Wouldn't I?

Dear children,

There are certain things you should never say to your mother.

Yesterday, we learned that one of these things is: "YOU WOULDN'T DARE!!!" when your Mother threatened consequences for your slovenly habits.

You learned that Mom does dare. She dares to take away your favorite clothing, pack away all your toys that were strewn about the floor, unplug the Wii, change your passwords on the computer accounts, and give you each one bowl of dry cereal and a cup of water for dinner.

Oh, yes, children: Mother dares.

What lesson would you like to learn today?

Love, Mom

hand and soul

eden :: delight

my hands
brown, dried out, cracking and weather-worn

your hands
white, smooth, pure
open palms learning to reach and grasp with meaning & intention

my soul
broken and repaired, scratched and healed, happy yet weary

your soul
innocent, pure, unscathed
open heart learning to reach with love & hope

together
two hands united in loving touch, gripping one another, simultaneously soothing
two souls lifting each other to a higher, better place

Fallin' to Pieces

My friend Karen--who is much more than a friend: a role model, a support, a rock--records a new song every week and shares it on her blog every Monday.

This week, when I'm feeling stretched in too many directions and worn thin, her song choice was very appreciated. Music can be so therapeutic.

Breakeven

Thanks, Kaz.

Days like today

I could give you two dozen reasons why I ought to be annoyed, unhappy, frustrated, depressed and generally giving up.

Some days are like that.

But there is one reason why I can't give in to the bitter feelings that are knocking on the door: I want to be happy and if I don't choose it, it won't happen.

So today we choose to switch into survival mode and breathe deeply and laugh, laugh, laugh at how life can be.

Location, location, location

The week Eden was born, my husband received an email from a fabulous company, inviting him to interview with them. Unfortunately, although the company is considered one of the best in the world to work for, they don't have any offices nearby. It really got me thinking about life, especially about convenience vs. deliberate action.

My life right now is very convenient. It's comfortable. Is that a good thing? Or am I missing out on personal growth by sticking with the status quo? I feel like the time for adventure and relocating is probably pre-children. Especially pre-grade school.

My oldest son overheard us talking about what life would be like in southern California or Silicon Valley or Seattle or Colorado and was not happy. He has made it very, very clear that he doesn't want to move anywhere. He is comfortable. Life is good for him. He has friends and just got accepted into a great new school program for 3rd grade. Would it be selfish to take him away from that? Would it make his anxieties and worries (which are already an enormous burden for someone so young) unbearable?

...or....

Would it be like "coming home" when we never knew what we were missing? Would it be like finding that comfortable little niche of the world that makes our hearts feel happy? As much as I love the convenience and comfort of my life in Utah, I don't really love my area itself. Our "main street" is a stretch of one-story, grey cinder-block buildings with enormously ugly marquees in front with large power lines overhead and no greenery in sight. Ugh. It would be nice to live in a city that was planned out and had great character.

It's too much for me to think about. I have a newborn baby that won't let me sleep until midnight and three crazy, wild boys who are awake at 6:15 a.m. every morning. Life is so tiring right now and I am NOT thriving.

...but would I thrive somewhere else? Or just drown completely?

Life is confusing.

Cherished Moments of Youth. (Ha. Ha.)

Ahh those moments of youth, so cherished, so remembered. Those mistakes that we look back on fondly and chuckle over--moments of mortification turned humorous anecdote.

Like the time I put on lightweight khaki pants that were a wee bit snug and, when I heard an ominous stretching sound and looked in the mirror to see if they'd torn, saw only a slightly worn seam but no tear. So I kept wearing them for hours. Went to the store. Saw family. Then at night took them off, turned them over to inspect and discovered a ripped seam that was many (many) inches long. I had been wearing pants torn open and exposing my undies to the world for hours.

So humorous.

Or at least it will be someday. Not today. Because that happened yesterday.

But yes, someday I'll have a good, long chuckle about my struggles to fit back into normal clothes after my most difficult pregnancy. Some days I feel so young, so childish, so unpolished. Still so much to learn.

Ha ha?

Words words words

Words are wonderful things. Tonight I am not "sad" but woebegone, lugubrious and melancholy.

By definition, these words are synonyms, yet each word tastes slightly different on the tongue. Of all the flavors of sadness, tonight belongs to melancholy. I am not depressed. Nor am I despondent. I am melancholy. You can throw in a touch of somber and a hint of glum. Stir them together and you can taste the exact flavor of my mood.

I spent far too many hours reading the cheapest kinds of words while I was on bed rest recently. Cheap words are flat, lifeless ... like stale white bread, they have no flavor or substance. I like words that cost me a moment's hesitation--processing, feeling, understanding the subtle implications of why that particular word may have been chosen.

I love old, boring, slow-moving novels because they spend more time feeding my soul than stuffing the greedy tastebuds of a bored mind. I couldn't help myself when I was on bed rest--my brain took a 10-week vacation and refused to process anything but the simplest of words, so I read the simplest of books.

Yesterday morning, I sat staring through the light and dark contrast of my window blinds, wondering if I would ever rediscover my love of literature after feeding myself on the sugar and spice of young adventure novels. I thought sadly that perhaps there are times in life when we discover we have simply changed and lost a taste for what we previously valued. I thought perhaps I'd never truly enjoy E. M. Forster or Charles Dickens ever again.

Then, as I sat brainlessly scanning the saved programs on my DVR a few hours later, I settled on a recording of Hamlet that my husband had recorded. It was brilliant. Beautiful. Emotional. The flow of Shakespeare's words filled me up and awakened something that had been lying dormant.

I feel as if I'm coming home to myself after months of mental drudgery and cognitive coma. And even if I'm feeling mournful and melancholy right now, it feels good to be able to express it with just the right words.

The Momifier

Fell asleep after a couple hours of baby tears. Realized this little easy-to-soothe baby is actually an easy-for-MOM-to-soothe baby. She refuses to be soothed or fed by her father, which we figured out after I tried to go to bed early to catch up on some lost sleep. Around midnight, I realized in tears that this little girl will accept no substitute for the Momifier. (See, it's like Mom + Pacifier....)

I'm half flattered to finally have a child who is a real Mama's Girl and half terrified that I will never leave the house alone ever again.

Woke up this morning to the sound of Elijah throwing up in the bathroom. Second time this week. No symptoms of illness other than a first-thing-in-the-morning vomit. Huh.

So has it been a bad day? Baby getting more difficult to soothe and a barfing five-year-old?

Nope.

Someone near and dear to me underwent surgery today in a crucial step in the process of in-vitro fertilization. As I read about all the shots and medicine and doctor's visits and expenses, I cried for her. Parenting is so hard--even before you are a parent, for some people. Pregnancy is so hard--even before you are pregnant, for some people.

I want to get in the car and drive away from here to be with this person, just so I can buy her flowers and show up on her doorstep with a great big, tangible symbol of my love. But I can't, so I sit here and send text messages and positive vibes. And I hug my slightly-more-temperamental-than-before baby and feel grateful for all the goodness of life, especially the hope that the IVF will work and there will be another new baby to love sometime next year.

Baby Love

~ My new baby, Eden, arrived a couple weeks ago on a date that was void of mathematical poetry or numerical beauty. The day was, however, one of the most beautiful days of my life. ~

Watching my husband's car pull out of the driveway into the rain. My emotions flood me.

I'm not ready for this. Just me and four children. Four children. Four.

And now my husband is pulling away from the house, leaving just me and my surgery incision to care for the kids. I'm not sure which is flowing faster--the raindrops outside or my tears inside. The decision to become a parent is always a scary one, one which overwhelms me and turns my world upside down.

So I guess you could say the whole nurturing and mothering thing has never come to me automatically. It's an acquired skill. I adore my family with all my heart and I am--finally--really, truly happy to be a stay-at-home Mom with ambitions that swirl all around raising a happy family. Amazing that I've finally gotten there, left previous ambitions along the roadside and winked at the possibilities of other ambitions that are waiting down the road. Right here on the journey, I am happy.

I'll tell you a secret: happiness is not always independent of being really, really scared and overwhelmed. Happiness does not preclude being totally freaked out.

I have learned for myself that we are sometimes closest to God when we are in way over our heads. And we cannot grow spiritually bigger unless we are stretched. And I am happier when I am growing and becoming a better person. That doesn't mean the process is comfortable, though. It hurts.

So right now I'm home alone with my kids for the first time since baby arrived a couple weeks ago. It's finally hitting me that a year ago I was really THRIVING in my life. And now I'm back to SURVIVING. It's really painful to realize the full impact of what that means--the sacrifices, the family upheaval, the emotional ups and downs. It's pretty heavy.

It's pretty exciting, too. And miraculous. And it's taking all my willpower to not run into the bedroom to go stare at my new little baby, Eden. She's a delight. A heaven on earth. I cry every day as I stare down into her innocent face.

In the middle of the night, I awoke to her hungry cry and thought, "I cannot sit up. I cannot feed her. Too tired. Too hard. I can't do it." Of course, I did it. And then my husband swaddled her up to go back to her bed and I should have been grateful to get back to sleep, but I asked him to hand her to me. Just to say goodnight one more time. And I couldn't let go. We just stared at each other. I smiled at her inquisitive eyes and tiny, pursed lips. She stared at me and I told myself she's liking what she sees. I hope that's true.

So that's the story of my new life. My old life is buried behind months of bed rest and sleep deprivation and pregnancy blah. I haven't been Juliana for a long time, now. It hurts to miss the old me that had freedom to go shopping without kids or visit friends or do paper-crafting or, of course, blog more regularly. Now those things are the precious little bits that I have to fit into a world of baby chaos.

And somehow, as I type this, it's okay. It's okay to be overwhelmed by my crazy life and it's okay to feel inadequate--that's all part of the process.

Four kids. Wow. I'm taking a deep breath. Here we go.

The Wrong Reason

There are good, healthy, normal reasons to want to deliver your baby. Things like going into labor. That would be a perfectly rational reason to say, "Gosh I hope the baby comes soon."

Then there is me. My other children have birthdays that are, for lack of a better phrase, mathematically beautiful. The numbers all line up with numerical harmony oozing out of them. They almost bring a tear to my eye.

I was hoping this baby would come on 04/14/10 because it has a beautiful rhythm to it when you say the numbers in procession. No luck (and all for the best.) With time running out, I am trying to find more dates filled with mathematical poetry. 04/26 would be acceptable. I'm sure you know where I'm going with this because you're all as OCD about numbers as I am, right? Of course right. 0+4+2=6. Voila! Not too bad. We can make an equation out of it. Just disregard the year.

On the same note, 04/31 would also be acceptable since 4=3+1. 04/28 is acceptable since 4x2=8. I wonder if 427 or 429 are prime? It wouldn't be much, but it would be okay.

05/05 would make me cry geeky tears of joy since we could add the year into the equation: 5+5=10. How marvelous!

But there is one number that is inescapably beautiful: 04/24/10. It just sounds nice with the repeating four. Zero-four-two-four. Nice! But this birth date can also be an equation (including the year!) because 0+4+2+4=10! Doesn't it make you want to just stare at those numbers all day? (If you're not sensing a large dose of self-mockery, please ... please ... please readjust your expectations of this blog.)

However, that's only a day away and the chances are that my numerically poetic day won't be The Day. But I can still wish and hope. It's completely the wrong reason to wish myself into labor, but I challenge any of you to sit around on bed rest for nearly 10 weeks without your brain doing funny things to you. Perhaps this proof of mental boredom alone is a good reason to wish this baby here sooner rather than later.

Remembering

I think I forgot a lot of things this week. I am grateful to be pregnant, but I think I forgot exactly how miraculous it is for me. It happened naturally and exactly when I wanted it to happen. That's never happened before. I was incredulous and excited and nervous and shocked when I saw that positive result. I was sure that it wasn't real. I was certain I was going to miscarry. It was too good to be true.


But it was true. It's still sinking in because it is so surreal.


And then there's the whole issue of gender. I mean, I really wanted a girl. I said it didn't matter... but it did. I have always known #4 was the end of the pregnancy road for me and I really, really hoped I'd finally have a girl. It was my last chance. The first time the ultrasound tech said it was a girl, I was ecstatic ... but wary. When I had an ultrasound a few weeks later, I asked, "Is it still a girl?" I still couldn't believe it.


This whole process has been a gift from heaven. Like manna... a miracle.


And then I got miserable. And ungrateful. And took it all for granted. And just wanted to be done with pregnancy so I could see this child and hold her in my arms instead of my abdomen. I spent an emotional week cursing everybody in sight for how miserable I felt.


Then four things happened that eventually, slowly, progressively broke down my ingratitude and helped me find my happy place again.


(1) My husband reminded me that things happen for a reason. He reminded me that maybe the obstetrician wasn't trying to ruin my life but may actually be inspired to let my pregnancy last a little longer. (I cringe to actually talk about religion on my blog because I don't want to open this space up to anti-religious sentiment in the comment section, but that's a fear I need to get over. My religion is an integral part of who I am and I hope people can respect that.)


When he said that, I was still feeling hurt and angry about how my OB had treated me earlier in the day but it resonated true and I admitted that to myself ... if not to my husband.


(2) My nurse, who is coincidentally a neighbor and co-religionist and somebody I now consider a friend, sympathized with how miserable I was and told me she'd experienced some similar feelings. Then she said quietly, "I just needed to remember who was in control and let Him handle it." I cried because I clearly wasn't feeling all faithful and close to God and willing to let Him be in control.


I WANTED CONTROL. And I was in tears because my OB had just taken it away from me.


Again, her words resonated true, not only on a religious level but on a "Hey, Juliana--remember how you have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and worry too much about everything? Why not be all c'est la vie and Qué será, será and Let it Be?" I needed to just let go and find trust.


(3) I started to think about what my obstetrician had said to me (cruelly and insensitively as it seemed to be phrased.) "You're just driving yourself crazy and you need to be ecstatic about going to 39 weeks." I was so mad. I am not choosing anxiety attacks and unhappiness.


Right?


Well, yes and no. I can't control my anxiety level right now very well. It's a physical thing for me that is a part of my genetic makeup. I can keep it well reigned-in when I'm not pregnant with exercise or, if it gets bad, medication. Both are out of the picture right now so my coping strategies are very limited.


But on the other hand, yes. I'm a grown adult and I can take deep breaths and at least cope better than I have been coping. I can't make it go away, but I can at least limit how much it influences me.


That's one thing I do have control over.


(4) Most importantly, fate gave me the spiritual guidance I needed in the form of this week's Gospel Doctrine lesson. Since I haven't been to church in two months, I've been trying to stay current on our Old Testament study from home. This was the perfect lesson for me this week.


After being freed from slavery (not a minor blessing--a major one), the Israelites were starving. So they were sent manna--a gift straight from heaven. Again, not a minor blessing. A major one. (You know, not starving.) After eating this nonstop, however, the people grew tired of it. They wanted something more. They started lusting after a change of meal plans. I can't blame them. Honestly. I think I'd probably go a little crazy, too. I probably relate well since I haven't cooked my own meal in two months and I am lusting for my own style of food a little bit, too.


The Lord was displeased. It reminds me of a scripture in the LDS Doctrine & Covenants: "And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments." The Israelites had lost sight of the fact that they were eating MANNA FROM HEAVEN after being FREED FROM SLAVERY.


Kind of like how I am EXPECTING A BABY GIRL after being FREED FROM INFERTILITY.


You know, not a minor blessing. A major one.


And as much as I hate to imagine the wrath of God kindled against me... I had to admit, He was probably displeased with me under the circumstances. For a good reason. My attitude started to change. I stopped worrying about when things would happen. I stopped feeling sorry for myself. My Braxton-Hicks contractions started getting stronger and I realized I might get to experience some parts of the Female Experience that I'd never experienced before. Like real contractions. Or my water breaking. Or actually going into labor. Or feeling my baby settle down lower into my abdomen. Or a dozen other little things that are not usually considered "blessings" unless you're a woman who has always wondered what those last few weeks of pregnancy are like and never known. Or a woman who has actually been a little sad not to know what a real contraction feels like. (Just one or two would be fine... and THEN we can do the c-section, a'ight?)


The coming weeks are no longer this crazy, unhappy thing to be endured. They are a time of wonder and excitement, not knowing what will happen next because anything is possible. I might get pre-eclampsia and deliver tomorrow. Or I might go all the way to end without experiencing any labor pains. Or my water might break or I might actually go into labor on my own. Wouldn't THAT be strange?


And now that I've had time to process everything and digest and get a little more perspective, I'm thrilled to go to 39 weeks because it'll be a time of endless possibilities. And I'm grateful (again) for my gift from heaven.

ecstatic.

It should be illegal for an OB to tell a patient, "I won't make you go past 38 weeks" and then tell her two weeks later, "Oh, we can do an amnio before that if you want to deliver sooner" and then tell her "It'll be a real victory to get one more week out of you" and then after the week from Hades tell her, "No, no... you are going to 39 weeks unless you become toxemic." [Toxemic read as "deathly ill."]

I was up in the middle of the night with such a severe anxiety attack from my elevated blood pressure that I told my husband in tears, "I just can't do this anymore. I can't make it another week. I don't know how I can make it to tomorrow..." When I lay in bed, the room is silent except for the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. I can feel my entire body move with every thump-thump-thump. I know it is melodramatic (sorry, see previous wording about anxiety attack) but I just feel like I'm going to have a heart attack and die any moment.

I feel sick. I'm scared. The baby has the cord around the neck--but only once, so I am not supposed to worry about it. My amniotic fluid level has gone from 19 to 15 to 8 in the last few weeks. But I'm not supposed to worry about it. My blood pressure is really unstable, but instead of giving me a prescription for a BP medication, I've been told that I now have to spend most of my time in bed. Doing what? Other than having constant anxiety attacks? For weeks?

Last week, he told me I'd have an ultrasound [edit: oops, I mean amniocentesis] this week and now he says the specialist I see tomorrow "might be talked into it."

People keep telling me there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but this tunnel is evil and magical and keeps growing longer the farther I walk into it. Don't tell me "it'll be worth it" or "hang in there, it's almost over." I know that. I've done this before and it was worth it. That's why I am doing it again even though I'm pretty sure I'm going insane.

After my appointment, I decided to give in to those feelings of depression that started building, because, as I told my husband, "Depression is far preferable to anxiety at this point." Unfortunately, I've become too **** emotionally resilient in the last few years and the depression started to lift almost immediately.

I wonder if anybody has invented depressant medication. Not anti-depressant .... I need stuff that'll make me depressed because when I'm depressed, I don't care about anything. When I'm anxious, I care about everything. EVERYTHING. Last night in the middle of the night, I told my husband I was tempted to have him go find a large rock and just knock me unconscious because it was unbearable. Today the doctor told me I'm "driving myself crazy" and I need to stop it. Yeah.... I'm TRYING to have constant anxiety attacks because they're so ****** fun. He told me I need to be "ecstatic about going to 39 weeks."

What do you think? Is this blog entry ecstatic enough?

Happy Easter

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Nice People Rule/Dear Iceberg

Dear Iceberg Drive Inn,

It is refreshing to meet somebody who does customer service right. I am stuck at home 95% of the time on pregnancy bed rest, bored and frustrated. Last night, the frustration became unbearable and I decided I'd succumb to a little sugar therapy. I sent my husband out to buy me a large Iceberg shake (cookies & cream, of course) while he was running errands.

You can imagine how I waited anxiously to hear him return with the silky, sugary goodness. You can also imagine how sad I was when he came home and said, "Apparently the car before me in line was the last one before they closed for the night." He got there right at 10:00 p.m. and was one car-length too late. He offered to go find me something else, but it was 10:30 p.m. and time to give up... reluctantly.

I awoke this morning feeling chipper and optimistic... but still craving that shake. The only problem? I'm stuck at home on bed rest. Alone. I had a medical appointment at 9:00 a.m. and when I left at 10:00 a.m., I thought I'd check out the hours on your drive-thru--just in case you opened early. My hopes were not high and I felt frustrated when I couldn't find any hours posted on your front door.

Feeling embarrassed, I swung into the drive-thru anyway to see if anybody was there. Nope. Not a sound. But as I swung around the corner, I spotted a cheerful employee leaning out of the drive-thru window to talk to me. He told me they opened in 10 minutes and I was welcome to wait a little while.

"I'm not sure if I should wait," I explained. "I'm on bed rest and really need to get home as soon as I can. I'm just on my way home from an appointment..." Then I told him about my husband coming by at 10 o'clock the night before and he cheerfully and sympathetically offered to get me my food early, even though things weren't all set up yet. I placed my order and he filled it quickly.

As I drove home with the sweet taste of ice cream in my mouth, the universe turned itself right-side-up and I relaxed. Sugar therapy is dangerous, but sometimes it's worth the extra calories.

And it tastes even better when it's served up with a kind smile and thoughtful gesture from an accommodating employee.

Thank you.

Juliana

Preparing

I remember my first pregnancy. The insomnia really took me by surprise. After baby was born, somebody said, "I think the insomnia in pregnancy is God's way of preparing us for the shock of not sleeping after baby comes."

It made sense on some level and I realized that pregnancy on a whole is nature's--if not God's--or is there any difference?--way of preparing us for parenthood. The sleepless nights, the bad health, the emotional ups and downs--they're just one big reminder that your life is no longer your own. You've made the decision to lay down your life for your child and hope to some day come out of the chrysalis of parenthood as a stronger, more beautiful person. Some day.

Strangely, I didn't have insomnia while pregnant with the twins. You'd think I'd need all the preparation I could get for the transition of going from one child to three children. In retrospect, my biggest problems the year the twins were born had nothing to do with the twins. They had easy temperaments and were very forgiving, even if the logistics of feeding and diapering two newborns was overwhelming.

So what is up with the insomnia this time around? It makes my first-pregnancy insomnia seem insignificant. It was an annoyance, but this is just unbearable. I worry that this is a sign. A sign that this baby will not be mellow like the twins were. That my life is about to get its' biggest shakeup yet. That the challenges of raising three children are insignificant compared to life with four.

I can't help it. I am telling myself that God is not trying to send me a warning. Right? I mean, that would just be cruel, right? Unless... unless... unless I really need to be prepared for the maelstrom that is about to touch ground in Juliana-land. Like... a baby with Down Syndrome? A baby with severe physical limitations like, I don't know, no mouth? A baby whose personality brings new meaning to the term "a child only a mother could love"?

I think about how I already love this little child and cannot wait to gently touch my finger to her soft, newborn cheek and hold her tiny, fragile body next to my shoulder. I think about all the promises of the future--seeing her mature and become a beautiful girl, a young woman, a bride, a mother of my grandchildren. And I think I would do anything for her, whatever her limitations are. But what if those limitations immediately send those dreams crashing to earth?

I don't dwell on this often. It's just a passing thought and gives me little anxiety. But it reminds me to be grateful for everything around me now--not just the solid blessings of health and prosperity and three beautiful children that make me laugh out loud every day, but for the hopes and promises that make the future worth facing.

The skies are blue and it's going to be a beautiful day.

One Perfect Day

Have you noticed that today is a perfect, beautiful day?

I noticed when I drove AWAY from my house for my doctor's appointment. I noticed it when I saw the blue skies and the silky, white clouds and smelled the clean air. I noticed it when the air around me was just the right temperature--not hot, not cold.

I noticed when I laughed with the nurses and told them how grateful I was to be out of the house. I noticed when the doctor waited patiently for my questions and gave me all the answers I wanted. I noticed when he said I won't go past 38 weeks (hooray!) and I realized that's less than two months away!

I noticed how today is perfect when I asked my OB if I could go to Sunday dinner at my Mom's house this week and he said YES! (He hesitated only slightly before answering.) I noticed again when I asked if he'll let me go for a car ride once a week and he said YES! I noticed when I told him my frustrations of how random things seem to make my blood pressure go up and he said reassuringly "that's just the nature of the disease" and to just keep doing my best.

I noticed when I had an ultrasound done right after my appointment with the obstetrician and I was startled to see a little, blurry face peeking at me from inside the womb. A face! Eyes, nose, beautiful little lips... and little fists curled up next to that beautiful face. I noticed when I felt her suddenly kicking me and then saw the little legs moving on the screen. Perfection!

I noticed when they measured her and all the measurements were exactly on track for my due date.

I noticed how beautiful today is as I walked the few feet into the hospital for my non-stress test and saw that beautiful blue sky again. I noticed my legs moving and working and I thought, "Hey, some day I'll be able to exercise again and I won't feel like a cripple my whole life." Optimism made the day beautiful.

I noticed how beautiful life is when I laid down in labor and delivery and my baby's heart rate was great and my blood pressure went way down as I laid in the hospital bed--no cares, no responsibility and in the exact place I want to be if anything is going wrong.

I noticed my beautiful nurse's smile and happiness and then an image flitted through my head and I could see her face with red, swollen eyes. I remembered that dreadful night before the twins were born and I somehow had to say to her, "You know, being here reminds me of the night before my twins were born. The woman before me died."

The recognition was instant and she said she remembered me now. "I was your nurse that night," she said. She told me that she had gone to my doctor and asked him--pled with him?--to delay my c-section until the next morning. It had all been too, too much for them already that day.

"Usually our job here is so wonderful," she said. "So much happiness. But then sometimes..."

I apologized for bringing up a bad memory and she said sincerely it was fine. She had been thinking about that night recently and wondering if it had been four years ago? Or five? My twins are five now. Enough said. I noticed how beautiful life is when she and I realized we're neighbors! She lives only a few houses away from my first house, which is just a quarter mile from where I live now. We chatted about common acquaintances and felt connected.

I noticed how beautiful life was when I considered how fragile life is--and how lucky I am to be alive and have a new life growing inside me. A beautiful little life about to begin.

I noticed when I took the long route to my car, walking around the doctor's office instead of through the building. I noticed the green, waxy tops of tulips that will grow, bloom and wilt while I am on bed rest. Once every week, I can leave my house for my weekly appointment and see the change. How beautiful.

I noticed when I sat in the driver's seat of my car and felt that gentle vrooom of acceleration that reminded me of how alive I really am. I smiled and remembered how much I love acceleration and speed, even though my life now is all about taking a break and slowing down. Next Monday, I'll feel that thrill of acceleration again as I make my way back to the office. How divine.

Life is beautiful. And today is a perfect day. Do you feel it yet?

Dreams

I dreamt that I was in the car with my Mom and somebody else who I can't remember--it was an ex-husband of somebody I know and I just remember feeling like he was creepy. We were on our way to Salt Lake and hadn't made it to the freeway when I remembered I'm on bed rest and shouldn't be going anywhere. I expressed this concern to my Mom, who disregarded it and told me she had to run some other errands while we were there.

I realized this would require considerable walking and demanded in a fit of passion that she stop the vehicle and let me out of the car. She refused, so I waited until a red light and hopped out the door. Realizing that walking up the long hill we were at was equally bad for my blood pressure, I proceeded to go up the street anyway until I came to a hospital.

I went in and found a phone outside labor and delivery. I called my in-laws and regretfully told them the story, feeling guilty about putting my Mom in such a negative light. They agreed to come pick me up. A nurse then came out and asked what was going on, so I told her my story. She walked away and then came back a few minutes later with a dressing gown, telling me they were going to admit me. I argued with her and she explained all the reasons why I ought to be seen.

That somehow fizzled out, however, and I found myself wandering down the hall, which was filled with children. There was some activity going on, because women were in all the rooms doing fun activities and handing out cookies to people who walked past. I thankfully ate a cookie, watching all the children around me. Eventually, my mother-in-law found me and I realized I had forgotten that she was coming at all.

The dream changed and I as entered her car, my Mother was driving again. She shush'd me and took me to her house, where they had planned a surprise baby shower. Only about five people had shown up and I felt guilty that they had planned a baby shower for my baby girl that nobody wanted to attend. It was awkward, especially realizing that my Mom's earlier shenanigans had been some prelude to trying to surprise me with this party. The dream ended. Thankfully.

I wonder why I remember some dreams. This one was so strange, but realistic, that I felt there is something I haven't figured out here. Something to do with my fears and anxieties. My insecurities. I wondered what Freud would make of it. Then I wondered what my brother-in-law, the psychologist, would make of it.

A few hours later, I was sitting here at my spot on the couch watching "Music and the Spoken Word." I was thinking about how cluttered my house was and had one of those thoughts of, "How would I feel if the Savior walked in and saw me like this?" I thought about Mary and Martha and realized I would just listen. My house is what it is right now through nobody's fault.

Then, in my imagination, I was asking Him what I need to be doing. Asking for direction. Guide me.

He told me I already know what my sins and weaknesses are and I should work on those.

This was all my imagination--nothing more at all--but I was surprised at how quickly that list of sins and weaknesses came to mind. I realized that I don't need visitations or dreams or anything else to remind me of the direction my life needs to be heading. It's all right here, ready to be understood, as soon as I open my mind and close my pride.

Happiness Now

As I started to drift into the I'm-in-solitary-confinement blues yesterday, I realized I needed to get a grip. So I latched onto the memory of my plane trip home from Berlin last summer. I was so anxious to see my children that it almost hurt. Every moment I was away from them started to feel unbearable and I thought that there was nothing in life that would matter if I could just be with them again.

I know, crazy. I spent the previous four and a half years desperate for a chance to get away from the little darlin' ones. Sometimes your wish has to be granted before you realize you actually want something more.

Since then, I've been on a mental voyage to a place that has changed my life. I have finally arrived: I'm happy to be a stay-at-home Mom. Thrilled, in fact. Who would have thought this of me?

My husband asked me last night if I'd like to get back to school to start my graduate degree in the next year or two, if I could find a program that let me take things at a slow pace. No way. I could change my mind, of course, but I think I'd rather wait five or ten years. My heart is here. I'm satisfied to spend time staring into my kids' eyes (true love, every time), baking cookies and spending hours paper-crafting valentines that are really not that much better than the store-bought ones.

So as I laid in bed feeling imprisoned and restless, I remembered how it felt to be somewhere other than home. It felt great and I'd go again in a heartbeat, but it also hurt to be away from this crazy place called home. This is where I'll come back to. This is where my heart will always be. And even if I'm stuck here for two more months without so much as a peek at the encroaching spring, I would rather be imprisoned here than anywhere else in the world.

Safe in the arms of those I love. Safe in the laughter of my children. Blessed with happiness from above. This is where I belong.

Friendships

Friendships.

Some start with a great whirlwind of discovery, shared secrets and the comfort of mutual understanding. These seem to leave in a whirlwind, too, but of mistrust and disappointment.

Some start with a mutual warmth--but patience. Sometimes these fade slowly and easily away, no pain and no regret. And sometimes these build day by day until  you realize that you have built a solid foundation of shared experiences and understanding. These are friendships to treasure.

Some start with a wariness that is almost tangible. I think this is how one of my greatest friendships started. We were thrown together and the tension was sometimes palpable. Sometimes we would work side by side without speaking to each other. And when we were around other people, you would assume we were total strangers.

Years later, I realized that if we had seen each other at our worst and learned to be friends, this was a friendship that would last. And it has, through ups and downs and good times and bad times. Sometimes we are sarcastic and cutting to each other--and it genuinely hurts. But I know that we'll get over it. We'll move on. Because we have faith in each other to stand back up when we fall down.

I've learned to be cautious of friendships that start with heat--they will likely go down in flames. (Of course, I might surprise myself one day with a Phoenix Friendship--out of the ashes, so to speak.) So I treasure friendships that are warm and comfortable and just right. And I've learned to be patient with friendships that start a little chilly. Patience before rewards.

Memories of Pregnancies Past

1. Going in for a routine checkup at Labor & Delivery. The nurse took my BP, her eyes got huge and she rushed from the room, grabbed the supplies she needed and stuck an IV in me immediately. I wonder what the number was. I felt annoyed.

2. My doctor showing up unexpectedly at another of those L&D appointments after I'd been waiting hours to be released. "You're gonna have a baby today!" Shock. The whole world turned upside down in a good, but very stunning, way.

3. "We'll take you in to the operating room for your c-section in about an hour. They're just finishing up another patient right now." An hour passed and the nurse returned, slightly agitated. "It'll be a little longer." An hour later, I started to wonder why any woman would be in the operating room for 2+ hours for a routine c-section? Another hour later and the nurses eyes were red and swollen. My feelings of elation and happy expectation were suddenly gone as I worried about the stranger a few rooms away.

My obstetrician eventually came in and said gently, "Can we do it in the morning? Everyone here is emotionally frayed and I can promise you'll get better medical attention from them tomorrow." Later he told us that a medical student, who had been there to observe, wanted to choose a new career after what he had just seen.

We read the news article the next day about the woman who had died in childbirth with unstoppable hemorrhaging. The baby survived.

I was the next patient in that operating room at 8:00 a.m. There were no signs of blood anywhere. I tried not to think about it.

4. The first--very loud--cry and my doctors both saying, "It's a boy!" simultaneously. The most beautiful sound I have ever heard since we knew his lungs weren't quite mature.

5. The silence that followed the birth of my twins. "Are they out??? Are they okay???" I asked nervously. "Oh yeah, everything is fine." So much personality in that lack of crying. In retrospect, that silence was as beautiful as the first reassuring cry from my first child.

6. Staring at my tummy--trying not to stare at my tummy--and thinking, "Staples? Seriously... staples? What am I? Some kind of office document?"

7. Wondering if laughter or crying would tear my stomach back open. I tried so hard not to move at all, because it all felt so wrong to see that gash across my mid-section.

8. Despite that, loving the simplicity of c-sections.

9. Holding my newborn son in my arms.

10. Holding two newborn sons in two arms with nobody in the room to help me put them down again. The first of many, "What in the world do I do now?" moments as the mother of multiples.