monologue went as follows:

“Oh, NOW you’ve done it. NOW you’ve pissed off The Enemy. Now he’s going to come at you full-force; you’ll be lucky if you have a roof over your head, by the time he’s done with you. It’s gonna be Job all over again, you idiot. Why’d you have to do that? Why’d you have to flaunt your happiness like that?!?!?”

“Hey! It’s okay! God is bigger, He’s greater, right? God gets the glory in all of it-Jesus loves me, like the song says! It took me so long to say that I honestly feel like He loves me…there were so many years of feeling like the heavens were silent…but they’re not, and He’s not, and even when I don’t hear Him, I know He’s there, and I know He’s not the Cosmic Killjoy that was beaten into my head. I am allowed to be happy because He is a God of joy! And even if the world caves in, I know He’s there…it’s okay.”

Jesus gives us permission to be happy, in a world that tells us we have to be afraid of having it all taken away.

He gives us permission to be happy in the face of the unknown, to have joy in the face of “what if?”

He not only ALLOWS us to be happy; He CAUSES us to be happy. He is the Bringer of True Joy, and He celebrates those moments with us. He gets no pleasure from our sadness; why do we paint Him to be such a masochist? God does not manipulate us to get His way by forcing pain and sadness in our lives; the Church has done a marvelous job of treating Him like that’s His MO, but it’s just not true.

He loves our joy, and He uses it to bring us closer to Him. He can use our heartache to do the same, and I’ve seen that in my own life, but He doesn’t force it. Joy is a much easier teaching tool than sadness, I believe, and I love having it in my life after so many years of missing out on it (by my own decisions).

 So, there I was, celebrating my family in my country valley, singing along to the radio, and embracing joy in a whole, new way at 55mph, and attempting to stave off the figurative thoughts of “you’ll shoot your eye out” as I headed home…

Fast-forward a couple of weeks…

April 29^th, I had a routine physical. Toward the end of the visit (I had said I was feeling so much better, because I have a nebulizer now, and it’s a Godsend!), my PCP wanted to follow up on an enlarged thyroid that she had noticed back in November. My labs were all normal, so I wasn’t concerned, but she sent me that day for an ultrasound, which showed a mass.

Well, so what? 50% of women in my age bracket have some sort of thyroid mass/nodule. 95% of them are nothing…So, I didn’t tell anyone. My doctor said I had to have a biopsy, and I’d need help with Jericho when it was all over, so I waited a week, and reluctantly told my long-suffering husband, who agreed to come with me (I was afraid, at this point, because biopsies are scary).

Can I just say that biopsies in general are unpleasant? That was the first one I was awake for. I don’t want to repeat that procedure again.

In this age of modern medicine, that freaking biopsy was inconclusive, after all of that discomfort! I was then sent for a CT…also inconclusive. The only thing we knew for a fact was that the mass was about 1” around, it was on the left node of my thyroid, and my lymph nodes looked weird.

Great.

I was referred to a surgeon (who was super-kind about my vocal cord fears), and a date was scheduled to get The Thing out. 6/4, I went into St. Anthony’s (ST. ANTHONY’S?!?!? HAVEN’T I ALWAYS SAID I WOULDN’T SEND MY DOG THERE? WTH AM I DOING IN ST. ANTHONY’S?!?!?!?) to have a nodule/node removed, and a biopsy performed while I was in surgery. My parents, my extra parents, and my husband were all patiently waiting; we’d all prayed together with the OR attendants before the procedure, and as I went under, I was okay. One of the OR attendants was in the room for the sole purpose of monitoring my vocal chords. Cancer really didn’t cross my mind; just SAVE MY VOICE! The thought of my son growing up without me being able to sing to him was what broke my heart into a million pieces before this procedure; I could care less about cancer. I just need to sing. It’s like breathing for my soul, so knowing that OR attendant was there? THE BEST.

Anyways, at some point during the surgery, the biopsy came back. To everyone’s shock, I have cancer. Papillary Carcinoma-that’s what they call it. They say that if you’re going to get cancer, it’s the best kind, because it has the best prognosis.

The “best” kind?!? Ohhhhhhhkaaaaaaayyyy…Sure, if you say so.

It’s been kind of a rock-the-boat moment for the family; when I came to after the surgery, it was my poor mom that had to break the news to me. I have no idea why the doctor didn’t tell me himself, and although he seems like a kind enough person, I don’t think my mother should have had to do that. It’s a tremendous burden, to tell your child that they’re ill. I don’t care if I’m 37—she’s still my mother, and I’m still her baby. Some things, a mama shouldn’t have to do.

Either way, when the surgeon got into my neck, he found a mass that surpassed the 1” diameter that they thought they saw on the tests that I’ve probably paid a fortune for. Instead, the tumor was the size of a small lemon (or of a lime), and was so entangled that my entire thyroid had to be removed.

I really have to stop losing organs, people.

The Monday after the surgery, we met with my endocrinologist. Although I find her staff questionable (in both efficiency and in manners—I pull no punches when it comes to medical customer service), she seems to know her stuff (and I do not think she would be fun to work for, LOL—most geniuses aren’t), and I am hopeful.  She immediately started me on a drug called Liothyronine that was supposed to temporarily take over for my missing thyroid…but it made me incredibly sick. L This means that until I complete cancer treatment, I can’t take anything for my thyroid…which means

I

Am

Beyond

Exhausted.

It’s like, New Mom Tired x 1000%.

I’ve never been so fatigued in my life; I’m so thankful for David, because he’s working overtime to pick up my slack.

Next week, I meet with an oncologist to determine the course of treatment. The “nice” thing about thyroid cancer is that (from what I’ve read) you have a radioactive scan, then a radioactive treatment, then a radioactive scan, and then you’re done, until you have to repeat the scan next year. Thyroid cancer cells react differently to radiation, so you don’t have to have repeated treatments or chemo like with other cancers. I believe that even applies to my lymph nodes; according to my pathology, the cancer metastasized to my lymph nodes, but until I have the scan done, we will not know how much. The surgeon removed one lymph node during my surgery, so that’s one less mutant I have to deal with.

After the cancer treatment has concluded (which will involve some quarantine time), then we begin the process of working with the endocrinologist to get my thyroid replacement medicine figured out. That process is concerning to me…but we’ll take it day-by-day.

If you’re the praying type, here’s what we’d like prayer for:

• The fatigue…the mind-numbing, day-wrecking fatigue. I have a job, I have a child, I have a house. These are things that are incredibly important to me, and I need to keep all of them. I need them to not fall apart around my head. I need energy and I need to be safe about it. With my very complicated medical history, I’m not about to start taking any kind of supplement/oil/whatever that “gives you energy!!”  So, the fatigue is a huge hurdle for me and my family.
•  Radiation: I have a history of getting very, very sick from radioactive isotopes. In fact, I don’t eat shellfish, because after an arthrogram in 2000, I was so sick that my MD told me since radioactive isotopes are derived from shellfish, I’d better stay away from iodine and shellfish for the rest of my life. I miss crab legs…and I am very concerned about any kind of radioactive anything. This will be a big part of our discussion with the oncologist.
• Quarantine: I don’t know how we’re going to do this. I know where I’ll stay, but I don’t know how David will manage with Jericho.
• Thyroid medication: I’m asking for prayer now, because figuring this medicine out can take some time. I can’t start it until the cancer treatment is concluded; I’m praying that it’s figured out quickly, so I can get some energy back.
• Our House: We have some repairs that need to be done. They’re not urgent, but they bother me. I’d like to get them out of my brain.

I’ve spent all of this time going over all of this medical stuff, but I opened this very long blog with an internal monologue about being afraid to celebrate happiness, because I just knew that if I did, my world would cave in….and sure enough, I freaking got cancer.

What does that say, and how do I respond? How do I respond to people that say stupid things like, “Aww, you just can’t catch a break, can you?” “You just have the worst of luck!”

Here is how I respond:

I had that thought the other day: “Aww, man, just as I say I’m happy, just as I’m finally bold enough to say it out loud, I get this. What the crap, Lord?” My next immediate thought was: “NO!  NO!!  I am NOT going down that rabbit hole!!! NO! I did NOT get cancer because I decided to actually admit that I was happy!!!!!!!  And it’s not ‘WAS’ happy! I STILL AM!!!!”  God did NOT give me cancer, or allow me to get cancer, because I said I was happy! What a crock! What a load of crap, that we let ourselves believe!  These are the thoughts that as Christians, we have to take captive. We can’t explain the whys and the hows, but we can’t let them run our lives, either. That’s such a pitfall—we can’t get stuck in all of that.

Do you know what I know?

 I know facts: Thyroid cancer is easily treated (although this process isn’t fun). It has a low chance of recurrence (although it is possible). Statistics are crap (I had a 5% chance of getting this stupid thing). I have wonderful health insurance (although I’m sure this is gonna cost us).

I know other facts: My family is an incredible support system. My husband is amazing, and we will figure out JD’s care. JD’s daycare is fantastic, and is very understanding. My employer is understanding, and I am incredibly grateful.

Most importantly, more than facts, I know truth: Jesus knows the outcome of all of this. He is the source of true joy, in easy times, and in times of struggle. My picturesque drive in April was indicative of putting grain in a storehouse; those times when things are beautiful and perfect? Those are the times when you get your battle gear prepped and ready. You know it’s coming. I had that feeling back in April; when I really sat down and meditated over my drive, I felt like a battle was on its way, and I was right. Times of peace are not times of laziness; they’re times of reparation and preparation. You can have joy in both times of peace and times of war; God is the same in both.

Why have I had one medical thing after another? I have no idea. I don’t know how to answer that question, and when I’m asked, I’m embarrassed about it (please don’t ask me that question). I don’t know, and I don’t understand, and I don’t know how to pursue an answer (if there is one). I know that’s a field-day question in my head, and it’s a constant source of shame that I struggle with. I just don’t know, and outside of determining to make healthier choices, I don’t know what to do. I’m praying for wisdom in that area, in particular…for the self-control to do what I know I need to do, and for the discernment to know what information I’m given is actually good, solid information.  After working in alternative healthcare for 11 years, I have a ton of resources to dig back through, which is in process. It’s a lot.

On Sunday, my husband was sitting on the couch. I was so tired, that he took my hand and pulled me into him; he is so strong, and has the most amazingly broad shoulders. I laid there, snuggled up into him, and JD crawled up on the couch. The three of us sat on our old couch, snuggled up, watching TV, and I thought back to my drive in April, where I shouted how happy I was in my car.

I’m happy.

I’m so happy.

I’m deliriously happy.

I’m going to continue to say it in the face of this gnat called cancer, not because I’m trying to be brave, or out of some false sense of duty, or to elicit some kind of a compliment or response.

I’m going to continue to say it because it’s true.

There is wonderful, beautiful joy in my heart because I’m not chained by the thought that trials mean God doesn’t love me. Life IS hard. Things suck sometimes. Jesus LOVES us—He has crazy, insane love in His heart for us, for ME, and the ups and downs in my life do not determine the level of that crazy love. He just loves—it’s what He’s made of!!!  MY TRIALS DO NOT DETERMINE THE LEVEL OF HIS LOVE FOR ME. I’ve said it twice—I need to tattoo it on my head, for when I am tempted to get trapped in that mindset.

Sometimes, my trials affect my love for Him. Sometimes, I get mad; I say dumb things, I forget His provision, and I let all of that steal my joy—it happens, and I’m sure it will happen throughout the course of this cancer-schmancer BS. That’s okay. He still loves me the same. He’s not a stupid human that’s occasionally ruled by her emotions.

He loves me.

Because He loves me—There is joy in the sucky parts of life. And in the awesome parts of life. And in the mundane parts of life. There’s joy. His joy.

Valentine's Day, Black Holes, MILs, Sublime, & The Doggy Dance of #Random

I woke up this morning with no idea of what day it was. In fact, I thought my alarm had gone off in error, and I was ready to turn it off. I realized, Hey! No, you dork! It’s FRIDAY! You have to go to work!!!!  I slept like I was drugged last night (I swear, I didn’t take anything—not even a glass of wine…hey, wine sounds good!). I was SO out of it, that when I “fixed” my hair (this involves me sticking my head under the sink; giving it a towel-dry; adding copious amounts of a leave-in conditioner; somehow combing the tangles out with the ONLY comb that doesn’t break when it attacks my hair; and leaving), I think I stayed under the faucet for like, 5 solid minutes under cold water. I have no explanation for why I’m suddenly so hard to wake up today. …

Okay, maybe I do…

Little guy is at my parents’ house for the weekend (David’s mother is having major surgery today, and he also planned some sort of Valentine’s surprise for me—what is THAT?!?!?, and I have a doctor’s appointment on Monday; plus, there’s a church dinner, a surprise party—shoot, it’s just a crazy weekend), so I didn’t sleep as lightly as I’ve trained myself to do (there’s no training—it’s called “motherhood,” and it comes naturally…along with eyes in the back of my head). I slept like pre-baby Cassidy, and although it felt like something was off, it still felt awesome.

I didn’t dream…didn’t think…I just slept like the dead (notice I didn’t say, “slept like a BABY?” Yeah, THAT is a misnomer). I was out cold, and I can’t remember the last time I woke up this discombobulated. (I love that I spelled that word correctly, without the use of Spell-Check. Score!)

(As I’m typing this, I’m not editing it—thus, the copious usage of parenthesis. Consider this a live version of my ADD.)

So, I pop on PandoraOne, and it starts me out with “Santeria” by Sublime. Call me a ‘90’s throwback if you will; I love this band. No one sounds like Sublime (sorry, 311). Gritty, bouncy, danceable, rebellious, bob-your-head, rawk-fist music that makes you want to do your best to “sing” along…except, you just can’t, because most of their subject matter is simply awful. I still like them, and to me, it’s a good start to the soundtrack of the day.  Having the morning to myself leads to awesome opportunities to sing loudly and badly, and I did just that, while making my coffee.

Speaking of coffee, David and I are on a fitness plan to lose some weight. Coffee, sadly, is not on that plan; though I gave it up cleanly my first week, it has worked its evil way back into my life. I’m drinking less of it, but after reading that my go-to Starbucks venti Pike’s Place with Classic Sweetness has like, 400 calories, I’m going to have to give it up again. Boo. When I wait until I’m at work to make my coffee, my machine only makes 12 oz. at the most, so that’s a guaranteed decrease from my usual 24 oz. I can work with that.

Anyway, it’s a short day for me at the office, followed by a trip to the hospital to be there for David’s family. My MIL has had bad health for a few years now; evidently, before I met my husband, she was an active, busy woman. I’ve only known her as someone who is disabled. She has severe osteoporosis, epilepsy, and diabetes with complications, so I’ve never seen her on a day without pain. She’s spent the past year in a major back brace, and this surgery, though awful, will hopefully correct her issues. She’s facing a very, very long recovery, and could definitely use your prayers. As any daughter-in-law, I’m not entirely convinced that my MIL likes me…after all, I “stole” her baby boy (actually, HE stole ME—just ask my daddy). She’s a simple woman, and a helluva cook! I’ve also very rarely heard her say anything negative about anyone, and in her own way, she reminds me of my Grandma Myers (really, there’s no higher compliment I could pay anyone). She’s old-school, loves Jesus, and has a serious obsession with making jewelry and knitting. She’ll be making buckets of things while she’s in rehab!

Last night, I called her to give her some moral support before her surgery. Just a tip, people: if you know someone who is going in for major surgery, DO NOT TELL THEM ALL OF YOUR MACABRE HORROR STORIES ABOUT OTHERS WHO HAVE HAD THE SAME SURGERY WITH COMPLICATIONS! My poor MIL has had to hear about others’ surgeries and complications for weeks; she says she’s not afraid, but I can hear it in her voice. Ridiculous—I’d like to smack a few of her so-called “friends.” Stupid people—I think they got their Encouragement Lessons from Oscar the Grouch.

In the course of our conversation, we talked about my Hannah-girl. Gosh, I miss that baby girl…and no, my son does NOT fill the void. Not only is that impossible; it’s ridiculous to assume or to put that pressure on him. He is his own blessing, and was not born to take the place of another. He’s created his own beautiful place in my heart. Hannah’s place in my heart will continue to be hers, forever. My MIL has her own understanding about this, and in her simplicity, she manages to say exactly how I feel. Down-home people have no room for rhetoric. They just give you truth, and I love that about her. She’s kind, but she’s honest, and when she says something about Hannah, I listen. With JD being gone this weekend, she understands how I feel like the house is a black hole. She doesn’t tell me I’m being ridiculous. She told me about how it must be, to see JD go through these milestones (he’s standing!), and realizing how I’d never see Hannah do those same things. She’s right—I don’t talk about it much, because I don’t know too many people that I can be candid with about it. She picked up on it, and I have to appreciate that compassion. She nailed it. I don’t always like what she has to say, but I know her heart is good, and I’m thankful to have her in my life. I wish she wasn’t in pain all of the time…

It’s a busy weekend. I really don’t think anyone is happier about this weekend, than Holly-dog. She didn’t seem too sad to see the Tiny Human packed off to Grammy’s. In fact, after I finished soaking in the tub (45 MINUTES!!!) I came downstairs to see my StinkyPete (one of Holly’s 50 nicknames) in MY spot on the couch. Something tells me she’s doing a little Doggy-Dance with Daddy this morning while he gets ready for work.

I hope you have a lovely Valentine’s Day…I thought about getting fixed up for work today, but then was like, “stop bein’ crazy!” I’m not fooling with that nonsense (although I DID wear red). I’ll have some time to get my pretty on after work (for my romantic trip to the hospital). If you’re single, hey—it’s Friday night. Get yourself a pizza and a glass of wine, and celebrate the fact that you can order whatever toppings you like (unlike those of us that are forced to deal with SAUSAGE ON OUR PIZZA-bleh!). Valentine’s Day is NOT a big deal for me (although my Mommy DID get me some lovely, cuddly jammies, so I DID get a nice Valentine), and I think it’s highly over-rated. Married, single, or living-in-sin—whatever you’re doing (it’s between you and God)—I hope you have a wonderful Valentine’s Day. Remember that God is Love, and we’re supposed to be like Him. Be Love Personified today.

Croup.

I’m totally drowning in ADD today, which should serve as your warning to NOT expect cohesive thoughts in this blog. In fact, I think I’m writing this strictly because I need to get linear.

We had our first illness with JD this week.

For all of the haters out there that expected me to fall apart at the first sign of illness, take a leap. I did just fine. I didn’t overreact and rush my son to the ER; I didn’t hyperventilate or start a prayer chain at 2:00 am. I didn’t even really have too much of an issue with flashbacks.

I’m kind of proud of myself—I embraced the grace, and got it done. I did my “Mom” thing (with a LOT of help from my Mom, who is officially The Wizard).

He started wheezing at 10; I asked David if we should do something. “What would we do?!? Go to bed,” was the groggy response. By midnight, my son was making this horrible, cat-like cry with a barking gasp for air.

Croup.

I googled it at first, because it’s what I thought it was; I took him outside, praying all the while that the cool, night air would help. Nope.

I called the doctor’s exchange, and was connected to the nurse hotline. A very kind, compassionate nurse could hear my poor boy over the phone, and dispatched us to the Emergency Room, where the official diagnosis was given, followed by breathing treatments and steroids. I texted my mother; she and my dad drove the 45 minutes to meet us at the hospital.

I think my parents saved our lives; at the least, they saved our sanity, because we needed them. Everything was starting to feel reminiscent—the ER, the mask, the horrible breathing—my thoughts were becoming attackers, and I needed my mom and dad to reground me.

JD was there for over 4 hours, for observation (they had to watch for reactions to the medication); he was released around 6 am, and we all went back to my house to grab some sleep.

I had my own medical plans for the day; as my appointment that afternoon drew closer, I noticed that Bug’s breathing was starting to sound bad again, so I called the pediatrician. They recommended us to Cardinal Glennon…and that’s where I lost it. Totally.

David was at work; my mom was napping, and it was just me and Dad in the living room. One mention of “Cardinal Glennon,” and my fragile psyche crumbled. I pulled it together when nurse said I could take him to a different hospital that was closer—that was fine; I could handle that. After a second round of a stronger steroid, JD responded incredibly well, and we came home to baby that was much more like my little guy.  He’s still raspy; we have 5 days before this virus gets out of his system. But, he’s playing, eating, and doing what he’s supposed to do, so I’m happy with that…

Anyway, while my mom stayed with us a few days, he did really well; last night, I think he had a bad night, and it took me hours to get him back to sleep. As I write this from my sleep-deprived-and-Starbucks-fueled brain, I can’t help but reflect on the sheer panic that went through me at the mention of Glennon. I mean, it wasn’t even rational; it was a total flashback/PTSD moment that was crippling. Seeing your child so miserable really does rip your heart out. It’s a terrible, horrible feeling of helpless hell.

I know we aren’t guaranteed a perfect life. We will encounter illness, owies, bumps, bruises, and potentially, breaks (with a boy, that’s pretty much guaranteed). I don’t think that JD is the one who’s going to need to toughen up…

Pretty sure that’s going to be me.

Day 17: Highs and Lows of the Year So Far...

Oh, wow….2013!

I can’t help grinning like an idiot!!!!!!!!

From December 31, 2012-February  2, 2013, I was in the hospital to deliver my son. It was the best/worst/scariest time in my life…well, that, and the first 4 weeks after delivery, LOL. I saw God move mountains…science tried to give me a heart attack…my body didn’t want to cooperate…

People wonder how in the world I didn’t go crazy during my “incarceration.” Truth be told, sometimes I look back, and I wonder the same thing. I think a few people may have thought that I was in there on some kind of all-expenses paid vacation.

Oh, that’s SO not true…I had wonderful, kind, compassionate nurses who listened to me when I couldn’t take the emotional struggles…nurses who prayed for me, who brought me tea and books; who encouraged me and who basically acted like Jesus with skin on…Those nurses are a gift from God, and THEY are how I kept my head on straight. I couldn’t have visitors; I had unrelenting migraines from the medication and from my blood pressures. I sat in a dark room, and watched “Bones” until we finally delivered in late January….THAT is EASILY the best day of the year! That’s the high of 2013!

My family came to see me around once a week; my husband, 2-3x/week (we live almost an hour away from the hospital). My sister, God love her, was there almost every single day. I think she would have stayed overnight, if not for her bird at home. She was a huge source of encouragement, and I’m forever grateful for the miraculously-calm nature that she brought to my stay. She probably doesn’t know this, but I spent a lot of my days anxiously waiting for her to arrive. We had disconnected prior to this pregnancy, for a few reasons; this brought us closer together than ever before. Seeing her with my son is a beautiful thing…especially as I have NO desire to take him fishing. Nope. She gets to do ALL of that foolishness!

Finding my lowest point is a toss-up: Not being able to nurse my son? The day I called the doctor, because I had to admit to myself that I was struggling with post-partum depression? The entire month of July?

Everything is an obstacle that is just waiting to be jumped. So, even my low points, in retrospect, aren’t that bad…although July about did me in. The gallbladder issues (2 surgeries) and the hassle from getting rear-ended Just. Plain. Sucked. 

Everything with JD is new and fresh…seeing his beautiful face at the end of my day is its own glorious high. He’s getting his first tooth…he’s learning to sit up. He doesn’t like to roll over, but he loves to stand—these are my highs. When I was in the hospital, I would tell myself over and over, “it’s allllll right, it’s gonna be SO worth it!!”

Oh, it is!  It totally is! I have NO regrets, only gratitude!!!

The lows of this year only have to do with physical pain and/or hormonal kerfluffles. …they’re SO minor in comparison to my beautiful boy…And every time I see that baby boy laugh at his daddy, my heart about bursts with love and joy…It has been worth it all.  2013 is, so far, one of the greatest years of my life…..(2013, 2006, 2005, 2002, 1995, 1994, & 1986 are on that list, for various reasons….)