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.

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.

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!

"Goodnight Moon!"

On August 28th, our son Ryan turned 2 years old.

Dad was out of town so we celebrated officially once he was home that following weekend with family and friends and sort of allergen-friendly cupcakes...and balloons.  Lots and lots of balloons.

When Emily was 6 months old, we chucked her pacifier to the curb.  Not literally since that's littering, but you know what I mean.  But at 6 months, she didn't remember a thing, so it was a non-issue.

Well, fast forward and enter baby brother and mom's "Advanced Gestation," aka, mid-life pregnancy/crisis, and let's just say, I threw other things to the curb, like, say, rules on pacifiers and rigid sleep training and all the modern rules, like giving a rip what any book might say!  Yes, I "sleep trained" Ryan, but not quite as militantly as I had Emily.  And I've fed him very clean, which I didn't do as well with Em, but all of these things are partially a knee-jerk result of the 8 year gap, which is really only a 4 year gap, if you know what I mean...

What I'm sayin' is:  when your big brother dies, it both works in your favor and detriment as to how on earth your parents may "wing it" and raise you, accordingly.

So, ANYWAY, as far as a pacifier goes, I chose not to get my panties in a wad about it and let Ryan suck, suck, suck away.  At least until Daddy returned shortly after his 2nd birthday.

A reader here a while back, but I don't recall who, gave me the idea in the first place!  (Thank *you*!)

I prepped Ryan for about a month...

Me:  Ry, you are almost 2 years old and so that means you'll be BIG.  This also means you won't be sucking your pacifier any longer.

Ry:  (blank stare...while sucking...)

Me:  And, so, on your 2nd birthday, we are going to tie your pacifier to some balloons and send it to the Moon.  Every night when we go to bed you can look out the window and tell the Moon and your pacifier, "Goodnight!"

Ry:  (sucking voraciously...staring with possible, no, probable, comprehension...)

Me:  So, it'll be so great, Ry!  We'll wave bye-bye as it goes up, up, up to the Moon and you'll be BIG and won't need it anymore!

Ry:  (eyes wide as saucers now...)

Now, let me preface this to say that one of my dear, dear friends who also lost a child encouraged me as I let Ry suck away for 2 years, "OH!  Don't take away the one thing that brings him comfort!"  And that's exactly what I did.  I didn't lose sleep or worry about it, because, of course, there's always braces, right?!

But there's more to the story...

You see, Ryan, our son, is named after his Daddy's good friend, Dr. Ryan Arnold.  And Dr. Ryan Arnold was an exceptional orthodontist.  And Dr. Ryan Arnold would have been our kids' orthodontist, but he passed away living selflessly.  The week before Dr. Ryan Arnold passed away, he examined Emily's teeth and gave us a loose plan of how we'd move forward with her bite and such...and, since I was pregnant and he never actually SAW our Ryan's mouth, he left me with these words, "Ade, don't let your kid suck a pacifier...but if you do, I'll fix it later..."

And then he smiled his great smile, which, incidentally, was straight and white...

Nice.

Nice, except Jason and I are taking "Financial Peace University" right now and let's just say several thousand dollars for Ryan's braces could, indeed, be used for his education one day, or towards a vacation for me and the hubster, or supporting a hospital in Ethiopia, or, or, or, I don't know, maybe getting out of debt!?  But that's another post...

So, anyway, back to "My Mom Rocks," and whatever it was I was saying...

Oh yeah.  So, here are some pics of the day Ryan's pacifier went to the Moon...the day he became a BIG boy...the day he saved us a few thousand dollars, or at least, the day his mom had peace in her heart that she was honoring a dear friend and finally taking the expert opinion of a professional.

RIP Pacifier.

Prepping Ryan that sending his pacifier to the Moon is going to be fantastic!  AKA, tickles with Daddy.

Running around at his birthday picnic, oblivious to what is to come...

Sharing a second birthday with his cousin, just days apart....

Daddy wearing his hat always in memory of Dr. Ryan Arnold...

The birthday picnic went a little late so the next morning we gathered what balloons remained...

Ryan willingly giving over his pacifier...

...sorta...let's just say he wanted one last suck...

...a suck that lasted a while...until the release.

The reality set in as he watched his pacifier set soar into the western skies.

It's been a week and a half now.  Naps on day one and two were a bit rough, but he has adjusted beautifully.  His teeth haven't straightened out, and he does point to his teeth and tongue when I put him down to sleep, but then he says, "Goodnight Moon!" and all is well.

So, let's face it:  we all have "pacifiers."  If you were to take to heart the sentiments of a selfless man, who was saying more to me than just the obvious, what "pacifier" would you give up?

* We miss you, Dr. Ryan Arnold, and think of you and your beautiful family, every. single. day.  xoxox

Around the World...

...in who knows how many days?

Em and I read a book during homeschool last year about a man in his hot air balloon who raced around the world, a race against the clock.  He wanted to beat a record.

What if there were no time frame?

What if the point was just to see God's creativity in His big green earth, learn new cultures, eat new foods, love on people, and take in the beauty in the faces of God's people to the ends of the earth?

I imagine the guy in the balloon who raced around the world missed out on the bigger picture.  Sure, he was the fastest, but did he get to truly experience the trip?

My love continues to grow for a sweet little handsome boy and his family.  They are on an adventure with an unclear time frame. 

Their dream as a family has been to see the world, which is why they named their youngest guy Trek Atlas...and they are living that dream presently in Nicaragua...but it's a bittersweet adventure because Trek has a fatal condition, and of course, they don't know the day he no longer will be on the journey this side of Heaven...

I want you to know I met Jarrett and Chelsea.  This isn't some Internet story for attention from people who don't really exist.  We ate bacon together.  They are as real as it gets :)

I held Trek's sweet little body in my arms on January 12, 2012.  He's a real boy, with captivating eyes, who brings so much joy to his family and anyone who is able to meet him.  And I'm not going to lie, I have a crush on him, for reals! 

Jason is headed to Bangladesh today for his dream job, "To help women and children in 3rd world countries..."  He works for Compassion International and is the ministry director of their Child Survival Program.  After receiving world class care for our son, his eyes were opened to health care throughout the rest of the world and he asked God how he could make a difference. 

However, the reality is even the best care in the world was not enough for our son.  And it isn't for many other children who have incurable diseases, in the first or third world.

Trek Atlas Ingram has one stamp on his passport, thus far.  I'm not sure he'll ever step foot on the soil of Bangladesh, but a Flat Trek will be headed there for the next week with Jason to bring smiles to cute kids and their moms. 

And the reason Jason will be there in the first place is because his own son, who only lived 7 months on this earth, changed his heart and perspective to what really matters:  Loving God without regrets, living life to the fullest, casting off all restraints...not a bucket list of selfish indulgence but a list of living life that has no beginning and is lived out fully until the end, whenever that may be, all for the Glory of God.

Want to help Trek get stamps on his passport?  You don't have to actually GO anywhere, but if you live anywhere other than Maui, Colorado, or Nicaragua, then Trek's never been to your neck of the woods. 

You can get your own Flat Trek with more information here.

You can encourage the family on their Facebook page or on their blogs, here, here, and here.

Thanks for letting me share here about this sweet little guy.  He has really touched my heart and I can't stop praying for him and his family because it's just all too familiar...

Trekking Around the World

Remember this?

It's been a while.  I wouldn't expect you to, but I sure do.  One night, 5 years ago last November, we had gotten some yummy Chinese take-out and were sitting in Noah's room at The Children's Hospital.  As we finished up and started cracking open our fortune cookies, I grabbed one and said, "This one's for Noah."  If you can see in the picture, that's medical tape, the kind that used to keep tubes and crap attached to my sweet boy.  We used it for other things, as you can see.

At the time I remember thinking, "Oh how great it would be if You would heal Noah, God, and we could go all over the world (a lifetime dream of mine) and tell everyone of Your faithfulness, love and power."  This was my initial response to reading, "You will step on the soil of many countries."

It's because I had seen myself with a grown son...remember?  And so I naturally thought it was Noah...since he was my only son at the time and all.  And Noah did step on the soil of many countries, so to speak, just not physically with his two sweet little feet.  His blog hit every continent before he died, but that wasn't quite what I had been thinking...

Well, fast forward 5 years.  This post isn't about Noah.  It's about how my heart leaps out of my chest every time I see pictures of a sweet mama and her boy, so very much in love, who are on a journey.  It's about how I can't get them out of my mind, not because I want to, but because God continues to put them on my heart, all throughout the day.

I have mentioned him here before, but I'm asking you not to turn away.  I KNOW reading about a kid that is dying is nothing less than gut-wrenching.  It's HARD.  It SUCKS.  It's a volume of books filled with descriptive words that can't really describe the heartache.  I freaking GET IT!  It's why hundreds stopped reading my blog after Noah died.  I understand.  It's not as fun as Pinterest or Facebook or a hundred million other things.

But I'm literally begging you to let your heart pray for Jarrett, Chelsea, Peyton, Conner and Trek, as they set off on a journey of living life to the fullest, one day at a time.

You see, someone close to them contacted me to pray for them...she had read Noah's blog and couldn't stop thinking about some of the similarities.


Here is where my heart is wrecked.  We never wanted Noah to be stuck in a hospital bed his whole freaking life.  That was never our dream for him...but because of a whole hellofalotta reasons, we were stuck.  There were days I dreamed of stealing him out of the hospital and taking him home...but we couldn't because we didn't have home health care at the time.  It was a big mess.  The closest I got to showing him the world was this...whoopdefreakingdo!


Anyway, Chelsea's heart is living out what I wished I could have done with Noah. 


Am I living vicariously through them?  Only the freedom part...I lived all the rest already.

Either way, my heart is crying out for them to RUN, PLAY, LAUGH, CRY, REST, STARE, LISTEN, SING, NUGGLE, SMOOCH, HOLD ON and LET GO all at once. 


I pray for God's love to fill every corner of their lives with such fullness that this time in their lives will ever be etched in their hearts.


I hate what they are going through but if I had it to do over, which I don't wish for, but if I could go back, I'd run like hell out of that hospital and live whatever amount of time I had with my boy, free from the beeps and meds and tubes and tests and pokes and drugs and smells and unknowns. 


I'd run.

I don't despise what we went through, I do have to say, because 5 years later, I'm grateful to at least have the perspective that life is short.  It's time to live, today, right now, to the fullest.  Time and the people in our lives are literally gifts from God for our joy. 


It's time you, or someone you know, stop holding back.


Hug tighter.


Kiss longer.


Stare at your children.


Laugh your ass off.


Play on the floor with your kids.


Tell your husband you love him.

Tell him you are sorry.


Hold hands.


Turn off your freaking television.  Hell, throw the damn thing away.


Forgive.

Stop caring what others think of you.

Trust God sees the bigger picture.  Relinquish the control you think you need to have.


Smile.

Listen.

Play.

Dream.


Live in wonder.

Baby Trek Atlas may not physically touch the soil of many countries in his short life time, but the way he's living with his big brothers and mommy and daddy who adore him...well, he's experiencing more love than many do in a lifetime.  And, if you spend some time reading his mama's blog, I would venture to guess he'll have you looking around, wondering what matters, and making a few changes and tweaks to what is important. 

That's Trek, a 9.5 month old, teaching us a thing or two.  That's him stepping on the soil of many countries...

Life is short.  How will you spend it?

Saying Goodbye

It's not something you ever really get used to.  Specifically I mean, saying "Goodbye" for good.  And by "for good" I mean until we meet again in God's presence, but who knows when that might be?

I get emails from friends, friends of friends, family, strangers, many different people who share a link to either a story, blog or email about a little kid who is sick or dying.  I knew when Noah was in the hospital that he most certainly wasn't the first sick kid on earth and unfortunately would not be the last.  And I don't mind receiving these emails at all!  Though my heart breaks for them, knowing I can pray for the families helps me even on my own journey.

Weeks leading up to our decision to take him off life support and offer him as a gift to God, I was also made aware that we weren't the first parents, nor were we the last, to be placed in such a situation.

But, it's not something you ever really get used to, even if it's something with which you are familiar.

I have a girlfriend who has a non-profit organization, offering perinatal hospice care and support to families who have received a fatal diagnosis for their sweet baby.  Because of support she had leading up to the delivery, moments together, and tender time of saying "Goodbye" when her daughter was born, she is able to encourage others on their journey...but, it's not something you ever really get used to just because you have experienced it.

Today I received an email about a little boy who was removed from his ventilator earlier this afternoon.  His parents are brave.  They are strong.  And at the same time they are holding onto that last moment for a miraculous intervention this side of Heaven.  And, all at the same time, their hearts are juggling a million emotions of peace in knowing their boy won't suffer any longer, grief because life didn't turn out the way they had hoped, dreamed or planned, anger because if they had control of the Universe they'd most certainly change the outcome of their biggest nightmare.

At least I am guessing that's what's going on in their hearts, among other things.  I don't know because I am not them, and even though I've walked a very similar road, saying "Goodbye" is not something you ever really get used to...

Prayers for his family and for their hearts to know that even though his footprint on earth was small and too short for our liking, it's his heartprint that will last a lifetime.  Either way, whether we can see the hope in it or not, it doesn't mean it doesn't suck and that it's ever easier to say "Goodbye."

Saying "Goodbye" isn't something any of us should ever get used to. 

I'm not so sure, though, that there's anything we should ever get too used to...because when we do, even though there's a level of comfort, it can teeter between "familiar" and "taken for granted."

My point is this:  life is precious, the first breaths, the final moments, and every day in between. 

Pinch me!

These pictures were taken by Sara Lazio when Ryan was about 3 weeks old. He's already pushing 11 weeks! I just wanted to post these so you could see her great work and God's amazing creation!

He coos.

He smiles.

He looks at me.

He smells like a slice of Heaven.

He sneezes cute.

Heck, even when he toots, it's the most adorable thing in the world! Em wants to know why it isn't cute when she does it anymore...

And as I hold Ryan and nibble on his fingers, toes, ears, cheeks and nose, my heart is so full, so grateful he's different than Noah...and at the same time, because of Noah, I pray for the moms and dads out there that don't have teeny, tiny fingers and toes to nibble on this morning...and I pray for God's healing to take place in their hearts...and for His peace to replace despair...and for Hope in His will, and comfort in His arms to be all that you need today, and as the days ahead approach.

I just wanted you to know that your pain is on my heart and I am praying for you...I do not take my newborn for granted...I am so sorry for your loss.

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.