Caring For My Son With Special Needs {part two}

"Hope Develops in the crucible of experience if the right ingredients are present. Those ingredients include the following: Faith in God; righteous living; positive expectations; living with purpose; setting and working toward goals; initiating and sustaining personal effort; bridling thoughts, emotions, and behaviors; a willingness to tackle challenges; and competence in creating healthy relationships." Vaughn E Worthen

I could pretend like I was at a complete loss as to how to help my son and our family find peace, but the truth is that in the quiet corners of my mind there had always been a whisper that James needed to be home schooled. A thought that, to be completely honest, scared the crap out of me. So I continued to push those thoughts back into the deepest darkest corners every time they surfaced. I rationalized by telling myself that I couldn't handle it, and that only weird people home schooled their kids. I mean, who would actually choose to do that!

It turns out, I would. Sitting on the couch next to my 8 year old son while he sobbed about his horrible day at school, reminded me of my resolve all those years ago to do whatever it took for him to be OK.

Knowing what to do though and actually doing it are two completely different things, and I was still very scared! After having spent many a day simply dealing with him instead of enjoying being his mother, I was not sure at all if I had what it took to be with him not only all day long, but to teach him as well. And it was during one of those moments of how am I going to be able to do this, that another whispering thought came to mind. "How would you treat him if he had special needs?"

When I was really little in elementary school I used to love playing on the slide with the down syndrome kids at our school. They would come down with the biggest smile on their face and expect a hug from whoever was at the bottom waiting to catch them. You cannot be with one of those children and not feel love and warmth and it always made me so happy. I smiled thinking about the memory and in  a fraction of a second my attitude had changed.

I don't know if I can accurately describe what I felt in that moment, but it was like my heart had been transformed. I looked at him for the first time with new eyes and I no longer saw a problem to be dealt with or solved. I saw my sweet little boy who had special needs. Needs that were special and unique to only him, because he is special and unique. No other person in this world will ever think, feel, or act, the exact same way that he does. That understanding was the missing link for me.

Once I understood the how of how can I possibly do this, we got started the very next day. And approaching the task of teaching my son with the same tenderness and love I felt for those sweet kids on the playground has allowed me to open a door of patience that I never new existed. And although I know it will take time and possibly outside help from counselors to unravel exactly what all of his needs are, I am hopeful that he is on his way to a much happier and healthy life.

In less than two weeks he has already made strides in his reading that we expected to take months, he is more willing to help around the house when asked, has increased in self confidence, has shown concern for other's feelings, and has a hint of that sparkle back in his eye that has been missing for so long. And, not to brag, (OK maybe a little) he told me just yesterday that I am the best teacher ever!

Caring For My Son With Special Needs {part one}

No, my son is not autistic. He does not have down syndrome. I won't sit here and try to pretend that I know what it is like to be a mother to one of those sweet angels either. But I do want to tell you a story. A story about a huge wake up call.

8 years and 10 months ago my husband drove me through a snow storm, 2 hours away from our home to a hospital that treats high risk pregnancies. I was scheduled to be induced and nervously awaited the arrival of our 2nd child, a boy. My pregnancy by any standard was normal, however there was an unknown abnormality in the baby's abdomen that had shown up during my 20 week ultrasound. The worst case scenario (a name I can't remember) was a problem with his kidneys. The best case scenario was that cysts had formed on his intestines. Our Doctor was fairly certain it was the 2nd case, but wouldn't know for sure until after the delivery and tests were done. I was nervous and didn't sleep most of the night even after being given Ambien.

The next day I was given Pitocin and since I had arrived at the hospital already dilated to 4 cm, I was fairly certain this was going to be much easier than my first experience with birthing another human being! After my water broke however things started going wrong. The baby's heart rate would drop significantly with each contraction and after an hour of trying unsuccessfully to change the situation, I was wheeled in for a C-section. I remember at one point while the nurses were trying to get the babies heart rate up, the doctor came in and asked how I would feel about a C-section. All I said was "I don't care how he comes out." All I wanted was to have him out and to know that he was OK. And when I finally did hear his little cry for the first time, my own tears started spilling out. It's the only time I've ever cried when one of my children was born.

We were incredibly fortunate to find out the next day that our son did have a small cluster of cysts on his small intestine, but that his kidneys were in perfect working order. My little baby had surgery on only the 2nd day of his life, but recovered well and came home a week later. He nursed like a mad man, became the fattest thing I had ever seen and grew to become a little charmer.



There are so many details I could give over the next several years of his life, our lives, but this is all you really need to know. He had endless amounts of energy, I was young and frazzled, my husband was in medical school, and life became about survival. I survived by letting him watch cartoons for hours on end, by having our oldest daughter do all the cleaning up because she generally did it without complaint, and by eventually signing him up for preschool. Only, he hated preschool. He caused trouble almost every day and he would tell me every night that he didn't want to go to school the next morning. So, after 3 months I took him out and kept on surviving.

By the time kindergarten came around we had 3 children and I couldn't wait for the freedom that would come with having 2 kids in school all day. I love my kids of course, all of them, but I get overwhelmed easily and James was getting harder and harder. He teased his little sister constantly, made huge messes everywhere he went, could not follow the simplest of instructions, and argued about everything I asked him to do. So, even though he told me every night that he did not want to go to school in the morning, I said "Too bad, you have to."



First grade was a nightmare! He hated his teacher, and I'm pretty sure she didn't care for him much as well. It was sort of like a preschool re-run. I was constantly getting emails about what horrible thing James had done that day and every night he said "I don't want to go to school tomorrow."

Second grade was a tad bit better. His teacher was a sweet lady who had been teaching a very long time, and even though she had been our daughter Samm's teacher two years earlier, she never expected James to be exactly like his sister. She disciplined when necessary, but always gave the kids a chance for redemption during the course of the day. Homework really picked up this year though and after school became the nightmare. He would put in the least amount of effort possible to get the work done, and I got tired of fighting him so I didn't push him to try harder.

This year we were all excited. James included. He got the fun teacher. The one we were hoping would finally help him take off. After the first day of school he said "I can't wait to go to school again tomorrow!" By the third day though it was back to the same story of begging me not to make him go the next day. He liked his teacher, but he still hated school. And for the first time, he was dealing with social issues.

Aside from hating school and not being wanted during recess football, there have also been other problems. Issues I tried for over a year to pretend didn't exist. After years of being told "No. sit still. why cant you ever listen. what were you thinking." his sense of self worth had been all but squashed. I cannot even tell you the number of times he has threatened to run away because "no one loves me." or how many times he's said "I'm the worst boy ever." And most recently he has started asking me " what would happen if I jumped off a really tall building and died? what would you do?"

Do you have any idea what it's like to hear your child say something like that? How terrifying it is?

A Resolve To Be Better

It’s 8:00 am and I’m sitting at my computer with the windows open breathing in the crisp, clean morning air of the country. The birds are chirping happily and if I listen carefully I can still hear a few crickets and frogs singing by the pond.  By some miracle all three of my children are still nestled snug in their beds hopefully dreaming of something wonderful.

And then my peace is interrupted by the sound of a 4 wheeler flying by.  (True story!)

Still, I find myself feeling overwhelmed with gratitude this morning.  My life has been richly blessed. I have a loving, kind husband, three beautiful girls whom I adore, a roof over my head and a view from my window that most people will never know. 

It seems impossible with so much beauty around me every day and so much to be thankful for that I can still have days like the one I had yesterday.  

I was recently diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis, an auto immune disease that attacks the large intestine. This causes me to be extremely fatigued…pretty much all the time.  So whenever I wake up full of energy and ambition I try to put it to good use around the house.  Yesterday was no exception. I spent all morning cleaning the house. I picked up every room, vacuumed, mopped, cleaned bathrooms; I even went as far as cleaning out the fridge. I was so proud of myself.  By the time that was done it was lunch time. After lunch I was still feeling the unusual burst of energy and decided to tackle the upstairs craft room/storage room.

When I went upstairs I noticed that the door was open and that a few boxes of stuff that I had arranged a few days before had been thrown onto the floor in a big mess and the box was missing. It wasn't hard to guess who had done it or where the box was. (My girls love to play in boxes).

My anger at seeing the mess caused a reaction in me that I of course regretted later. I let the girls have it and told them they were not allowed in that room anymore. I even threatened to start throwing away their toys if they couldn't leave my stuff alone.  It was not one of my finer parenting moments.  My oldest daughter told me I was a “mean mom” and “never let [them] do what [they] want to do”.  I harshly replied that she could do a lot worse and I’m not that bad of a mom.  Oh, the irony. 

I spent several hours in that room, first cleaning up the mess they had made dumping out the boxes and then on to the rest.  When I finally got done organizing, and cleaning, and throwing stuff out I came downstairs proud that I had accomplished so much. When I rounded the corner I was shocked at the mess I discovered!

It doesn't take much to push me over the edge. This easily could have. But I had made a choice while I was working upstairs, a resolve if you will, to do better; to not let me temper get the best of me. I would prove to myself and my children that I was a good mom and to make sure they knew how much I loved them. So I calmly asked the girls to help me clean up the messes that were made so we could get started on dinner. And they did (with a little pushing of course).

By the time dinner was made and on the table my oldest was singing my praises and bragging to her sister that she would get to sit by me “the best, most wonderful mom in the world.”  After the way I had reacted earlier in the day I knew I didn't deserve it but I was so grateful to hear her say it.  My mom always said that the one thing she wanted with her kids more than anything was to make sure we knew she loved us. And we did. Now I’m hoping for the same thing. Despite all the bad parenting moments I hope the love my children feel is the thing they remember most. And I resolve again on this beautiful Tuesday morning to do better; to be better; and to remember how truly blessed I am. 

p.s. They are still asleep!

"It's Hard" they said

And they were right. Being a doctor's wife is no picnic.

Maybe it will get better when his residency is over and he is no longer a slave to the hospital, that's what they say anyways. I'm still not so sure.

You know what's even harder than being a resident doctor's wife though? You do know right? I probably don't even have to say it, because it's probably the first thing that popped into your head.

Being a mom.

Waaay harder!

This morning our oldest daughter Samm came into our room with her neck cocked to one side and crying. She had stretched funny in bed and it completely seized up. This is the 2nd time this has happened to her although the first time it happened during a wrestling match with her brother, so she wasn't crying because she was scared, she was crying because she was in pain and she knew it meant laying in bed for the next two days unable to move her head.

I sent her around to the doctor's side of the bed though just so he could take a look and as he began touching her neck her eyes became filled with water all over again. She told us she didn't feel good, like she might throw up, so we sent her into the bathroom. And then we heard a thud.

She had come back around by the time we made it to her, but she was disoriented and didn't know why she was on the floor.

Every part of my mothering self wanted to rush her to the hospital. My baby was lying on the floor unable to move her head, and my husband just sat there looking at her as calm as could be. Thinking.

I wanted to yell at him "PICK HER UP! HELP HER!?" But I knew that it would scare Samm who was thinking straight again and now very upset. And I knew from experience that he was calm because that is what his training has taught him to do. He was assessing her symptoms and running through every possibility in his head. Not wanting to make a single wrong move.

He concluded fairly quickly that she wasn't in any immediate danger, but that it would still be best not to move her until he called one of the spine surgeons. So, I sat with her in the hallway, wiping tears off her cheeks and reassuring her that everything would be fine, even though I was still not convinced of that myself.

I could hear medical jargon going back and forth in the other room and after only a brief few minutes I heard my husband breath out just a little and say "OK." In a way that let me know that even though he had appeared calm and collected on the outside, he had not actually been calm until that moment.

The other doctor had agreed that she was not in any emergent danger and that it most likely was a pulled neck muscle and that she just needed some rest. But if we (me) needed peace of mind we could take her in for an MRI when she was feeling better.

Even though when I finally regained my straight thinking I was able to see that she really was going to be fine and that she most likely passed out because when my husband touched her neck it caused immense pain, I will still be taking him up on that MRI. Until then, my sweet girl is resting and enjoying unlimited ipad access!

Even on the longest days when the kids have been fighting, the house is a mess, and the family doctor doesn't make it home until after bedtime, watching your child's pain and not being able to take it away is still harder!

 

You Eat Waffles Instead of Cereal

What do you do if you wake up in the morning to an entire gallon of milk spilled on the kitchen floor, a son worried he's in big trouble, and a daughter on the verge of a panic attack because she can't find her reading log and the teacher has warned that if she doesn't turn it in (again) then a note is going home to her parents ( a fate worse than death) and now there is no milk left for her to eat cereal?

What about if while your cleaning up the spilled milk you suddenly remember that you haven't changed the baby's diaper yet and she has a wicked diaper rash, so you take off the diaper and decide it would be best if she airs out for a minute while you take the milk soaked towels down to the washing machine and as soon as you get the washing machine going you hear your hyper sensitive to smell 4 year old yell "Mom I smell a poopy bum!"?

What do you do?

What can you do other than take a breath and say a quick prayer! You reassure you son that it was an accident, that he is not in trouble, and that you still love him.

You let your daughter know that she can have frozen waffles for breakfast instead of cereal and that she can take a few minutes to look for her reading log, but if she can't find it than she can fill out a new one. And if she happens to miss the bus it's OK, because you can drive her to school.

You get out the carpet cleaner!

You get your son onto the bus by himself.

You give the baby a quick bath, because not only did she have a diarrhea-esq movement on the carpet she also felt the need to find out what that stuff was! (She did not like that stuff, as was evident by her holding out her hand screaming when you arrived on the scene.)

Then you throw on some clothes and load the girls into the car only, instead of turning down the street to the school you go a little bit farther and turn into the donut shop.

Why?

Because it's just milk and poop! They can be cleaned up and replaced, repsectively of course. Although poop can certainly be replaced also. There seems to be a never ending supply of it at our house these days. But you can never have today back with your girls and you don't want one of them starting their school day with tears brimming their eyes proclaiming "this was the worst morning ever!"

And then you say another silent prayer of thanks that you survived the terrorist attacks of Tuesday morning without any casualties...and that you were too tired last night to take off your makeup which allowed you to retain a small ounce of your dignity while marching your daughter into school over an hour late!

The Moment My Heart Fell Out Of My Chest

My handsome little man

Technically, I'm not scheduled to post until Tuesday (We are tryingg to be more reliable bloggers) but this post has been weighing so heavy on me that I couldn't not post it a second longer.

My mom used to tell me that when I was little, my dad would ask me "are you a lover or a fighter?" and I would answer "I'm a wover!" And it's true. I'm no fighter. I avoid confrontation at all cost, and I have only ever been in one physical confrontation in my entire life and it was a short hair pulling cat fight with a neighbor girl. I have no idea now why it happened, and I certainly didn't start it, but she grabbed onto my hair and started yanking, so I grabbed hers.

My husband on the other hand is a fighter. Not that he goes looking for a fight, but he isn't afraid of confrontation and doesn't back down when challenged. And as a kid, he was certainly more aggressive than I was.

As parents, we've disagreed at times on what road our children should take. As the mom and primary caregiver though, I've had more time with the kids and have really tried to stress to them the importance or being kind and loving and never hurting anyone. Usually if one of these talks is taking place while Josh is home, he will chime in with something like "but don't ever let anyone push you around!"

On Thursday James came home from school and after asking how school was and talking about what he and his friend Preston had done that afternoon he casually told me about how he had cried twice at school that day. Once was for getting in trouble for going to the bathroom too many times, but after he explained to the teacher that he was having a hard time going he said she wasn't mad anymore. And the second time was because Frank punched him in the face, kicked him, pushed him up against the wall, and then tried to push his head in the toilet.

I was stunned. I asked him to tell me again what happened just to make sure I was hearing him right. He also mentioned that his friend William was with him and Frank had kicked him in the privates, and then he showed me the red mark on his back where it had been scraped when pushed against the wall.

My 8 year old son got beat up in the bathroom at school. How does that happen? I couldn't believe I was hearing this from him and that the teacher hadn't notified me immediately. I questioned him further about whether or not he had told anyone about it and he informed me that he had in fact told his teacher and that she had made Frank apologize. And then he said "he didn't even have to loose his star mom."

Now I was really in shock. Not only did my son get beat up, but the kid that did it didn't even get in trouble. I decided that I would send his teacher an email right away. A few minutes later my husband called though and his response was "we're going to the school tomorrow and talking to the principle! His fight response had been triggered in a big way.

That night as we were tucking James in bed and talking to him about what had happened I asked him "did you push him back?" and he perked right up and said in a proud voice "No, I didn't!" I had been teaching him his whole life that it wasn't OK to fight and he had no idea that it was OK to fight back if someone was hurting him. He thought I would be mad at him if he did.

The next day my husband left work early and marched himself down to the school (I was with Laila at a doctor's appointment) The principle wasn't there so he sat down with the teacher and James and made it very clear that what happened was not acceptable and the way it was handled was ridiculous. His teacher apologized profusely and admitted that this boy has had several problems already, and that further action would be taken. I do need to note that I love his teacher! She has been so good for him this year and I still think very highly of her. The meeting ended on a very friendly note and she promised that they would not let Frank go to the bathroom with other groups of kids anymore and that a report would be written up and sent to his parents.

I was still replaying all the events of the last two days in my head later that day and how if I hadn't been so sure of my way that maybe my son would have been able to defend himself.

And then it hit me. What if this was not a case of a bully in the bathroom at school? What if someone was trying to do something much worse to him and he didn't know it was OK to hit and kick and bite and do whatever it takes to get away?

I felt sick. How could I have failed my children so miserably? And then I was completely overwhelmed with gratitude that nothing worse had happened, and that now he knows. They all know.

Let's Not play Memory

( mom guilt makes me do crazy things, like agreeing to take the whole neighborhood to the mall)

I have a really awful memory. My husband can tell you the names of every teacher he had in elementary school and then all of the home room teachers he had in junior high and high school. I can only remember the name of my third grade teacher Mrs. York, and that's only because she was so horrible.

I don't remember what I made for dinner last week, or any ones name until it's been repeated at least five times. I have to constantly look up math videos on You Tube so I can help my 9 year old daughter with her math homework, partly because I was never good at math, and mostly because I cannot for the life of me remember how to do long division.

What I do remember, in crystal clear detail, is the time my son almost drowned right in front of me because I wasn't paying attention.

I remember my daughter Samm saying "mom, look at James!" and seeing him struggling under the water. I can even remember the sound of his gasping breath as I brought him up out of the water. For days after I would feel absolutely sick every time I thought about it and all of the "what if's." Especially, the what if Samm hadn't seen him.

I don't think about it that often anymore, but when I do, I remember it all. Fortunately time has lessened the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, but it hasn't erased the guilt. I was busy talking instead of being the one who makes sure my children are safely tucked in bed at the end of the day. I wasn't doing my job, and even though I was incredibly blessed that my son is OK, my punishment is that I can't forget.

Now I have a new image burning in my mind. One I want to forget but can't.

Two days ago, I took all the kids with me to take some one year pictures of my little Laila. It was a horrible day and I was grumpy and snappy and irritated that Laila was not cooperating very well. (You can see those pictures Here if you really want to, and read more about my day) And then she fell. It was my fault for letting her sit on a bench that was too high and then asking my four year old Macy to hop off just as I walked away for a second.

Watching her fall forward and knowing I couldn't catch her was horrible, but watching her face bounce as it hit the ground and then feeling her whole body shake while she screamed in pain, was gut wrenching.

I wanted to start screaming myself. I wanted to take away her pain more than anything. Every time she whimpered and every time I had to wipe a little blood away from her nose, tore at my heart. And it's not something I will be able to forget anytime soon.

Sometimes, I think the hardest part about being a mom, isn't the diapers, and the lunches, and the fighting over toys. It's not being able to save them from every fall, every tear, every heartache. It's having to watch them experience life. 

And right now, as horrible as some of those moments are, I'm grateful for the opportunity they give me to hug my kids a little bit longer and soak in every ounce of how lucky I am to be their mom.

 

Clothing is Always an Option

I was just about to start complaining today about how hot and miserable I am when I remembered that last year at this time I was 8 months pregnant...I have nothing to complain about any more! 

Except maybe for the fact that instead of relaxing at the lake I'm spending all my time sewing hundreds of beads onto a dress that my oldest daughter Samm is only going to wear for 10 minutes. That's what moms do though right? And some day, when she's all grown up and finds herself spending hours on end sewing beads onto a dress for her own daughter, she will realize just how much she is loved.

So, until next week when we can get to the lake, we are surviving the heat with a clothing optional policy.

Don't worry, I choose to keep mine on... Mostly!

Winners and a serious plea for help!

Oops. So the day sort of got away from me. But, it is still Monday so I still have time to announce the winners of our little Valentine's day giveaway. First of all, Congratulations to Michelle Bagwell for being the first commenter and automatic winner. And Congratulations to Andrea, my husband randomly chose you as the second winner. I will be contacting you both shortly to get your mailing info and you can look forward to your trays and chocolate very soon!

But wait, there's more...that's my favorite part of infomercials! Since there was only 7 of you who thought these little heart trays were as cute as I did, and since they are only $1.99 each, I'm going to give one to everyone else also! If you still want one, just email me at {askthebestme@gmail.com} with your mailing address in the next 3 days and I will be happy to send one your way.

OK, here is where I need some serious help. My 9 year old daughter rips holes in the knees of her pants faster than I can buy them for her and I am tired of it. My son gets holes in his knees as well, but not nearly as fast. I generally buy her jeans at Old Navy because they are cheap, but I'm thinking that this is one of those cases of you get what you pay for. The last few pairs have felt so thin that I knew they weren't going to last very long. So, where do you buy your children jeans, and are they sturdy enough to withstand a girl who for some reason cannot help but crawl around on her hands and knees?

What Would You Do?

I have so many things that I have wanted to post over the last couple of weeks, but if I even had five minutes to myself it seems like there have always been twenty other things more important to be done.

Two weeks ago Laila woke up. She went from sleepy peaceful newborn to gassy crying baby. This isn't the first time I've had this happen, so I knew right away that she probably had a hard time digesting milk protein. My other two girls were the exact same and both of them ended up on soy formula pretty quickly. I really want to keep nursing her though, which is surprising because I don't actually love nursing, so I've given up any food that contains milk, cheese, butter, or chocolate. As it turns out, that eliminates about 90% of what I eat every day. It has been pretty hard to adjust my apparently awful eating habits, but this new healthier diet has helped me to loose weight faster so that is one plus.

So the problem is, while cutting out dairy has certainly helped, it hasn't completely solved all the gas/crying/not sleeping. Laila is serious about eating and when she does eat she sucks hard and swallows a ton of air with it. I've tried nursing her in different positions, I only feed her on one side at a time, I burp her constantly, given her gas drops, and most recently tried Gripe Water. All of it combined helps a little, but she still has so much air in her stomach that I could burp her ten times and she would still wake up crying because there was one more bubble.

Are you sensing the real problem yet? She won't stay asleep! She lasts for all of 15 seconds after I lay her day, screams in her car seat and I've given up hope for the swing, which means that I spend all day nursing, then burping, then bouncing her in my arms while she tries to squirm herself awake.

If I had no other children and a cleaning lady, then maybe I could just sit and hold my baby all day long and not feel like life has been sucked out of me, but I have a three year old who still demands a huge portion of my attention each day and my house looks like the kids have taken over. I'm not only exhausted physically from lack of sleep, but mentally as well. And I've started to really cherish the moments when she is not in my arms instead of the other way around.

I'm sure you can guess from the picture what I ended up doing. In desperation I laid her on her stomach to sleep. She still squirms and grunts constantly, but she doesn't wake herself up anymore.

Then, I left the pediatritions office yesterday with a paper saying "Babies should ALWAYS sleep on their backs. Yes, we know they sleep better on their stomachs, but there is absolutely no exception."

I've been worrying all day and checking on her every five minutes to make sure she is still breathing, and the whole time one side of my head is saying "This is bad. Very bad!" And the other side is saying "This is the only way."

What would you do?

Why do we do this to ourselves?

I'm 13 weeks pregnant. The point where most mom-to-be's say "I'm so glad I'm finally feeling better" and I'm saying "Oh please don't let this misery last as long as last time!"  You see, I get super duper when-will-this-end sick when I'm pregnant. According to my dad I have him to blame for my weak stomach. But that's beside the point. The point is it's no fun, and that's why I've been MIA for the last couple of months.

Right now my house is a permanent disaster. It's hard enough some days to get me and the girls dressed let alone fed and taken care of so the house is sort of last on my list. I hate it. I want it to be clean so badly but I just can't keep up. I shower more like every other day because I'm too tired and weak to stand up that long at a time. The clean laundry can easily sit in the basket waiting to be put away for days and days. The bathroom? Don't even ask.

So you can see why from time to time (usually while bent over the toilet) the words come into my head "why did I do this to myself? Willingly!" It's hard sometimes to remember the end result. But there is an end result. There is a beautiful, hopefully healthy, sweet, innocent baby waiting for me at the end of my self imposed 9 months of misery. And it is SO worth it. There is nothing more miraculous than bringing a baby into the world. I wouldn't trade my chance at motherhood for being able to pee standing up in a million years! Being a woman is a truly special gift.

I can't promise I'll be back on a regular basis yet but I'm trying. My good days are starting to come around a little more often and I'm looking forward to getting back on the blogging train. Thanks for hanging in there with us while we both are working on the new additions in our families!

Doctor Knows Best?

When I lived in Denver I had an amazing pediatrician. I loved him. The first time I saw him after Ava was born he had weighed her to see if she'd gained weight from birth and he said to me "Well, we know momma's factory is working good!" I knew right then that I loved him.

Eight months later when we moved west I had to start all over again. At first I thought the group of doctors I had found were okay. But the more often I went and the more invasive they became the less and less I liked them. They started asking so many questions that I felt like were none of their business and I found myself feeling like I needed to lie to them (like I was afraid they'd call child services on me if I answered wrong). Okay, not that bad, I knew they wouldn't call child services but I didn't like it.  My dislike of them was confirmed when my sister-in-law told me of her experience with one of the doctors dropping the pants on her 5 year old son without so much as a "hey, is it okay if we do this now?" or anything. Just yanked 'em down. Poor kid.

So here's my dilemma. Do you lie to your doctor too? Is it just me? Does anyone think there is a legitimate reason they ask the questions they do and that I should be totally honest about the fact that no, I don't put sunscreen on my child every time we walk out the door. (Sorry but the only time my kids wear sunscreen is if we will be outside for an extended period of time.) By the way, last time I was there I did give them a totally honest answer about the sunscreen and they were not happy with me. This is why I lie, to avoid the unnecessary discussion about why it's important, blah blah blah. 

I'm tempted to just say "sorry, but I don't think that's any of your business" and see what happens. Would you?

How I Became A Mom {Part 2}

This is the story of how I came to be a mom. To read Part 1 go HERE.

Our break didn't last long. The strong desire to have a baby would not let me rest. After 1 month we decided to go ahead and start planning for invitro fertilization. There is a lot that goes into the IVF and for me to sit here and explain it all would seriously put you to sleep. It's a long process. Needless to say I was getting shots in my stomach everyday up until the actually IVF took place and then had to have a shot in my butt every day for several weeks after. Fortunately I have a husband who was more than happy to be the shot giver!

I had to wait 12 days after the procedure took place before they could do a blood test to determine if I was pregnant or not. It was torture! All those months of being let down had me so screwed up I couldn't even get excited about it. I knew why I didn't get my hopes up. It was because I couldn't get excited about something I was doubting would even happen. My pessimism was justified when the day before the test was to take place I started spotting. I was at work and, again, in the bathroom on the floor crying. When I was finally able to get myself under control I asked my Boss if I could leave early. He was very supportive and sent me on my way (but not before telling me that he and his wife had been praying for me!)

My mind immediately jumped to the next step. Adoption. I had already been thinking about it for a while and knew that if the IVF didn't work I wanted to get started right away. The next morning however I woke up, no longer spotting, and with a little ray of hope headed for the doctor to give more blood. (I'm sure I didn't mention this before but there is a LOT of blood given when going through infertility!)

The 7 or so hours I had to wait until they were going to call were the longest hours of my life. Literally. The day dragged on FOR.EV.ER! In the interest of saving myself as much pain as possible I asked the doctor's office to please call my husband with the news instead of me. If it was bad news I wanted him to tell me, not the doctor. If it was good news it would be even sweeter coming from him.

A storm blew in that day and by 4:00 our office decided to close down and send everyone home. I was in my car (I can seriously still remember EXACTLY where I was on the road) when my phone rang and it was him. He told me that there had been an accident on the road and traffic was bad. Here is how our conversation went. (almost word for word)

Him: "I guess there was an accident so the traffic is really bad."

Me: " I know. I'm already on my way home. (my boss) let us go early."

Him: "Guess what?"

Me: "What?"

Him: "You're pregnant!"

Me: I have no idea what I said after that because I was basically in hysterics! After almost 3 years exactly I was finally going to have a baby!! He told me he had planned on waiting until we were home but when he called to tell me about the traffic he just couldn't wait. The relief, joy, and happiness that swelled inside me at that moment are immeasurable.

Although I was finally pregnant my story doesn't end there. It was a miserable pregnancy. I mean puking my guts out everyday for the first 20 weeks and after finally getting a medicine that worked I was only nauseous for the next 20 weeks instead of throwing up all the time. I endured it all as well as I could just knowing what was on the other end waiting for me.

Imagine my surprise though when at my 30 week appointment my doctor started talking about how the baby is breech and she should be turned by week 36. At 32 weeks she was still breech and at 34 weeks we started talking options. The first thing he mentioned is that they have a procedure where they actually turn the baby from the outside, however there are dangers involved. My gut instinct was that we should not try to turn her and I was surprised when my husband said his gut was saying the same thing. Even though the doc told me she could still turn all the way up to even 38 weeks (sometimes they turn even later!) I knew deep down she was not going to turn and it would be a c-section. Which in the end was no big deal but at the time I was devastated. I had my heart set on a natural delivery. But again, I had my baby so who was I to complain, right?

She was born a healthy, beautiful baby girl and for the first three days life was bliss.

After that things went downhill. See, we didn't get along too well right from the start (not counting the first three days!). We didn't do the nursing thing well, she cried, I cried, and it was just not fun. I know, I know! Who said having a baby is supposed to be all fun?

The reason I include this in my story is because becoming a mom for me didn't end at having a baby. It's been a long journey and it will probably continue to be a long journey. My sweet baby and I didn't have the connection that most moms have with their new babies and it was extremely difficult for us. I had to (and continue to have to) work every day to make our relationship a good one. To make it the one I want it to be. And it's working. Every day we grow closer. And I'm thankful for that. And for her. And I know now why I had to go through everything I did. It was to make me appreciate her more. To be able to look at those tough times and say "you asked for it!" And if I knew then what I know now I would still do it all over again. Because it was worth it.

And 9 months later.....

Surprise!! Baby #2 was on the way! No help needed this time folks!

9 months after that I gave birth to my second baby girl.

I hope my journey isn't over yet. I still stand by what I always said as a little girl. I want to be a mom. Sure sometimes it's tough and sometimes I lose my temper but at least I'm trying. I'm doing what I always wanted to do and I'm trying to do it to the best of my ability.

I hope you enjoyed reading my story. It was an emotional journey for me just to write it and relive all that I felt before. The issue of infertility is very close to my heart and I hope that by sharing my story I will be able to help someone else with theirs. If you or anyone you know would like to talk to someone about fertility please contact me at askthebestme(at)gmail(dot)com! I would love to talk. Also, though my story didn't extend to adoption I know several people who's story has. Go HERE to read Kate's story about adoption.

How I Became A Mom {Part 1}

Motherhood comes in many different ways. This is my story.

2:43 am

"MOOOOM!!

I jump out of bed quickly because instinct forces me to. I carefully feel my way through the dark and into her room to find out what she needs.

"I need to go potty."

We take care of business and I tuck her back into bed. I give her a kiss on the forehead and leave the room.

3:29 am

"Momma! Mommy!!"

Have I even gone back to sleep? I glance at the clock to see what time it is. I again feel my way through the dark. I go to her bedside and kneel down to ask what she needs. I get no response. She only groans and tosses around. Nightmare I think to myself. I rub her head hoping to soothe her subconscious. When I'm satisfied she's sleeping soundly again I go back to bed. I lay there in the dark willing myself to go back to sleep as quickly as possible.

6:06 am

"MOM!"

I open my eyes and see that it's light. Is this really my wake-up call already? My eyes do not want to stay open and I have to force myself out of bed. I get her and her sister out of bed and lead them down the stairs. I get them a bowl of cereal and turn on the TV hoping against hope it will buy me and extra 20 minutes of sleep. I lie down on the couch and close my eyes. As I drift off to sleep I can't help but think "If only I knew then what I know now....."

As a child whenever I was asked the age old question "what do you want to be when you grow up?" my answer was always the same. "A mommy," I would reply. If you had asked me at age 5, 12, 17, or 20 my answer would have still been the same. It had always been my goal in life to become a mom. Yet there I was after more than two years of trying still dragging my feet about seeing a specialist. I had always used money as my excuse, but that's all it was. An excuse. The truth is I was scared. It had been two very long, tear-filled years. I was depressed, angry {at myself and God}, and hurt. It was as though I was on a cliff just waiting for something to push me over. I was afraid that seeing a specialist might just be the thing that sent me over the edge. What if he told me something was wrong with me? Or with my husband. What if he told me I would never be able to get pregnant? These were the thoughts and questions that kept me from going. It had been my fear all along; that something was "wrong" with me.

I'm not sure what it was that finally made me go. Probably my mom making me me fess up that money wasn't really the issue. {Although it is a very real concern for anyone going through fertility issues. I was very lucky to find out that I had excellent insurance that would pay for almost all of my bills.} Whatever it was, I finally went. I loved my doctor immediately. {I would have highly recommended him to anyone in the Denver area but he has since retired.} He was warm, friendly, and very encouraging. I had worried that he might tell me not to worry yet. That I had come to soon and I should wait a little longer. Two years had already felt like an eternity so I did not want to hear anything even close to "come back later." I had no reason to worry. In fact, her surprised me by saying he wished I had come sooner. He told me specifically that someone my age who is in good health should have no problem conceiving and he would have seen me after only 9 months. {I mention this for anyone who might be struggling with this right now. Do not wait. My family doctor told me it was "normal" and that I should keep trying before I went to see someone. But deep down I knew something was wrong. I should have listened to my inner voice. So my advice to anyone who is struggling is do not wait.}

For the first time in a long time I felt hopeful. It was a relief to be there and I felt my spirits lifting. We started by discussing the possibility of endometriosis. It was a very real possibility considering I had most of the symptoms associated with it not to mention a known cyst on one of my ovaries. We scheduled a surgery to remove the cyst and endometriosis and my doctor sincerely believed that once this was done I would have no problem getting pregnant. He asked me to give it three more "cycles" after the surgery before we moved on to fertility drugs because he was optimistic that I would not need to use them.

After the first cycle came and went I was disappointed. After the second my disappointment grew stronger. When cycle number three came and went I remember I sat down on the floor of the bathroom at work and cried. Hard. It felt as though my heart had been ripped from my chest and I could barely breath. I cried every last tear my body could produce and I wished so badly that my husband was there with me. I needed him to hold me and comfort me and give me the support and sympathy I desperately needed. Instead I had to endure the suffering all alone on the bathroom floor.

When you go through disappointment after disappointment it's hard to let yourself get your hopes up again. I made a special effort to keep my emotions in check because if I got too excited it only made it harder when things didn't work out. Unfortunately when you have a doctor and nurses telling you "you'll have no problem getting pregnant with this" all the time it made it a little hard. I confess I did get very excited when we moved on to Chlomid and an IUI. I wrote in my journal after the first IUI "it seems impossible for me not to get pregnant!" I mentally prepared myself that it would take more than one try so after the first cycle I wasn't too disappointed when I found out I wasn't pregnant. After the second it got harder. I was feeling very depressed again and sometime during these few months I started pulling away from God and my husband. I was bitter and upset and it was easier to be detached. I kept a pretty detailed journal through all of this but after the third cycle of Chlomid I stopped writing almost completely. It was too hard to even write about anymore. After the fourth I wrote "the next step is to do the IVF but we aren't ready for that. I feel like it would be better to hold off for a month or two so I can heal my mentally broken down state before we move on." It had been 2 years and 10 months and I needed a break. I was falling apart.

**Be sure to come back Friday to read my happily ever after. **