At this point I was losing hope. Nothing was working out, so maybe we just aren’t meant to have a house yet. Our agent started looking around for us and found one that I had completely overlooked. It looked perfect on paper, so we headed out to see it ASAP. It was as perfect in real life as it was on paper. It had everything we had wanted, without having to compromise on a single thing. We thought surely this has to be it. As we were leaving the property another couple showed up to see it. We started praying immediately. We loved this house and we didn’t want to lose it. Our agent called the selling agent to talk about submitting an offer. She was told it was already under contract. Great. Another hit in the face. We loved the house so much, so our agent kept calling to see if anything had fallen through. She got in touch with another agent at the agency and he said that she was given the wrong information and we could submit an offer. We were so relieved and excited! We submitted our offer and came to an agreement with the seller.

I had to go to the bank that day to get a certified check for the seller. The bank teller and I started chatting about the house. She said she and her husband had been looking at homes in the same area and really loved a particular house. She told me the address and I gasped. It was the same house! They had tried to submit an offer on Friday, but were given the same misinformation that we were. Because our agent was persistent, we were able to submit an offer the next Monday. If this wasn’t proof that God was protecting this house for us I didn’t know what was.

We had a closing date in September. About 3 weeks before the big day our lawyer found a problem with the title. The only way to correct it would be to reforeclose the home and push the closing date another couple months- which would mean we could lose the $8,000 tax credit. What a blow. A week later we were told, “They fixed the title, no need to reforeclose”. And a day later, “Oh sorry, we were wrong. It will have to be reforeclosed”. What an emotional roller coaster!

So here we sit. We have no idea what is going to happen. There is the possibility that the house could be auctioned off. If it doesn’t we will have to re-qualify for our loan and go through that process again.

It seemed like this was the place for us, so why all of these problems? I have to admit it has really tested my faith in God. Honestly, I felt like He deserted us. I know in my heart of hearts that isn’t the case, but I’m struggling so much in believing that God will work something out for us. We have grown so weary. I’ve been praying for rest and peace and have felt neither.

Brad and I had a talk the other night and he brought up a recent sermon at church. It was about service. He said, “we’ve been asking God for so much, but what have we done for Him?” I had been so drained emotionally that I couldn’t fathom giving any part of myself to helping others. We stopped trying to get to know people at church because we were too tired to put in the effort. We lost ourselves to self-pitty and worry. So now our goal is to stop focusing on ourselves and put that energy into what we can do for God.

I KNOW that God is teaching us so many things in this process. I’m thankful- well, at least trying really hard to be. Every bad situation I’ve been through in my life I’ve come out thankful and truly blessed. This is just a valley that we have to go through to make it to the mountain top. So, we will continue to be persistent in prayer and believe that God WANTS to and WILL bless us, one way or another.

For her birthday I wanted to create something special for her.  Though she won’t be able to appreciate it for a little while to come, I hope it reminds her of how special she is to us and so many around her.
So here is our birthday present to her. I spent many months getting it all together. I hope she’ll love it one day ~

So here’s my birthing story:
Before I was pregnant I had already decided on going completely natural for the birth of my babies. My mom did it, so I thought that I should be able to also. When we conceived I started doing lots of research on natural births. I had decided on a water birth. I read so many positive articles and books on the subject. So we took a water birth class, which was required to be allowed to deliver that way at our hospital. After the class we felt really great about our decision.

Well the big day came on August 4, 2008. It began at 5:30 am with contractions about ten minutes apart. Soon they became five minutes apart. At that time we contacted (or should I say tried) to contact my midwife. We had one number to call that was supposed to notify the midwife of my impeding delivery. After almost an hour and a half of trying to get in touch with her (apparently she wasn’t given the message) we finally got in touch and she told us to head to the hospital. I took a shower and shaved my legs ( I wasn’t about to have hairy legs on my delivery day!). The contractions hurt like mad, but I was handling it. The ten minute trip to the hospital seemed to take forever. The contractions were getting much harder and longer. I just wanted to get out of the damn car. So, we arrived at the hospital and the walk to the maternity ward took about ten minutes. Little did we know, the maternity ward is located on the BACK of the hospital with no outside accessibility (apparently to keep people from stealing babies… go figure).

I was offered a wheelchair twice, but my pride got in the way and I was determined to walk the whole way. My contractions didn’t hurt quite as bad while I was walking, so I figured if I kept moving I’d be better off anyway. We got there and they hooked me up to monitors for about fifteen minutes, to ensure I was truly in labor. At about that time my midwife showed up and checked my progress. I was 5 cm and in active labor. Well apparently Nevaeh wasn’t moving as much as they’d like, so they made me guzzle down some ginger ale and sit on the monitors a while longer. The contractions were agony while I laid there unable to move around. Finally they got what they were looking for from the monitors and I made my way to my room.

After about six hours of labor I couldn’t take the back pain any longer. I didn’t feel a single contraction in my abdomen. Every  contraction was directly across my lower back. At that point I threw my idea of a natural birth right out of that tinted window of my labor room. The contractions were coming less than a minute apart and I couldn’t take it. My nurse put an IV for fluids in my arm. I was starting to bloat like a whale (although I felt like one before the fluids). About 30 minutes later an anesthesiologist came strolling in. We talked about baseball (don’t ask-I know nothing about it). He placed the large needle in my spine (painful, but not nearly as bad as the contractions). After about 3 minutes I felt no pain at all. I was on cloud nine.

I had lots of visitor come in to see me. It was nice to be able to socialize while my body was preparing to birth a baby. Amazing how that happens.

A little while later my nurse came in with a pouch in her hand. She says, “I’m giving you pitocin because your contractions have slowed down”. She hooked me up before I could even say I didn’t want it. To be honest, at that point, I didn’t care what they did to me. Maybe it was the epidural or maybe it was my sheer excitement of seeing my baby soon. I don’t know. Regardless, I wasn’t even consulted about it. They just hooked me up like it was nothing.

About an hour later they noticed I had a fever and the baby’s heart rate was increasing. They gave me oxygen and penicillin. They checked me again and I was 10 cm and ready to push. I pushed with the nurse by my side for about fifteen minutes. Then my midwife came rushing in telling me we had to get this baby out soon or I was going to have to be taken to surgery. Thirty minutes later I pushed my little girl out. I never felt pain, only a little pressure as she came out. I’ll admit, I didn’t mind not feeling the “ring of fire” that I heard so much about.

They immediately took the baby behind a curtain to suction and be sure she was okay. I didn’t even get to see her until about five minutes later. After about ten minutes of introducing her to the family they immediately took her away to record her measurements and bathe her. After about thirty minutes a nurse came to inform me that the baby had an infection and would be given an IV port in her hand so they could administer antibiotic. It wasn’t for another hour that I got to just sit and hold my baby. I felt so disconnected from her. I knew she was my baby, but I felt like I was missing that immediate love I heard so much about. I also wasn’t able to nurse her immediately like I had hoped. They took her away so quickly that it was over an hour before I could begin that so very important bonding time.

So this is what I think happened:
1. I was given an epidural (by my choice) and I contracted an infection. The epidural slowed my labor, which was already progressing well on it’s own.
2. I was given pitocin (not my choice).
3. The combination of the infection and the intense contractions brought on by the pitocin put my baby in distress.
4. After being on the IVs for so long I had ballooned from all the fluids, as did my baby (who was born 9lbs 3oz, and 4 days later dropped to 8 lbs 4 oz, once the fluids were out of her body).
5. Because of the size of my baby and the BACK ONLY position I wasn’t allowed to move from, I had to get an episiotomy or else I would have suffered a terrible rip.

What I wished had happened:
1. I had hoped my midwife would be more involved throughout the whole process. I saw her about 4 times total. It really didn’t seem any different than having a regular doctor. She did a great job delivering me, but didn’t offer much else aside from that.
2. I needed a calming and encouraging medical-oriented coach. Brad was a great coach, but he also didn’t want to see his wife in pain. So when I asked for the epidural he didn’t argue. I really needed a calming influence that wasn’t emotionally involved to help me through the pain.
3. I wish that I was allowed to have as many people in the room as I wanted.
4. I wish I never got the epidural. At the time I would have married that cold tube of fluid flowing into my spine, but I didn’t know just how much it would affect everything.
5. I wish that I was able to breast feed my baby immediately and get to experience that immediate bonding that comes when a baby is handed directly to her mother.
6. I wish that Brad didn’t have to tell me what was going on when I delivered my baby, after the fact. Things went on that I wasn’t even aware of because I was so out of it, though I didn’t think so at the time.

All of this said (kuddos to those that have been able to read thus far), I plan to have a home birth next go round. I want the person delivering my baby to be by my side the entire time. I don’t want to feel pressured into having any meds. I want to be able to hold my baby immediately after giving birth. I want to conquer this task that my body was built for.  I felt traumatized after Nevaeh’s birth. I felt like I had gone through a whirlwind and I wasn’t in Kansas anymore (thank you, limb numbing drugs).

The way a mother gives birth should be by her choice and not what’s convenient for the hospital staff.

I’m thankful that our daughter is perfect and healthy in every way. I pray that with our next child, God-willing, I will have the strength to follow through with my plan. I want what’s best for my baby and myself. I know that giving birth the way God designed me to is just that, the best.

Regardless of how she came to this earth, I think I would be lost without her…

Yesterday I made my second round of chocolate chip-chickpea cookies, which I have appropriately renamed chocolate-chick cookies (that sounds better to little ears). Since I made them yesterday evening, about half have been consumed by Brad, my mom, and both my big brothers. Apparently they were a hit. They are a little spongy, like a cake cookie, but tasty none-the-less. You’re getting good fiber too! I figured some of the nutritional value and it comes out to about 3 grams of fat per cookie in a 3 dozen batch. They aren’t necessarily healthy, but they are definitely a healthier alternative if you really need something sweet.

Since I don’t own the recipe I can’t publish it here, but if anyone would like it, I’d be glad to email it to you.

Another healthier recipe I just did was a basic banana muffin recipe that I turned into my own. The recipe is as follows:

• 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 3/4 cup whole wheat flour
• 3/4 cup agave nectar
• 1/4 cup ground flax seed (could also use oat bran)
• 1/4 cup rolled oats
• 1/4 cup wheat germ
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2-3 bananas, mashed
• 1 cup skim milk
• 1 egg
• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mix or sift all of your dry ingredients in one bowl and mix your wet ingredients in another. Then combine the two and mix until combined, but be sure not to over mix.  Pour batter into a greased muffin pan and bake at 350 degrees for 15-18 minutes or until muffins spring back when lightly touched.

My plan was to breast-feed for a year, and to be honest, I’ve been counting down the days until that one year mark. I’m just over it. I haven’t had my body to myself in almost 2 years. Monitoring everything I put in my body as safe for baby or not, to not be able to leave Nevie for more than a few hours at a time; we’ve only seen a movie in an actual theater once since she was born because I can’t be gone that long. I need a break. I need myself back.

So as we began the weaning process I’ve felt like such a bad mother. What’s her pediatrician (also a lactation specialist) going to think of me? What are other moms going to think of me? Am I hurting my child by taking away the very best thing she can eat? Should I just deal with her lack of concentration to eat and try to force her anyway? Am I being selfish? Am I not trying hard enough? These thoughts have been plaguing my head for days now.

This is such a bittersweet stage in motherhood. I’m excited about my freedoms, but I’m also sort of mourning the loss of being so needed and feeling such a closeness to my little one. It also reminds me that she’s not going to be a baby much longer.

Brad’s been really great at supporting me. I think it’s easier for men to not care what others think of them- especially as parents. Men can’t relate to the pride that comes along with sustaining your child her entire existence to this point. He continues to reassure me and remind me of what a good job I’ve been doing and that it’s okay if I want a break.

For now, Nevie is nursing when she wakes up and before she goes to bed. Between those times she gets formula. She’s still learning how to use the bottle. She doesn’t quite realize that she’s suppose to drink from it instead of banging it on things. She’s getting better at it though. I haven’t decided how long I want to stick with this schedule before weaning completely to a bottle. I think I will give it at least a month before I decide. Until then, I plan to relish in the little bit of freedom I now have. I think even a movie might be in our near future.

On that note- Every parent needs to see the movie Parenthood. So many good lessons and it’s hilarious.

He was my first boyfriend. To be honest, I didn’t really like him that much. I think I felt bad, saying no, so I agreed to “go out”, as the kids called it in those days. So one night after watching a movie at his house, I was leaving and went to give him a hug good-bye. As we went in for the hug I could feel a rush of adrenaline starting to course through my legs. I knew that MY first kiss was upon me. Flashbacks of scenes from Never Been Kissed and Sweet Valley High started playing through my head. My moment had finally come. I honestly didn’t know what I was suppose to do. I tried to kiss him on the cheek (I didn’t think it was lady-like for a girl to be so forward as to move directly to the lips). Then he turned his head and went in for the lip lock. I think I was expecting fireworks to start going off as our lips met. No fireworks, but I’m not much for fireworks anyway.

The next day he told me I was a really good kisser. Maybe that was just the male in him using such flattery in hopes of more kisses to follow. I didn’t care; I was finally a member of the “I’ve been kissed” club. And what an important club to be a part of as a young teenage girl.