There is a Time for Everything Under the Sun

Our third child didn’t get a baby shower.  Not because historically it’s improper in the book of manners, but because I just didn’t think my heart could handle it.  The last time I had been pregnant with a boy, my friends gathered around me as we ate chocolate and vegetables and artichoke dip, all the while cooing over adorable blue polka dot blankets and all things tender and tiny.  It had been almost four years since I had first become a mom, and with that bit of experience, this time around was a bit sweeter and much more relaxing.  With almost four years of practice under my belt, this was going to be a lot easier, a piece of cake.  I more or less knew how to prepare and what to expect.

I had let my guard down and was burned.  That wasn’t going to happen this time.

My friend recently posted how she had taken almost 1000 pictures of her nephew’s birth, and prior to that, she shared pictures of the shower she hosted for her sister, a celebration of the anticipation of their third child.

I am not one to weep over regrets, but my heart sunk a little.  Why hadn’t I allowed the many who offered to host me a baby shower just do what their hearts wanted to do?  Receiving help is difficult for me.  Pride gets in the way of receiving, because I am a damn strong woman and can do a hell of a lot on my own.  However, I’ve found over time how strength is beautiful in numbers, how relying on God and others is not weakness shown but rather confidence revealed.  Real trust, to the core…an ability to recognize most great masterpieces are made up of more than one color, a brick is solely a brick on its own, and a tree will never grow if the seed isn’t ever planted.

No orchestra is made up on solely one instrument.

And only now, after just having loosely celebrated Ryan’s 3rd birthday (Em was sick, he didn’t know it was his birthday or what that meant, really, and Jason and I were just home from Spain), am I able to understand it wasn’t out of guilt or feeling sorry for me that my friends, old and new, wanted to host me a shower. 

I realize now that a shower is to celebrate the anticipation of the little life about to enter the world, an opportunity to celebrate the woman carrying that life, the waiting parents, and a space for everyone to rejoice.  

There is a time for everything under the sun.  Pregnancy and the anticipation of a child is a time of celebration.  Only when news otherwise is relayed should the celebration turn into mourning.

There is a time for everything under the sun.

We don’t skip bridal showers because we think the poor couple won’t last past the infamous 7-year itch.  We don’t forgo weddings for the same reason.  There is no guarantee, on any given day, we will all make it to the 89 year old mark, so should we all skip cake and ice cream, all the years leading up to our day?   There is no guarantee, only hope and hard work, if our marriages will, indeed, continue happily ever after.  Just because a woman is pregnant does not mean the baby inside of her is meant for this side of Heaven.

And just because my heart was raw, carrying another son in my womb, unsure of the days to come, jaded a bit from loving and losing, doesn’t mean I should have denied my family and friends the opportunity to anticipate and celebrate the life growing in me and the arrival of our newest family member.

I’m not saying it was right or wrong to deny my friends and family a chance to host a shower for me years ago.  What I am saying is, in my selfish attempt to protect my heart from further heartache and disappointment, I shut down and didn’t even allow those who loved me to show their love faithfully as they had in the past.  They had celebrated with us, and also mourned when it was time.  

Birthdays, showers, anniversaries, holidays.  All of these celebrations, though marked with loss and memories, no matter how distant, are indeed, celebrations.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this 4 years from when my friends offered to throw me a shower, but I felt strongly to share my heart.  Maybe you are fearful to celebrate the anticipation of a child on the way, perhaps you have had adoptions fall through and it's scary to let your head and heart go there again.  Maybe fear is gripping you as you allow your heart to fall deeply in love again after the loss of a spouse?  I don't know.

I do know for several months I was fearful Ryan would die, just like his big brother.  And I had really, really, really, really, really fallen in love with Noah.  But I knew Noah was dying, and at the same time, I knew he deserved all my love and I loved him with all of my mommy heart.  I don't live in fear anymore that Ryan is going to die like his brother.  He will die.  I don't know when.  God knows the number of our days.  I do know this, however...I have jumped in with both feet in loving Ryan.  The ache and grief of losing his brother does not hang over me as I flip his curls through my fingers, rub noses, snuggle in our favorite chair while reading, and play choo-choo's in the basement.  I'm in love and it feels really amazing.

Every Single Day is a celebration of the lives around us, even our very own.  Is there someone in your life who needs celebrating today?

The only loss in loving is to look back and realize we never gave it our all.

More "Lessons from Spain"

I tell you what…if finding out I was pregnant after a trip to Spain was a way to learn things such as, the sky is the limit, throw caution to the wind, live life to the fullest, OR, say, the opposite, like, be careful, look both ways when crossing the street, always bring an umbrella, well, then the last week has been good for me, in a hellish sort of way.

The age I would be at time of delivery. (Graffiti in Barcelona)

And by “good for me” I mean, “Holy Ship My Pants, Batman!”  Please know, I don’t mean this disrespectfully.  I know, KNOW, know many women who have longed to be mama’s in their life time’s…some never experiencing it, others having only gotten to treasure it for a short time, some never getting to hear their sweet babies cry, or meeting their child face to face.  I, too, have had 2 miscarriages and lost a yummy sweet boy sooner than I ever imagined possible.  I am not discounting these longings, whatsoever.

Translation:  Do not let your dog ship its pants here in this public space.

But I won’t lie when I tell you that for the last few days I have had irregular breathing patterns thinking about the “what if’s” if I were, indeed, pregnant.  And I won’t lie.  Those days were dark in my head and heart. 

Last night as I fell into bed I told my husband I didn’t even need to lower myself down, I simply collapsed under my own body weight.  Still not having shed all my “Viva Espana” weight, then getting PMS like nobody’s business (I NEVER have it, NEVER, no cramps, no tenderness, nada), I was sure we were in for a surprise, and not like, “Ooooh, awesome!”, but more like, “Holy Ship My Pants-ness, Ryan’s going to be a big brother?! #$%^&*.”

I named off two friends I’d consider giving our baby to, since they are looking to adopt.  My heart was heaving and not thrilled at the thought…at all. 

What can I say?  Yes, I celebrate and love children, but these are the real thoughts that went through my head and heart.  I’m sure you’ve never thought this.  Clearly, I suck more than you.

Before I drifted off, however, I told Jason, “If it’s a girl, I’m naming her Georgie.”

This morning I looked at my calendar, counted days, tried to remember what I was thinking or if I had been thinking and, HOLY SHIP MY PANTS, were we even thinking?  I rolled out of bed, pulled up my bootstraps, and actually smiled at the new found peace that had settled into my heart over night. 

“Georgie…totally.  We’ll name her Georgie, and maybe her middle name will be Madrid or Barcelona.” 

I headed into what is usually one of my favorite days of the week:  LAAAAAAA!  Thursday.  My day.  A day where Ryan hangs with our fabulous babysitter and I head to the library, word-nerd heaven, where I sit amongst books and thoughts and dreams to read and write and enjoy the quiet.

First stop, the coffee shop for something with almond milk, “to-go”.  Second stop before setting up my portable office at the library:  the ladies room.

(The following is a text conversation)

A:  “You’re lucky…”

J:  “That made me laugh.”

A:  “I’m glad my bleeding uterus is funny to you. I almost shipped my pants with worry!”

A:  “But, the name Georgie for a little girl IS fabulous!”

A:  “Maybe it’ll be my pen name…hmmm, yes!”

J:  “Your pen name should be Georgie or Bleeding Uterus?”

A:  “Probably Bleeding Uterus.  It’s raw, catchy, authentic…”

I’m not sure I’ll use “Georgie” or “Bleeding Uterus” or something else entirely as a pen name, but I do know this:  I will always write vulnerably and with authenticity, because this particular lesson from Spain is:  life doesn’t always turn out as we plan, but I already know from experience, it can be more beautiful than we ever imagined.

*And, a couple bonus “Lessons from Spain:” menses symptoms are greatly affected by how clean one eats.  It was a reminder, and a heck of a way to re-learn this, but my body tells me things and I need to listen.  Moderation.  And, make that appointment...

Foods that contribute to monthly bloating, mood swings, and cramps: amazing churros from Barcelona

A picture my husband said I'd never post since it's not flattering...I don't know what's not flattering about eating an entire crab by yourself, soaked in butter, but arrrrrr, I love crab!  Living it up, eating without regrets/symptoms in Espana.

Laguardia, Espana, aka, Wine Country, being kissed by my prince on top of a castle...*alcohol, another contributor to monthly swings.

More on the food tour: constipation and bloating,  I mean ice cream and molten chocolate cake with some sort of awesomeness on the side... 

Reminder, Adrienne:  you feel healthy when you eat healthily

So, no.  There is no Georgie Madrid Graves on the way.  The only baby we brought home from Spain is this Spanish Mater.  #vivaespana

On Any Given Day

"We're not keeping quiet, not on your life!  Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace.  There's far more here than meets the eye.  The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow.  But the things we can't see now will last forever."  - Scripture remix, The Message, 2Cor4

Perspective.

My earliest memory of "different" is of playing down the road at my friend Michael's house.  His house had a 6-car garage, each filled with a shiny Corvette.  His house had many rooms.  His basement had a temperature regulated air-hockey room, as well as a pool table and mini-bar.  His dad was rarely home and his mom seemed sad and lonely.

My house was pretty and happy and normal.  I had my own room, a football shaped soap-on-a-rope and a Barbie record player with a microphone.  My sister and I used to make forts in the woods behind our house, pick strawberries, and explore for hours before our much-needed nightly baths, in which I used my soap-on-a-rope, courtesy of the door-to-door Avon lady.  My parents kissed a lot and laughed, we ate dinner as a family, and they took us to the park and to get ice cream cones once in a while.

And yet, America thinks the bigger house in scenario one with the 6-car garage is the goal.

We have some serious First World Problems.

Because, on any given day, what matters is that I grew up loved and by growing up in a loving home, I, in turn, learned how to love, or at least was shown love is what matters.  Sure, there have been times where a granite topped mini-bar in the basement sounded like a good idea, but then, well, then I put it into perspective.  Life does that to you when something real happens.  When something happens over which you have no control...when you did everything you knew to do, yet the outcome wasn't what you wanted or dreamed of.

On any given day, 25,000 children under the age of 5 pass away.  On any given day, somewhere in the world, a husband or a wife live out the words, "Til death do us part."  Accidents, natural disasters, sickness, and natural aging all lead to death, on any given day.  And the tragic thing is, as humans we contribute to this heartache by creating scenarios where more sadness is fostered, through wars and abuse and murder and hatred, comparison, bullying, whatever...because there isn't enough devastation in the world?!

Over the course of the last few months, on any given day, these are just a few of the things about which I talk to God, not understanding, not being able to control or manipulate it, but just going before Him, trusting He sees "The Other 90%" and that He is good and has a plan, despite my limited perspective:

• A friend who has suffered years of emotional abuse in her marriage
• A friend who is a single mom, working so hard to support herself and her kid
• A friend who had to take her mom off life-support
• A friend who lost her husband and is now raising their kids on her own
• A friend who has cancer
• A friend who has gone through a divorce and is starting life new after 20 years
• A friend whose husband lost his job
• A friend whose husband is unfaithful
• Friends who have kids with special needs
• Friends trying not to grieve while their sick baby is still with them
• Friends who have lost children
• All the single mom's I know whose ex's are slackers
• The people I know who are totally jaded by American Christianity, asking God to somehow use messed-up me to show them His love
• The friend with the terminal illness
• The one who is struggling with addiction but is afraid to share
• Friends who are missionaries, living far away from loved ones
• Friends recovering from bankruptcy
• Friends struggling with depression
• My mom who's going through chemo, again, because the cancer has returned

And these are just a few.  Add to it all the things on your heart and the people in your life and then add to that things that take place in our communities, our countries, and all around the world, and I'd say there is a lot of stuff with which we could feel overwhelmed.

I'm grateful I can take actions to encourage others, though I know I can't fix it all.  At the same time, I'm also very grateful I don't run the Universe, but I trust in the One who does, and even though I hate pain and suffering, on any given day He promises to be near to those whose hearts are wrecked...and from experience, He's not a liar.

*What's on your prayer list?  Are you overwhelmed by it or is it something you are able to trust God with, on any given day?

When Dreams Come True

Jason and I took Dave Ramsey's "Financial Peace University"class recently.  All I can say is literally every person should take this class at some point in their existence.  There would be no financial issues on this earth or in any government.  Just sayin'.

That being said, one of our cash envelopes is set aside each week for eating out.  I've enjoyed this because prior to Dave's class, we ate out a ton and our monthly budget seemed to be slipping through our fingers.  Plus, my thighs were bigger.

Now we stick with our "Eating Out" budget and it's like money has magically appeared in our bank account.  Crazy stuff.  I now believe in magic.

And I'm using my treadmill more and lifting weights, so that's likely why my thighs aren't as large.

White man overbite, November 2012

Anyway, I love our little "Eating Out" envelope.  Every once in a while when Ryan and I are out on the town running errands we'll stop for a lunch date at our favorite spot and use about $8.00 of our "Eating Out" budget.  A couple of months ago there was a sunny warm day and Ryan was a hungry little lion, so we headed over to our favorite spot, ordered, got our food, and found a cozy 2-top outside in the sunshine where we shared our plate of goodness.

It didn't occur to me then.  Nor had it occurred to me all the other times the two of us had shared a lunch date at this same little place...

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when the whole family was running errands.  It was my turn to choose our lunch spot.  We rotate who gets to choose where we are eating among Jason, Emily and myself.

I chose "Garbanzo's".

And as I spooned a mouthful of hummus into Ryan's sweet little lips, I realized a dream of mine had already come true.  And as we shared the last falafel, I knew it had...

He may not have dark hair yet.  And at 3 feet, he certainly doesn't tower over his mama, either.

But, I am so very grateful that unknowingly, Ryan and I found our favorite spot, and it's there where we laugh and cry, or whine, over falafels.

Knee-Jerk Reaction

I'm nauseous. 

Sick to my stomach.

There's a pit deep in my guts that hurts and aches.

Part of it aches and mourns for the families of the sweet Kindies and staff in Connecticut who were brutally shot down by a guy who was really just another kid, only taller.  

20 years old.  What were you doing when you were 20?  I was studying Spanish III, Humanities, and Major World Religions.  I was laughing with friends, in the dorms, at the cafeteria, over at the gym.  Every Thursday night I was leading a small group of girls in Bible study and prayer, just trying to figure out how to navigate college and life.  I was heading out on date nights with my then boyfriend, now husband, and having girls’ night out with my 30 closest "BFF's".  I was "being" 20.

Another part of my heart aches for all the "leftovers."  I hate that fear and despair and nightmares and only memories and empty places at kitchen tables are now reality for some families on the East Coast.  I hate that kids just lost their playground playmates.  

Planning a funeral for your kid is a heart wrenching thing.  

I also know what it's like to be in 3rd and 4th grade and lose friends.  It sucks.

Our Country needs a priority check.

Last month people left and right were warring with words and signs and sentiments about how our Country needs change.  I was physically sick some days in my guts, deep in the pit of my stomach, at how much hope and hopelessness was being placed, or not placed, in political figures and laws and policies, in humans.  Really?  

As if ONE MAN or WOMAN has that much power or influence...

Our World needs a priority check.

Tragedies happen like tsunamis and earthquakes and fires and floods and hurricanes, and shootings, and people join together to help for a time.  Hug a little tighter, share possessions, wipe tears.  And, from my observation and personal experience, fear then sets in.  For some it is crippling to the point of isolation, for others it produces paranoia, still others violence as a protective measure.  I’ve literally stared at my son for 2 years.  I get it.

But the only knee-jerk reaction that we as a Country and as individuals need to take is the kind that bends our knees and bows our heads and hearts.

Because ONE MAN or WOMAN does have that much power and influence...to literally change the world.  But it has to happen in our hearts first.  It must happen with our knees physically bent, heads bowed, hearts laid bare before God, the ONLY ONE WHO CAN BRING HEALING IN THIS BROKEN WORLD.

We need a priority check that places God back as the number One priority.

I'm sick of the political "correctness" and spiritual "correctness" in our attempts to "build" bridges.  

So far, the attempts have done nothing but bring out our ugliness.  People are fighting for their right for this or that, freedom to do what they want, say what they will.  The choice to do whatever, whenever, wherever, with whomever.

Me, me, me, me, me, me, me.  But that's fine for you, you, you, you, you.

YES!  ONE MAN or WOMAN does have that much power and influence, and we've seen it can be for either good or evil. 

I think the words were, "Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven."

None of this is God's will.  None of it is His wrath.  Stop being pissed at Him.  He has never stopped being good.

The shit hits the fan because we think we want to be in charge.

I know in my own life, it's not working for me...the part of me being in charge.

Our Country needs a knee-jerk reaction, that's for sure.  But it's not for or against guns and it's not in a mass exodus towards homeschooling.

Every.  Single.  Knee.  All of them.  Both of mine.  

Bending.  Bowing.  One man, one woman changing the world, two knees at a time.

We need revival.

Grieving With Others

You know, I was never a fan of funerals and potato salad or dying people or dead ones or death or pretty much anything that had to do with end of life.  As a kid, from grade 3 and then throughout junior high and high school, a friend, classmate, relative, or pet, died, each year.  Super fun, YEAH!

When I was really little, like preschool age, the guy across the street backed over his son.  My mom was gardening and heard him yelling at his big brother (only 4 at the time) that he was supposed to be watching his little brother.  Messed up...

After my friends and I walked home from the bus stop one day, about a half hour later I heard emergency sirens and a helicopter.  My friend, John, who Stacey and Marc and I were just walking with, was in that life chopper, hooked up to machines, on his way to his last breath.  I didn't go to the funeral.

The first funeral I even remember was my own Grandpa's.  Enough people had died in my life by then that to actually have to face it and attend a funeral, at age 16, made me nauseous.  I was FREAKED out!  Likely this was due to my own deceitfulness and sneaking I had done in junior high watching "R" Rated horror films while my parents were gone.

What the hell was I thinking?  You name it, my friends and I snuck and saw it.  Children of the Corn, Poltergeist, Nightmare on Elm Street, who knows what else...

Jacked up.  Like, totally, completely, utterly EFFFFFF-ed up!

Wow.  To think Hollywood makes money off glorifying death and dying and the underworld.  It's the unknown that fascinates, but to horrify it?  Dear Lord.

And now I've tasted death.  In fact, not only have I soaked my dead son with my tears, but I've grieved with others who have done the same.

I've kissed death.  It's bitter.  What if Eve had picked fruit from "The Tree of Life" instead of the tree of the "Knowledge and Evil?"  We never would have tasted the salty bitter emptiness that comes to those of us left this side of Heaven.  We never would have experienced separation from God...

EVE!!!!  #$%^&*(

This month my friend, Carly Marie Dudley in Australia, is hosting "Capture Your Grief" for Pregnancy and Infant Loss.  She's created a Facebook page for people to share their stories according to the topic of the day.  I headed over there just to check it out.  You know, since it's been 5+ years since I held Noah, I was just going over to the site to encourage others, probably new moms and losses.  And then I started reading, and just saying, "I'm so sorry for your loss!" and looking at the beautiful lives affected by death and temporary separation, yet heartache, nonetheless.

And then I posted a picture.  Because it was a call for "Pre-Loss" pictures.  And that was easy, because I posted this:

 
It's a picture of Noah, in my belly, safe and sound.  And it's utter pregnancy joy on my face, looking at myself for the first time in my life and thinking, "Wow!  I'm beautiful!"  And it's a gift to my heart because I didn't know.  All I knew was I would have a son, and I was already in love with him.

Being over at Carly's Facebook page with all those stories is difficult.  It's not cupcakes and tequila.  It wrecks me to know other families hearts will know the same pain mine has known.  I knew when Noah was sick, and after he died, that we weren't the first and wouldn't be the last.  But there's still a hope and a wish it could have ended with *us*.

When I saw my Grandpa, lying there in his coffin, hands folded, handsome, eyes closed, with a little too much make up, a peace I had not yet known in my life swept over me.  I remember thinking, "Huh.  That's not my Gramps.  That's just his body.  He is with God.  He is at rest."

Today the call on "Capture the Grief" was to post about a treasured item.

If you've read here long, you know I'm not attached to things.  Remember my purge fests?  Anyway, I realized, though, my most treasured item is my Bible.  It's my most treasured item because, well, it's my Bible.  Duh.  But, also because the night before we said goodbye to Noah, his nurses brought me ink sheets so we could stamp his feet.  I searched for a clean page in my (at the time) 20 year old Bible.  The only page I could find was opposite the last page.

Revelation 22:20 and "Footprints"

Revelation 22:20  "He who testifies to these things says, 'Yes, I am coming soon.'"

AMEN.  COME, LORD JESUS!

I treasure this for the promise that it is, as well...that life here on Earth is literally but a vapor!

Thoughts on Dying and Living

As I sat across my davenport from a friend, a fellow bereaved mum, I listened to her heart and shared her tears as she told the stories of losing 3 of her grown children.  I will not share her story because it is hers to share...

One thing we talked about, though, was the "How?"

Yesterday as Emily and Ryan and I left a store, there were several emergency vehicles in the next parking row, helping whomever it was who needed help.  There were employees of the store directing traffic in the opposite direction of the situation.  We headed to our car, and as we walked, we prayed for the person laying on the ground.  We also prayed for the rescue team as they cared for the person in need.

As we backed out of our spot and headed up the row I literally had to wait for a woman steering her cart serpentine like down the center of the driving lane, craning her neck, not watching where she was going, but trying to see what was going on in the other parking row.

Really?  Really?

I know the woman was curious as to the "What?" in the situation, like what happened? or how did this happen?  We are curious people.  And we are not bad or wrong for wanting to know.

Heck, when Noah was in the hospital, I asked the question, "But WHY?" for 5+ months.  Not "Why?" like, why me?  why my son?  but, "Ok, so his test results are inconclusive...he is dying...his DNA is normal...but again, he's dying...why?"

Remember "Speed" and the vanilla flavored acting of Keanu Reeves?  The people were all on the bus yelling, "We're all gonna die!  We're all gonna die!"

I think of this scene, and many like it being played out in real life around the world under different circumstances, and I do wonder if this is the first realization a person in the scenario has had that they, indeed, are going to die.  

Everyone.  Is.  Going.  To.  Die.

But it's the "How?" that often catches us off guard, sweeps our legs, and leaves us feeling as if it came out of nowhere.  Because we weren't ready for it?

And it's the "When?", too.  My friend said she asked God about the timing of her children's deaths.  One in his 20's, the other two teenagers.  My son was 7 months old.  My friend's dad was 61.  My friend's daughter 1 hour.  My friend's mom in her early 40's.  My Grandmas in their 90's.  My father-in-law, 49.  My friend's husband, 34.

When we read "90" in the obituaries, we don't really ask why?  We may ask how? but, for the most part, their death isn't the result of a skiing accident, though anything is possible.

The nature of us, though, wants to know the how? and why? when we read the other ages.

And we are taken aback.  Struck with disbelief in some cases.  Sorting feelings of unfairness and pounding our fists about timing.  "A life cut short."  "Such a tragedy!"  "They had so much more life to live..."

If God really is Who He says He is, and He really does know the number of our days here on Earth, and He designed us with beauty in mind, and a purpose, and for a display of His splendor...well, this causes me to believe He isn't taken aback by the how? or the when?

Please understand, I am NOT saying He is the instigator of the how?  Please read Job for further insight here.  I personally believe God left the book of Job in the Bible on purpose so we could see just how sick and twisted the Devil really is at trying to tear our hearts away from the Unconditionally Loving God who created us.  (This will have to be another post entirely.)

What the heck is my point here?

Well, we can live the rest of our lives broken, torn, our hearts tragically ripped open because of our inability to fully ever comprehend the how? and the why? and the when?

Or, we can live the rest of our lives profoundly impacted by the beautiful people we once knew who have gone before us into everlasting life.

And we can carry their hearts, passions, gifts, character, and strengths in our lives as we choose to be better people because of them.

We can celebrate their heroics.  We can allow smiles to grace our faces, even in the midst of sorrow, as we remember something funny they once did, and not feel guilty about it.  We can rejoice that no matter the amount of time, whether in pregnancy or 50+ years later, we were once a "Mom" and will ALWAYS be a mom, no matter where our children dwell.  It will wear the title, "Bereaved, Grieved, Widowed," and it will have aches, pains, and heart wrenching yearning.

But what if we had never met them in the first place?

As a bereaved parent, a grieved friend, a person who has kissed death on the lips, I don't want to imagine my life never having known the people I loved who have died.

My life is richer because of them.  

And in pain and grief, there is healing knowing each person we meet on our way truly is a gift to us from the very hand of God, no matter how long they are called to walk the Earth.

*In memory of men I never knew:  Luke Sheets, Stephen Luth, Garrett Coble, and Austin Anderson
*In honor of Hannah Luce AND all the surviving families, friends, and loved ones:  we are constantly praying for you...He still has you here on purpose.  Never give up hope!

Back it up a little...

So, Em and Jason and I went in on Tuesday for our uber-ultra ultrasound. They check for all the important vital body parts.

Most parents look only for genitalia.

Obviously since we seem to produce children with more than just private parts, and since our lives have been radically changed over the past 4 years and since we have friends who have cried through ultrasounds showing them that certain vital parts were not growing in their sweet babies, we were looking for more than just genitalia...so was the ultrasound technician. I asked:

"Is that a kidney? Are there 2? Ureters? Do they empty to the bladder? How many chambers in the heart? A spleen? How about a liver? How about its brain? Eyes? Its jaw? Does it have a jaw? May I see its spine?"

Admittedly, it's sad I can't just look for a hoo-ha or weiner...(don't worry, we use the proper terms with Em...I just don't feel that comfortable with you! Ha!)

As she pushed on, likely, the fullest bladder in the world that morning, she showed me almost every other body part, confirming its presence and performance, before she headed down to check out the femurs. The femurs were...femurish...you know, long and femur looking. So that was good.

But, wait...what was that?

Me: Oh! Huh!?
Tech: Yeah, did you catch that?
Me: Pretty sure I did...back it up a little...
Tech: There you go.
Me: Are you sure that's not just engorged?
Tech: I'm sure. That is what you think it is.
Me: Oh my gosh, Em, you're having a brother! It's a baby boy!
Me: (Sob. Bawl. Sob. Wipe snot. Bawl. Smile. Sob with heaves and lip biting. Smile. Awe. Wonder. Bawl. Wipe more snot.)
Jason: (Quietly choking back tears in the dark room...Em just thinking he had sinus issues...)

Jason and I had planned on naming Noah "Mary" or "Claire" if he had been a girl. We both, likely out of protection of our hearts and emotions, had decided this was a girl. I had even oooohed and ahhhhed over cute girl clothes at BabyGap and found a super duper cute poster of Paris to put in her room.

Deep down, of course I wanted a boy. Boys melt Mommies' hearts. In the 7 weeks Noah was home after he was born I had the worst back and neck pain from staring down at him, constantly. I mean, way down deep love that is quite impossible for me to 'splain so I won't even try...

Back up years...like probably 5 or 6. I walked into one of our favorite local restaurants for take out. There was a mom and her older teenage son in line in front of me. He was tall, maybe a foot taller than his mom, and handsome. I remember looking at them and feeling a promise in my heart of God saying to me that one day I would have a son. I had always pictured him in that stage of life. FF to June 10, 2006 and I was overjoyed that I had a son...my promise. FF to January 12, 2007 and I'm not going to lie at how unfair and sick I felt that promise was...like a "psych" moment, but painful and gut-wrenching...a slap in the face.

FF to Tuesday, April 27th at approximately 9:30 am MT when we saw his parts...and having come through all we have, learning more about the God of the Universe who knows way more than I ever will and is good and has a plan, and trusting that He knows what is best and desires to bless His children...I could not help but bawl my head off, and my mascara, in hope and thankfulness for whatever it is He has in store.

However, at the same time, realizing that He is in charge. I trust Him. He has asked me to live one day at a time. And so, God has blessed me with two sons. One in His presence now and the other kicking the heck out of my entire abdominal cavity...

And I am thankful.

And I am in awe.

And I am treasuring one kick at a time.

And I am hanging onto hope...hope that one day I will meet this sweet little man face to face...and when I do, I will fall in love with him and he with me...and one day...

One day he will throw his arm around my 55 year old shoulder and smile down at me. And I will try to contain the squeals within me, stay cool and not act on all the kisses I'll want to plant on his cheeks and tell him how very handsome he is and how very proud of him I am...I'll just act cool and order our falafels.