The Sorting Hat...

It's 6:00 am on Sunday. David has just stumbled into the office asking what in the heck I'm up to--he's adorable when he's like this. We're not much for drinking (although I do like a good glass of wine); I've never seen him drunk or hungover. I imagine it's similar to how he just walked into this room, and it's hilarious. I've sent him back to bed (I am, after all, used to getting up for work at 4:00 am), and now I'm alone with my thoughts...

I have a Facebook friend who makes a lot of Hobbit references. My dad also loves all of those books; sadly, that's a bonding experience we will never have. Try as I may, I just don't like Tolkien (sorry, Dad). However, I love the Harry Potter books/movies. So I will unashamedly make a lot of HP references, and since I am writing this blog, it is clearly my perogative. :)
I love the concept of the Sorting Hat: Something comes along in the midst of your confusion and fear, and tells you EXACTLY where you're supposed to be. Can I get one of those?  'Cause let me tell you, if I had a Sorting Hat, that sucker would NEVER leave my noggin. The Holy Spirit does the same thing, I know--but that whole "audible voice" thing really piques my interest. Hearing the voice of God in the midst of the battlefield can be very hard to do--but you have to hear your General/Captain/Commander-In-Chief, right? It's hard to get quiet when the battle is raging.
But here I am.
Yesterday, we went to my parents' house to do a Sorting of our own. 6 years ago, Hannah's things were sorted out...things that were deemed "special" were kept, as were things that were necessary (the flamingo onesie...a stroller...the nursery decorations)...other things were given away in heaps.
I have no memory of this process, and I don't know why. I don't remember packaging them up, or taking them to the attic. I don't know where things went, or who got what...It never bothered me until yesterday. Mom says it's for the best, but it nags at me--where did my brain go? Going through some of these things was almost like going through a stranger's storage unit. But...going through some of those things was like open-heart surgery (minus the anesthetic). I'm not going to lie or make it sound pretty:
It hurt.
I kept a pretty good stiff, upper lip--after all, Choleric Mom was watching, and she never misses a chance to attempt to counter my sniffles with a reminder that Hannah is in Heaven. That actually makes me mad sometimes--can't you just let me cry, and get it out of my system? Stop trying to give me band-aids--I need to bleed this out! But then I look at it from her perspective--She's seen me cry enough over this.
So I waited until it was just David, me, and the dog...and for a few minutes, let it rip.
This child will be wearing clothes that were not purchased for them. Things were bought for someone else--someone that didn't have the chance to grow up, that I didn't have the chance to raise. I'm not being a brat here--it's not like I can or would, just burn everything and go buy all new. That would be stupid, impractical, and selfish. I have a pretty good sense of reuse/recycle. Even if Hannah would have had the chance to use or wear all of the stuff that I've stored, I'd still be reusing it, so that part makes no difference. It's the heart behind it--We had picked out little things just for her.  Certain toys were given to me at a shower that I never got to go to--for her.
This child will not know that their stuffed monkey was not originally intended for them. I do. Will I think that, every time I see the darn monkey? Of course not. And I think that most of these feelings will fade pretty quickly--after all, it's the first time I've seen monkeys and strollers and Lord-knows-what in 6 years. It was a bit of a shock. I think I'm still processing it all.
Walking through the living room this morning, seeing the bags of stuff that we brought home...I immediately turned around and walked out. I actually think it's the amount of work that will be involved in finding places to put the stuff, than the stuff itself--I don't want to think about the mess we have to work through! :) The nursery is a disaster--it's been extra closet space for the past 5 years, and we have no idea where to begin organizing it. (If I wasn't me, I'd call me for help. But since I am me, my "great organizing solution" is to run, hide, and to try not to think about it. Too bad I don't have a basement!!!:)
I'm okay, really. I"m not going to say I was "super prayed-up" or "filled with faith" to get through this--I think I was in more of a state of "git-er'-done." Regardless of where I was, though, I can say that it felt like there was peace instead of panic in The Sort. We got it done, and now I can finally start a Baby Registry for this little one.
Tomorrow, we make another attempt to find out what we're having. We're having our Anatomy US done, and I will make my first cardiologist's visit for this pregnancy. I hope it's my ONLY cardiologist's visit. Ultrasounds make me terribly nervous--half the time, I'm afraid to look at the screen. My friends at work think I'm crazy for this-but they don't know what I've been through. When you've had so much hope, and so much loss, even when it's irrational you still fear going through it again. You try to counter it with faith, but it sneaks in. I'm thankful there are "blockers" (Quidditch reference!) who stop my fear-sidetracks with a quick word or prayer (David's great at that!). And I don't know if you've ever had an echo done...but they're kinda painful for me. Being "chesty", plus having so much scar tissue from previous surgeries, means that the technician has to push really hard on my chest. Add pregnancy to that, and I'm NOT looking forward to this echo!  Tomorrow I will be poked, prodded, and probably stabbed, all for an end result of what I hope is PERFECT. Mom will be spending the day at the hospital with me, thank God...she may be a good ol' choleric, but I need her.  I think she needs to check on me, too. She won't admit it, but certain things she's said make me realize that she has her own fears with this pregnancy. She is my mom, after all. <3 p="p">I'm nervous about tomorrow...excited...I hope I can come back and tell you more about this baby...
Reusing things that were meant for Hannah means that I can finally put the things that were given or bought with so much love, to good use. It's actually fulfilling a hope, although I had to go through a bit of a dark cloud to figure that out. Seeing this child use the handmade blankets...the nursery decor that my mother lovingly made...even the flamingo onesie (provided this is a girl)...I think it will feel 100% right. It's just taken me a day to put some perspective on it. I'm super-thankful that Mom and David were there to help, and to "block" me from dwelling on the negative.
After a bloody good cry in the car on the way home, David was kind enough to take me for my favorite sno-cone (S&Js, Arnold, MO!!! Wedding Cake with whipped cream--GET ONE!), and we had a good talk. Well, I talked, and he listened. He's getting better at letting me riff for a while, and then putting in his two cents. He's a pretty sharp dude, That Guy I Married. I'm glad he picked me.
The Sort could have gone so much worse...I'm so thankful that it didn't, and that we were smart enough to do it together. We were exhausted after all of it, and my house is a wreck, but it's done. Now I really do feel like I can start preparing for C-Rex. :)
There was peace in the battlefield, peace that I hadn't even remembered to pray for. I think it's more than possible that a Facebook post I did early in the morning may have put out the red flag to my friends and family that we needed prayer, and maybe they delivered? Because it went better than I'd hoped. So if you prayed, thank you. You helped my family stay sane through a tough day!
Like I said online--God is bigger. Hope is brighter. And Life is beautiful...
I'm looking forward to it.

The Mystery Continues...

So much for the "Big Reveal!" 
Ultrasounds are the strangest, coolest, most surreal thing to sit through. Someone's pushing outside of you, looking inside of you, to check something out. I've had so many of them done at this point, that the lack of modesty one endures in the process is moot (I love that word!!!!). I don't even care anymore--probe away! 
These things are even stranger when the thing they're looking at/for, moves around on the screen. It's a bit alien, to be honest...you can't feel them move yet, but there they are!!!  I look forward to these with such a nervous anticipation...if I had fingernails to bite off, they'd be chewed to nubs, I swear! Yesterday was supposed to be when we find out what we're having: boy, or girl? David and I each have our thoughts, but nothing is definite yet. The anticipation is driving my family crazy!! Personally, I just want to get my names figured out. :)
I was super-cranky yesterday...and then the ultrasound started....and there they were...Try as hard as she may, the ultrasound tech could NOT get a determination. Our little Coolio sat with their legs folded, Indian-style (I smacked David--that's YOUR family!), and jumped around like a little Indian jumping bean. It was frustratingly hilarious. I really wanted to know...
But I could have sat their and watched that screen for hours.
Boing...
Boing....
Boing...
Our little peanut (who's actually quite large--8 oz, to be "exact") seems to be a happy little froggy. Long legs, big belly, and a ginormous brain.
Yep--this one takes after me. :)
I don't have any great spiritual point with this blog. I'm just so stinking happy, that I had to take a break just to share it with you. As our baby gets more active, and more defined, the reality of it all sets in more and more, and I feel like I could just explode. To watch him/her bounce around on the screen yesterday...I wish I had a recording to share. The wonder of the creation of God is astounding--how, and why, did He make us that way? We bounce around from the very beginnings--we're a blank slate, ready to absorb the world.
My prayer is that my Indian jumping bean makes his/her way through the world and never loses that joy...that they "boing" through life, bouncing back from every obstacle or deterrent, and press on, determined to revel in the peace and love that God brings us all...my prayer is that David and I teach him/her everything is in His hands--they're the only thing we can never "boing" out of.
So what, if I didn't get my "big reveal" of boy vs. girl?
I think God decided to reveal something else...:)

Building a Mystery....

Oooh, I get 10 points for a Sarah McLachlan 90's song reference!  You know, I've never understood those lyrics...
How is it possible to go all ADD when I'm just starting this blog?!?!??
I'm 17 weeks pregnant. There is a tiny human in my stomach that has just, over the course of the past week, begun to make their presence known. There isn't any kicking, per se; actually, there's just this crazy pressure/shifting/weirdness going on that I wish I could put into words. I'm all belly--which to me, is a good (but weird) thing. 
I have a good friend who's quite blunt, that has informed me that I look 6 months pregnant (especially right after I eat). Although this made me sad and highly self-conscious, she's right. I feel huge, already, and it's a point of concern. Strangely enough, though, as of this morning I am STILL 3 pounds down from my pre-pregnancy weight. If this keeps going, my hope is that I will have gained less than 20# during this pregnancy. (For someone of my height/weight combination, anywhere from 11-24 pounds is acceptable). I have no desire to Jessica Simpson-ize myself; I feel terrible for friends that have told me that they gained 40-50# during their pregnancies. I can't take off the excess weight pre-pregnancy--there's no way I could take off 40-50# post-partum. It just seems overwhelming, to try and initiate a weight loss plan while trying to raise a tiny human.
My weight is a big deal to me--it's a big part of my life that I wish I would have dealt with more effectively before conceiving (much like my finances). The last few weeks have been a battle with myself over feeling guilty for not being more financially disciplined in preparation for God fulfilling His promise, and for not being more physically disciplined in preparation for God fulfilling His promise. I kinda feel like an oil-less virgin. He's lit my lamp, but I didn't prepare, and now I'm scrambling. This is a huge lesson to me (by God's grace, I hope it's not too little, too late): If God has a promise for you, if you believe that it's true, make the preparations NOW like it's going to happen tomorrow. Stay prepared. I really hope that I've officially got this through my thick skull, and I'm incredibly thankful that God still, in spite of my lack of preparation, sees fit to take care of us. I know that He will provide. I feel foolish, having to ask Him...but I ask anyways, because He is my Father, and He knows the need/lack of preparation/heart's desire before I even approach Him. 
That being said, He's proven Himself time and time again. David got an unexpected bonus at work. I had one of the elusive 3-paydays-in-a-week checks (they don't take out an insurance payment, so it's a little extra). We had standing water in our laundry room from a leaky shower that only cost $6 to fix (thanks, Dad!). My brother-in-law was able to put a new starter in the Camry, which saved us a huge mechanic's bill. It's not a massive windfall, but it is enough to make sure we're cared for. It's manna, and it's enough for today. I think that's pretty neat.   I look back at the testimonies of my parents--how God took such good care of them when we were kids. I look at David and I, and at the testimonies of how God has brought us through. I think of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego--how they made it through the fiery furnace, and didn't even smell like smoke. Do we smell like smoke? I really don't think so. God has truly carried us through.
Ever want to post something about God's goodness, and worry that if you do, you're just opening yourself up for an attack? Me, too. But I can't get through the pressures of today, without stopping to consider the testimonies of yesterday. He is faithful--even when we don't think He's making any sense. He's faithful.
He was faithful yesterday, and He is faithful today.
He is faithful tomorrow.
"Building a Mystery:" There's a reason that I titled this blog with that reference. Up until today, the tiny human-in-residence has been swirling around my insides with no name. She/he has been referred to as "they" for the 14 weeks that I've known they're there. My struggles with fear during this pregnancy are very real. I look forward to my doctor's visits, only so that I can hear a heartbeat and rest assured that all is okay. I still look at the ultrasounds screens with an out-of-body feeling....it doesn't always feel like it's really happening to me. Today, however, a tiny part of the mystery of pregnancy will be revealed: We find out what we're having this afternoon.
This is a milestone to me.
I'm not sure why, but it seems to me that this small part of identity will make this experience more real...like my struggle with "detachment" will be diminished. Someone prayed over me yesterday that I would embrace the joy of pregnancy. It's not the first time that I've heard that prayer; I think that I struggle with focusing on "just breathing," that I forget to celebrate the wonder and weirdness of this strange state that I'm in! Right now, in this moment, I am carrying a child. I am! It's so freaky!!!!  There's a tiny human swimming around my cavernous abdomen! That's crazy!!!!!  Even now, 17 weeks in, I'm shaking my head at how weird it is. And I know this isn't my first time around...but in a lot of ways, it feels kind of like it is. My symptoms are different; my mood is different. I'm not 28 this time around, and I feel different. I'm a different person to start with, and I'm handling things differently. I'm also not waltzing into this pregnancy with my eyes closed to reality. I've had to face a whole different realm of possibilities since my last pregnancy, and I feel more like Katniss Everdeen in Mockingjay, than Hermione Granger in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.  I'm scarred, I've been broken, and the "shiny" has worn off. God is far more real to me in 2012 than He was in 2006, and my relationship with Him, for better or for worse, is much, much different. I'm not going to say that I'm jaded, because I'm not. I will say that I'm simply not as oblivious as I used to be (as far as this goes. For everything else, well, that remains to be seen:). I think that Ephesians 6:12 has a whole new meaning to me. This is not my parents' battle. It's not my sister's, or my pastor's. It's mine, and it's David's, and it truly belongs to the Lord. We will sit back and worship Him. We will praise Him; we will honor Him, and He will knock down the walls in a battle that we may or may not even fully see. We do not have all of the answers. I wish we did.
We do not know how to raise a child. We do not know how to ensure they will grow up with a heart for the Lord. We don't know how to do anything. We're starting this child up from the womb, the only way we know how: Prayer. 
We're praying to a God that we cannot see, yet One Whom we trust with our whole hearts. We are entrusting everything to the greatest of Mysteries...
Fortunately, to Him, nothing is mysterious...

Dinosaurs, Dangerous Questions and Thin Ice...

I am one of "those people" that, if you ask me how I am (and if I like you), I will tell you. It's a Dangerous Question. Not only is it a Dangerous Question because I am pregnant and hormonal; it's a Dangerous Question because I am, by nature, a very emotional person who doesn't hide it very well.
I wish I did.
I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you I was fine, and know that you aren't perceptive enough to know that I was lying. It's all well and good when I'm at work...after all, for the most part, those aren't people--they're "co-workers," and I'm learning that they're an entirely different species... At work, everything is "fine."
At home, everything is "fine." I love my David, so please don't think that I'm anything but genuine with him. But who among us burdens their husband with their every emotion? Especially when, emotionally, they're just not made like we are?
Almost 6 years ago, I thought that we were going to bring a wonder home from the hospital. We did...and then we didn't...and I fell into a black hole for 2 years. For 2 years, I was somebody else. I was physically ill...I was spiritually destroyed...I was suicidal...and I knew that God really did hate me. I'd have moments where I'd tell myself that I was fine, and I was getting better, but it simply wasn't true. I was far worse than I let anyone, including my husband, know. What he did know, is that although I don't think I ever lost my faith, I most definitely lost my communication with God. I had faith that He existed, but I didn't trust Him--it's two different things.
For 4 years now, I've been on my way back out. I'd like to say that the gaping wound has healed completely, but there are scars. My doctor actually asked me if I had PTSD--being back at MoBap again, seeing places I'd forgotten, but suddenly remembered, was surreal. Hallways, light fixtures--I joke about having memory loss after the heart failure, but it's true. Certain things come back in spurts; I can't really describe it. It's jarring, like a flashback; not always a bad memory, but disturbing, nonetheless.  Scars are not a bad thing to have. They remind us of the healing we've been through.
I told my pastor's wife this morning, that I feel like a donut--running around in a circle, with no substance. It's like I've been praying, but avoiding addressing the scary stuff: "God, I pray for this baby! For health, and healing, and..." What I don't say, is "God, please don't let us go through 2006 again. Please don't fail me."
He never failed me.
He never left--He never abandoned me. He didn't turn His back on us; He never turned His face away. He wasn't punishing us.
Just because I didn't get what I wanted, what I thought made sense, it doesn't mean that He wasn't there. I didn't feel Him. I didn't see Him, didn't hear a word out of Him. But He was there.
Why am I afraid of Him? He's my Father.
I think it's Psalms 16 that says "He will not abandon my soul." King David knew a few things about loss and disappointment. He also knew that God's character does not change, regardless of how our lives are altered. He is still God, and He is GOOD.
I have a Father that I have known since I was 8 years old. For 26 years, I have called myself His child, and yet I feel like a 2-year old when I talk to Him sometimes. Narcissistic. Selfish. Untrusting. Fearful. I deny His character by my reluctance to be honest with Him. Our pastor's been preaching a really great series on what Faithfulness is. The more I actually listen to, the more I wonder how often I've confused faith with hope, or faith with trust? I asked him today if hope was more of an emotional thing, where faith is more of a spiritual thing? I don't know...but I know that all of the above is being challenged right now.
We've prayed for this child for years. One thing I learned with Hannah's loss, is that God's will doesn't usually look like our will. We know what we want, and we think we know the story; however, when we truly turn our lives over to Him, we have to accept the fact that the book is written word by word, not chapter by chapter. We don't know what's going on. We have to believe that He does. He not only sees the words and the chapters; He sees the entire story of our lives, and He knows what He's doing.
We prayed that this child would be conceived in His time, by His rules. I thought He was taking too long, that He didn't want us to be parents. In May, I cried to my husband that I felt like giving up, that I was never going to be good enough for God to bless us with children. My amazing husband said to have faith.
The biggest thing I've struggled with in my life is feeling like God doesn't like me. That He couldn't really love me, because He knows what I'm really like, and that's ugly. My amazing husband said to maintain hope.
We prayed that this child would come along at a time when we were fit to fight the battle, because we knew that it would be hard. David probably knew better than I did (after all, I can do anything, right?!?!?), and he was right. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I've said that it's felt like a battleground. I've been hiding out lately, but it's come back on in full force since yesterday. It's a mental and spiritual battle (not to mention the physical battles of shots and morning sickness and headaches--but I can TOTALLY get over that!), and it's messy. Just because I don't want to remind myself of how messy it can be, doesn't mean that it's not.
I am beyond amazed to be pregnant, but it still feels really surreal. Even when I'm looking at the ultrasounds, I'm freaked out...like, "is that my body?!?" Huh?!?  I know that will change when I start feeling movement; for now, I'm laying hands on my rapidly-expanding belly and wondering what's going on in there (besides the bladder dance).
There are things that I am overwhelmed by (mostly financial, I'm not going to lie) and things I can't allow myself to think about (how will the first 29 days be? Will I throw a party, on Day 30?).  God has supplied our needs in so many amazing ways--that I would allow myself to get overwhelmed about financial things is a testimony to how much like a 2-year old I really am. Of course He takes care of us, in spite of our worries and fears and mistakes. He doesn't give us stones when we need bread. I know it will be okay...I need to get back to "considering the lilies," like I have written on my mirror. There are things I don't want to admit that I'm afraid of (but I think that's pretty obvious). There are fears that I thought would not be a big deal, but now they're looming over me like a tyrannosaurus rex.
I just have to focus on the fact that T-Rexs are ridiculous creatures. ("I have a big head! And little, tiny arms!")
God is faithful. God never leaves us. He will not abandon our soul.
Regardless of what is, what was, or what is coming, He does not change. It is impossible for Him to not love us. Everything seems insurmountable, or scary, or impossible; everything wants to keep me awake at night. God does not.
Since I was a little girl, I've always had this image in my head of sitting on the lap of God. I've never liked sitting on anyone's lap--it's never been comfortable. But sitting on His lap has been in my heart since I can remember. To sit there, with my head on His chest, and to know that I am safe, that nothing can hurt me--that is the image I cling to when the T-Rexs of the world are chasing me. God is my superhero, and with Him, it's okay that I feel like a child. With Him, I don't have to lie if He asks me if I'm okay--He knows. He knows my fears, and my failures; He knows that all I really want is to do the right thing, even when I get in my own way. He knows me, and He loves me, and He's never left me alone.
Sitting in worship today, choking over the words that God is "Always Faithful," it hit me: I still have doubt that it's true. I still wonder if He'll come through, if He'll do what He's promised. Even though I KNOW that He will, the T-Rex of "What Ifs?" was chasing me down today. I just bought a crib--"what if" it's all for naught?
What if?
Doesn't matter.
God is faithful.
I am afraid.
God is faithful.
I am unsure.
God is faithful.
Am I crazy?
God is good.
Will You be there?
God will not abandon my soul.
It is thin ice, to say to the Most High, the Omnipotent on, that "I will trust You." To say, "Lord, do Your will."
It is thin ice, because you never know when it's going to break...
But you do know that He will always catch you...
He will never let you go.

A Pregnant Pause....For Battle.

When I look at my last post, I have to laugh. Last month, I posted all about how I was ready to "take the gloves off" and make some changes. Little did I know how important that attitude change would be...At the time of writing that blog, I was approximately 1 week pregnant, and completely unaware of it.

I've avoided blogging, since finding out that I was pregnant. This is mostly because I've made a promise to maintain transparency in my writing, and right now, that's not necessarily easy to do. My mom keeps telling me to "ponder things in my heart;" actually, that sounds more like "keep it a secret so no one knows what you're dealing with." There's a difference.

"Pondering things in my heart" means that I take the details/reports/research/fears/heartache/longing and I take it to my prayer closet (the Camry/bed), lay it down before the Father, and tell Him--and only Him--exactly how I feel. It means that only He hears the blood, sweat and tears. He hears the things I will not tell my husband, my mother, my sister, or my pastor. He hears the worst fears, and He hears the highest hopes; He hears the deepest anger and disappointments. He hears me say "Lord, I ask for Your Will...even though the last time I did that, I lost everything, and now I'm terrified to trust You." He hears me say, "I will try, I will try, I will try."  "Pondering things in my heart"  means that this very broken vessel only functions when I fall on my face before Him.

This doesn't mean that I walk around all day long like I'm some kind of a spiritual icon. It means that I wipe out, I fall down more than I stand up, I say stupid things, I get mad at the fax machine, and I basically act like Cassidy. It also means that I'm hyper-aware of my faults and failures, and that when I stop and pray, I feel more and more like a 5-year old who's just learning how to pray all over again.

Telling you what's actually going on is a scary prospect. I don't want the "attention" that comes with the cold, hard facts of this pregnancy. I also know that the phrase "who's report will you believe?!?" runs through my mind like a river.  There are spiritual things taking place during this pregnancy that are mind-blowing. I'm taking it day-by-day, "building the wall," so to speak, and every day has its own revelation of sorts.  So, if I tell you what's going on, please don't respond in fear. I AM NOT AFRAID. It makes no sense for me, to not be terrified. But I'm not afraid. Whatever God is doing, it's bigger than any fear I may have or have had. Nervous at times, yes...wondering and occasionally worried, yes. But I am not what I would call afraid. So if you're going to respond in fear, please don't. There's no place for that here.

This is why I've made the decision to not let a certain faction of my family know that I'm pregnant. I don't need their pity or worry, and I don't want it. Praying people know. That's what matters, and if that sounds harsh, I'm okay with your opinion. I also don't want to hear other people's pregnancy horror stories. I've lived through the worst thing that can happen. I don't want to know what else is out there, or how  your cousin's sister's neighbor miscarried at such-and-such weeks, or about the stillbirth, or about any of that. I've already heard the stories, and thanks to the cameradarie of my fellow Angel Moms, I've cried with families that have experienced Hell. I know what's out there--please don't remind me. I don't have blinders on.

Here are the facts: I have a condition called Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. It's a clotting disorder that can most likely be blamed for every heart-related issue that I had in my first pregnancy. It's pretty rare, and most doctors don't test for it until you've had 5-6 miscarriages. I am blessed to have one of the top perinatologists in the nation: Dr. Michael Paul at Missouri Baptist Hospital. He had a hunch, and tested me--he is a gift from God. APS can be tied to a lot of complications, but there is a battle plan to attack it. I'm on daily injections of blood thinners that I give myself. No--it's not fun. But I'm over it.  Premature delivery is a common side effect of APS and/or the treatment for APS, so please join with me in praying against this. Our baby is due 2/16/13. As excited as I am to meet him/her, I don't want to see their beautiful face until then!!!

Hannah didn't die from my APS. Hannah caught a completely off-the-wall bug called late-onset Group B Strep. GBS typically comes from the mother--or so I thought. Late-Onset GBS does NOT come from the mother. It's a bacteria that colonizes on the skin and in the air. She could have got it from anyone, from anywhere. There is nothing preventative about it--there is no way of knowing how she got it, or how to keep it from happening again. Granted, the chances of a second occurrence are so rare that there aren't even any statistics for it.  The sheer randomness of LOGBS is the one thing I will not allow myself to think about. Please do not try to discuss this topic with me. There are certain conversations that I have to be bold enough to stop before they start, and this is one of them. I trust Jesus.

Please understand:  I am a different person than I was with my first pregnancy. I am scarred, I am broken, I am healed, and I am on guard in a way that I never knew was possible. I tend to be so open to suggestion, especially where fear is concerned. Fear has been a stronghold in my life since I can remember, and I've referenced that a lot in my blogging history. I will not let it dictate this time in my life. When I first found out that I was pregnant, I told 2 people, for prayer support. I waited through 5 days of lab tests/results/hell before I was bold enough to tell my husband--I didn't want to break his heart with a "maybe."  I am only just beginning to let myself embrace the joy of being pregnant--only since Tammy Riddering taught the Song of Solomon class on trusting Jesus as a "safe Saviour."  Of course He is--where else can I go?  I've felt like I was on a battlefield against myself, more than anyone, since I found out that I was pregnant. I'm even on guard when I sleep--certain dreams, I wake myself up from; I find myself fighting in my dreams, even against people I love (this doesn't surprise me; sometimes the people you love the most, say the dumbest things!:). I am guarding what I watch on television, what I hear on the radio, where I let my mind wander. I'm not ostracizing myself; I just don't want to be open to negative suggestions. The media inspires fear, and I don't need any help in that department!

What I need, are my friends and family to pray. Do not pray in fear; pray in trust. In my heart, I believe that this pregnancy and a safe delivery are going to somehow knock walls down for the Kingdom. It's a long story, as to where that comes from, and I don't necessarily understand it. I've been reading Nehemiah, and though I don't really get why I'm studying the building of a wall, while hoping for the tearing down of walls, I do see incredible spiritual truths coming out of this reading. I don't mean to sound preachy--it's just where I am.

Someone said, "My wish for you is a BORING pregnancy." I love that--I would like nothing more, than to have that. Regular monitoring by the perinatologist (every 2 weeks) means that so far, it's interesting, but other than the injections, uneventful. I want to keep it that way. I want to be "normal." So, please join with me in unity to pray for a boring pregnancy...for a full-term, healthy baby that comes into this world with peace, no fear, and with amazing hope for a beautiful future. Pray for peace in my household...for financial organization, continued job stability, and that we (as in, my entire family) celebrate and embrace the joy of this pregnancy. Fear has no place here...only trust, grace, and joy.

Thanks for partnering with me in prayer, on the battleground that's already been claimed. You guys are more of an encouragement than I let you know. :)

P.S.--Graduate school/pre-classes for Graduate School has been put on pause until 8/2013. It's going to happen....but I'm in no hurry. :)

Taking the next step, boxing gloves in hand...

Fear.
It's a HUGE part of my life.  Yesterday, Mom said, "Girl, you are afraid of EVERYTHING!!!" People that aren't around me all of the time may not see that, but it's so true--I'm totally terrified , and that fear leads to a constant feeling of inadequacy and self-loathing. The fear factor has definitely increased over the course of the past few years. For a while after Hannah died, I was actually so afraid that David would die in a car accident, that I was afraid to tell God that I was thankful for him. I was afraid to say that I liked my job, because I just knew as soon as I did, that I would get fired. I was afraid to celebrate any good thing, because I knew it wasn't meant for me, and that I'd lose it if I celebrated it. That's subsided, but I still deal with a sense of "oh, be careful! Don't get too excited...don't get too attached! Nothing's guaranteed!!!!"
I work in a world of academia, surrounded by brilliant women. Smart people terrify me. I was a valedictorian...in a class of 6 people. I graduated from college after being the recipient of numerous scholarships...but I lost the only one I ever earned for my grades.  I have a knack for walking into walls, saying the wrong thing at the worst possible time, and for tripping over my own two feet. I'm uncoordinated, talk too much without saying anything, and seriously lack the ability to know when to end a conversa......you get the point.
There's a song by TLC that I used to love, called "Unpretty."  I've always liked it, because it rings true with how I feel physically and mentally. Never feeling "good enough" is such a cliche, but I get it. I just. Plain. Don't.  I always wanted to wake up with some secret magical Peter-Parker-Moment, some superhero quality that made me different, made me special. The reality of being "normal" sucks. But I am. I'm just an average Jane. And being surrounded by all of these brilliant people reiterates that feeling.  I've always felt like there was something more, and I'm missing it. 
A few years ago, I heard a message about not settling for Plan B...about not being happy with circumnavigating your Promised Land (thanks, Ben Scofield), Shortly thereafter, I put a note on my bathroom mirror to be "thankful" for wherever I am..but not to be satisfied. I've spent 13 years in Plan B.  I've had a few glimpses of Plan A (thanks, David, for marrying me--you're the best Plan A EVER!), but I know that there's more.  Being a wife is #1. Motherhood is #2. And continuing my education is #3. My grandma used to say to me, "You promise me that you'll go to college!" I did. When I was in college, Dr. Pabarcus (and his super-cool doctoral hat that he wore to graduation ceremonies) would say, "Hey, "Dr. Baumann" sounds good!" "Sure...right." I'd say.
#2 is on the table. It could happen any time, any day, and I am 100% for it. Motherhood is my ultimate lifetime heart's desire. There's nothing I want more, other than to be a good wife.
I work for an institution that wants me to learn. I want to learn. I want to keep going...maybe it's "Dr. Cooley" that's resonating in my ears, I don't know--but I feel like watching people like Lauren Preston or John Grapperhaus is inspiring me not to sell myself short. These are "normal" people who are holding down jobs and raising families, and who are Going. To. School.
I've seen that it can be done.
I'm terrified...I'm petrified.
I want to go.
I jumped.
Clicking the "apply now" button on UMSL's website was a truly frightening experience. In fact, I was waiting for the "APPLICATION REJECTED" e-mail (and it may still come). But I've applied, and for me and all of my fears, that was the biggest part of the battle. 
Transcripts have been requested, and I've contacted several former professors for Letters of Recommendation; fortunately, a few of them have complied. For them to remember me (and to say nice things about me) is incredibly humbling. I sat in my office yesterday and cried after the former president of my alma mater called me to tell me he'd write the letter. Who am I? I'm truly, truly freaked out. Total Sally Field moment--"they really like me!!!"
I'm applying to the graduate program in the English department. I know it's a lot of work--my boss' daughter just graduated from the program (which is GREAT, because she's understanding!), and told me it's tough. I'm hoping to consistently take 1-2 classes/semester (and I'm starting with 1!). My undergraduate degree is in Bible, so it's likely that I'll have to take some classes to even start the graduate program. I'm okay with that. 
Well, as okay as I can be. If you saw my insides, you'd see what looks like a tiny mouse, shaking in a corner.  I'm petrified.
I know that this is a direction I want to go; more importantly, it's a direction I feel like I am supposed to go. If I try, and I fail, at least I didn't miss the opportunity.
At least I didn't let the fear win.
If I try, and I fail, at least I can say that I clicked the button.
If I try...
Maybe I'll succeed?

Mother's Day & Strangers I Should Know...

Mother’s Day is always a mixture of emotions for me. It took years before I’d finally go to church on Mother’s Day; with the change to a different place of worship, this year I took the high road: I left town.  I didn’t want to deal with the confusion and awkwardness of being in a new place, with new people, who either didn’t know, or who were new to “the story.” Even in a place where I knew most people, Mother’s Day was difficult—I felt like other mothers took time away from celebrating themselves, to comfort me. Beautiful, wonderful, incredible women of God—they have carried me on their shoulders so many times. I never felt that it was fair that they would cry (over me) on a day that celebrates their motherhood.  Yet, I wanted to go to church, to be with them, and to know that they were going to help me make it through—it’s incredibly selfish of me. Either way, this year I decided that I wasn’t ready for a new place; even if I was, I didn’t want to drag anyone down. So, we went out to my parents’ house. (Yeah, that’s it! Drag Mom down!!! :) )

This past week was very difficult. Our clinic was closed, yet we still worked, so things were far too quiet. With the change in David’s schedule, I was home alone in the evenings with the ATTack Dog (she tried to murderize an AT&T salesman last week. After I got over having my arm ripped out of the socket, it was quite funny. You should have seen his face!!!), and things were again, Far. Too. Quiet.

What do you do?  Pester your friends who have families and children? Annoy your siblings who have jobs and kids and psychotic birds of prey? Talk your mom’s ear off over the phone? Shop?  It’s hard to pray when you’re frustrated with God, and even harder to worship, so I marked that one off (Just being honest). What do you lean on, when you should be standing on your own at this point?

Is there ever a point when that’s possible?

The perfect storm was capped off by one of the worst rounds of PMS that I think I’ve ever dealt with. The benefits of juicing are that your body starts to detox. Detoxing makes you cranky on its own; couple that with hormonal fluxes, and you have a real problem. Things spiral out of control, and you quickly find yourself at a whole new level of despair. When that’s wrapped up in too much quiet time, the enemy has a field day.  I think the best word to describe last week was “torment.”  That might sound pretty dramatic, but by Thursday evening, I was at my wit’s end. I really didn’t know what to do, where to go, or who to call.  Whether it’s true or not, I always feel like a complete burden when I’m dealing with this kind of stuff, and I’m sick of it. To finish it all off, the orthotics that I’m supposed to be getting, to combat the foot pain I’ve dealt with for over a year, are tied up in insurance BS; I actually yelled at an Office Manager, and I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. Considering that I know her job, and I know how hard it can be, I believe I will be apologizing at some point. Frankly, I’m still mad, so it’s not happening yet.

I called my sister, Billie, who agreed to take me out to my parents’ house on Friday instead of waiting until Saturday, so that I wouldn’t have to deal with another night by myself. Once we got together, we had a really great time of catching up, laughing like we always do, and rocking out to some Skynyrd. We got to “The Ranch,” and I promptly got busy giving my mom a mani-pedi while we snacked around and goofed off. It’s amazing, how quickly laughter can push aside despair. There’s nothing like it! J

Saturday morning, while waiting for David to arrive, Dad put Billie to work (haha!-j/k!), and Mom & I set out on a “brief” shopping adventure. Just hanging out with her, enjoying my mother, was a blessing. I feel like she gets a little robbed on Mother’s Day, because she’s worried about me. She is the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I hope she understands how grateful I am to have her.  I really enjoyed spending time with her!  As the morning went on, the cloud that was hanging over my heart totally lifted off; by the time David arrived at the house, things were in full swing, and a lot of laughter was going on.

David—what a blessing he is!  As we pulled into the driveway, I could see something sticking out of the back of the truck…he had gotten me the most gorgeous plant that I had admired at the produce stand!  It was a complete surprise—it’s so beautiful! It became the centerpiece of our Mother’s Day pictures! Just the fact that he—well, he says he doesn’t understand, but he definitely supports—says the world to me.  He gave me a card encouraging me to keep up the faith…he knows we will be parents at some point….

It’s not necessarily Hannah’s loss that affects me this time of the year. It’s what I lost, and what I do not yet have. It’s the invasive questions, the empty place in my heart, and the unfulfilled promises…It’s having a heart’s desire that I know He gave me, that has not been made to come to pass. It’s a consuming fire, a passion to be a mother that I’ve had since I was a little girl. Being a mother is all I’ve ever wanted to be, and yet here I am…34…and what I’ve had so far was a passing opportunity. I was a mother for 34 weeks, and 29 days…I had everything I ever wanted in life, for 34 weeks and 29 days. To have it, and to have lost it, and not have it again, but to want it so desperately—that is the ache.

David has heard all of this, and what he doesn’t fully comprehend from a woman’s point of view, he gets from a father’s point of view.  He shares that heart with me, and at times like this, there is no one that lets me cry without judgment like he does. There is also no one who makes me laugh, or who grabs my hand and pulls me back up, like he does. He teaches me so much about the love of God—what a great thing, to be able to say that about my husband!!!  He gets my heart.

Things at the parents’ house were pretty typical—food, poker, BBQ, me winning everyone’s money, snacks, movies, laughing, pie, sleeping in…fun. It was exactly where we all needed to be, because we all acknowledge the blessing and the pain of Mother’s Day. Both sets of grandparents are gone now…we spent all of our time this weekend celebrating family, and that’s what they would have loved. 

And then the strangest thing happened:

My biological father showed up.

I haven’t seen him in 6 years.

I haven’t talked to him in weeks (and that was only because he was in the hospital, and I’m the contact person for medical issues).

What.

The.

Heck??!?!?

Billie and I weren’t prepared to see him. We weren’t ready to see the shaking hands…the terrible complexion…the constant blinking from dry eyes. We weren’t prepared to hear that he has 3 blocked arteries and has to wear a nitro-glycerin patch. We had no idea. 

He’d moved back to MO from FL 2 years ago, or so…he really doesn’t live that far from us. He just doesn’t call or try to get together, and he doesn’t return our calls. I care about him…there is love there. I know that he loves us to the best of his abilities, but…

I really don’t know what to think.  Billie’s word was “strange.” Mine was “uncomfortable…awkward…weird…disconcerting…odd…” I really, truly had/have no words. Of course, we embraced him; to my parents’ credit, they invited he and my aunt to have dinner with us (we happened to be sitting outside having dinner when they showed up). He and Aunt Bonnie ate dinner, looked around at pictures, and chatted for a bit; then they left, with thoughts that they might come out for Father’s Day (I’m not getting my hopes up), and that he’d try to “do better” at calling us.

He looks bad.

I know what happens next.

I’m not ready for it.

So many things I’d like to say, good and bad…If that was the last time that I will see him, did I do it right? I waved as he drove off—is that my last memory? What do you say, what do you do, when your heart tells you that’s “goodbye?”

I’ve thought that about him before, and been wrong…

It’s too soon.

All of my talk, all of my anger, all of my frustration at a man who threw us away…there is still love there. Everything says I should hate him, but I also know that he only expressed what he knew. Billie and I break the cycle—we are not the alcoholics. We are not the abusers, we are not the entitled. We are freed by a grace that he was introduced to, but rejected….why did he have to reject it? We did everything we could, to show him Jesus; will he find Him, now that he’s at the end?

This man that I have called “Daddy” for as long as I can remember…will he soften his heart, and turn toward truth?

Jesus, save my Daddy...

There are the hurts of the past, but there are also the realities of the present. The past can be let go of, but the present is what we face right now. This is where we make our impact, this is where change can happen and where prayers get legs. 
My selfish issues of Mother’s Day are quickly diminished when I see someone so broken in front of me…my heart aches for this broken man.

Mother’s Day weekend—when I said on Facebook that it was a “kaleidoscope day,” now that you’ve read this, maybe it makes sense. There really are no words to describe it. “Hope” was the word I kept getting, before it ever started….it’s the word that I’m clinging to, and not just for me.

Hope.