I am 28 and I am not alone

Last year around my birthday I remember feeling very scared. I was in a relationship with someone I had some serious feelings for and I was slowly getting the notion that he didn’t feel the same. I felt fearful as all too often I had wound up in that pit of unrequited love and although time and time again I have gotten myself out, I wasn’t particularly keen on having to endure that sadness once more. It was then that I made a vow to be braver. I self actualized daily, “I am 27 and I am brave.” It was a mantra I held tightly to, like an anchor amidst a tumultuous sea. Little did I know then how much courage I was going to really need this year, especially on my birthday.

My birthday was yesterday. In all honesty the day felt pretty normal. I slept in, ran some errands, hung out with my mom, took a nap, but what made it special was my sweetheart who went the trouble of planning me a surprise dinner with my family and loved ones. I had never been surprised on my birthday before so it was a real treat and it made me love him that much more.

As my special day came to a close and the night settled down, I drove home in a quiet car, the soft hums of Christmas music on the radio and a realization hit me and I felt an overwhelming sensation of terror. December 15th, my birthday, was the one month mark for our estimated D-Day… delivery day.

Four more weeks, one single month left, and my whole world and life as I know it is going to change. “Enjoy your sleep now while you can, you won’t get a whole lot of that soon!”

“It could take a year for your body to bounce back.”

“Gym? You won’t have time for the gym! You won’t ever have time to yourself again!”

“Wow, you’re almost there, aren’t you excited?”

Excited.. yeah… I’m really excited, since all of you have made it sound so fun and exciting. I am down right terrified. I see women all around me having babies. Progress pictures, status updates, names names and more baby names, is it a boy, is it a girl, you’re making it so hard to shop for your baby, are you sick, how do you feel, babies babies babies babies! I see the delight and the excitement in every sentiment shared, every picture posted, and every status update. I jump in and do the same even though it feels like I’m only pretending to be as excited as all these other women seem so genuinely to be.

Sometimes I feel like something is wrong with me for being as scared as I am. I get the impression its taboo to talk about it, that lingering fear. On some level it is uncouth to admit that I have no idea what I’m doing and that I’m anxious of all the changes. I feel like I’m in high school and I can’t imagine why any hospital full of professionals would let me leave with a tiny little life that is so fragile. I’m afraid of how different my life is going to be. I already hate how much my body has changed and the ominous tones of, “you’ll never get it back,” shared from those around me has done little to ease any concerns.

I am not in high school. I am not taking home a plastic doll for the weekend that cries in the wee hours, and is subsequently turned in for a grade on Monday morning. No, this is the real deal. This is parenthood. Some have given words of encouragement while others take on the roll of preparing me for “reality.” Either way, I just feel scared.

I have this sneaking suspicion that other women encounter this gut wrenching uneasiness. In fact, I would go so far as to say that the women around me that have me convinced they’ve got it all down pack, are in fact, just as fearful as I am.

I found solace in a friend I went to college with, she and I got pregnant right around the same time. She admitted that she was fearful which had in turn made her feel guilty because getting pregnant wasn’t an easy road for her. It was as though her struggles to get pregnant meant she had to be nothing but grateful and excited all the time.

I know my beloved is terrified. When I see his face I know it, because he and I are both wearing the exact same panicked expression when the realization hits us. He is scared too, he may even be more scared than I am. At least I have the fanciful maternal instincts to fall back on. The ones that everyone has assured me will kick in even though I’m afraid I’ll be a part of a tiny percent where that doesn’t happen. We were at the movies recently and we saw a preview for a movie coming in March that we both delighted in going to see, that was until I mentioned, “by then we’ll have to get a baby sitter…”

“Because by then, we’ll have a baby…”

And what ever distraction the movie was meant to provide was gone and we were panicked once more.

I had been thinking all week what leading up to my birthday what my mantra for 28 would be. I think it’s only fitting. I am 28 and I’m not alone. Fear is a lot like sadness, because it has a way of isolating you and tricking you into believing that you are alone in what you feel, that no one else before you or after you will ever feel this way. But I am not alone. I am not the only person who has ever been afraid to become a parent or bring a baby home or learn as I go with raising this tiny human.

Beyond the belief I am not alone in my apprehensions, I know that I am not alone in this whole learning process. I have Tycen. Thank God for him. We are in this together through and through. We are going to figure this parenting thing out together. I have my family to fall back on and his family as well. Our support system is truly a beautiful thing and brings so much truth to the saying, “it take a village.” I have wonderful friends that have given me wonderful advice and a great network to lean on. I am not the first person to have ever had a baby, nor will I be the last. Some day my baby will be having a baby and will be confiding in me all their concerns and worries, and I will be able to provide them the very same powerful sentiment, “you are not alone.”

A lot to be thankful for

All too often it is easy to wear a pessimistic eye and focus on all the things I don’t have.  With social media I literally have at my fingertips about 1,000 reasons being shoved down my throat as a reminder that I’m not doing well enough or that I’m not where I’m supposed to be in life.  Thanksgiving, albeit the one day a year, comes along at a perfect time to remind myself and others that there are plenty of things in the world to be grateful for.

For years I was glued to my TV every Wednesday night, religiously watching MTV’s newest installment of the hybrid Real World/ Road Rules Challenge.  You name it, I watched it.  There was a time I could tell you the difference between the Duel, the Inferno and the Gauntlet, although now I can’t seem to remember.  I was a junkie for that kind of stuff.  

Naturally there were cast members I despised, I loved to hate them.  Then there were always the individuals I was rooting for.  One girl in particular, Diem, I was always rooting for.  She was easy to like.  She was a pint sized girl that didn’t look like much but played the game very well.  It seemed like other challengers were always trying to knock her out of the competition because she was labeled a big threat. In all honesty I feel that most fans of the show were rooting for her, not because of her attitude on the show, but because of her attitude toward life in general.

It was learned early on in her first appearance in the challenge series that she had been stricken with cancer. She beat the odds and joined the series. I mean, anyone who can beat cancer is pretty admirable in my eyes.  Years after her first installment in the series she fell victim once more to cancer again. As a viewer it was devastating to see her struggle played out in real time because in some sense I felt like I knew her as a person.  Once again, she clawed her way through the disease and beat cancer once more.  If there was anything certain about this girl its that she was a fighter.

For whatever reason I surrendered my Wednesday nights and I stopped watching the show.  I guess my own life needed me to pay attention to it.  I learned through a friend and fellow die hard fan of the series that she had fallen ill yet again, and this time things weren’t looking up.  True to her spirit she fought as long as she could until finally succumbing to her cancer.  At the age of 34 she passed away.

I read all the articles about her final days, posts from her friends and loved ones.  I wanted to feel like I was a part of it, because watching her and her fellow challengers, like I said, one some level it felt like I knew each of them.  The thing I read that struck me the most, was how one of Diem’s greatest wishes was to become a mother.

In that moment it struck me.  For months I had been agonizing over my inadequacies.  I had torn myself apart for not being more prepared for our baby and I was humiliated to tell my friends at my baby shower that I was living at my parents house.  All my anxieties had placed a large wedge between my belove and I.  It seemed like we had begun to blame each other for how unhappy we had become.  All around me all I could see were all the things I didn’t have because nothing was going how I had pictured it… yet the passing of a reality TV star on a show I used to watch is what helped put things into perspective.

Often when amidst our trials the saying, “it could be worse,” brings little to no comfort.  When arriving at that conclusion on your own is when it means the most.  This year I am most grateful for my life.  I am alive and well.  While my life hasn’t gone quite according to plan, I really have nothing to complain about.  I am strong, I am healthy, and I am resilient.

I am grateful for my family.  I have an incredible support system.  My family is always here for me and offering to help me in any way possible, in spite of my own reluctance to accept their help.  I hear stories of girls in a similar situation to myself, slaving away trying to make ends meet because their families kicked them out or refuse to help.  Its easy to take that kind of love and support for granted because I’ve always been given it.

Tycen is with me, all the way, 100%.  I sometimes forget what a blessing that is because from the moment we met we loved each other so much that I never really saw a different outcome for us.  The reality is I got really lucky.  I couldn’t imagine doing this on my own.  I’m lucky that Tycen is the type of man that would stay and help, but on top of that I’m incredibly blessed that he loves me.  He loves me even when I’m being an awful, ungrateful brat.

I am pregnant.  I’ve experienced a bit of survivors guilt with this recently.  I have friends that are trying so very hard to get pregnant and coming up short.  I have other friends that have miscarried their pregnancies… then there’s me, wasn’t really trying, and here we are, 33 weeks later with not a single problem other than stretch marks and a sore body.  At times I’m reluctant to share the status of my pregnancy or the little kicks and squirms I’m feeling constantly, because I don’t want to make an already difficult situation for these ladies any harder.  As I write this though, I must say I am incredibly grateful for this little baby in my belly.  I am grateful that our baby is healthy and well.  I am so grateful that in a few short weeks, Tycen and I are going to experience the joys and struggles of being parents, together.

I love this life of mine.  Heavenly Father sure gave me a good one to enjoy here on earth because I have a lot to be thankful for.

Ode to those who left me

For a long time I was angry.  I felt that some sort of twisted punishment was bestowed on me for some grievous transgression I must have haphazardly committed.  Gifted to me was this heart so eager and willing to love, yet it kept falling into the hands of those that didn’t seem to want it.  As time went on my gift had grown into a curse I would resent.

Countless were the times a coworker or a friend would inquire astoundedly, “Noelle, how is it that you are still single?”  To which I could only shrug my shoulders.  Its not as though I hadn’t wracked my brain or spent sleepless nights soul searching for an answer to that very question, because I had, but I found that to be a painful existence.  After some many years of this question that had plagued me, the only answer I could muster was that I just hadn’t found the right guy.  In all honesty, the answer felt pitiful and half assed.

I had plead my case with God before, many many times.  With all the suffering I had endured in the wake of my failed relationships I had begun to feel more or less a sense of, “you owe me.”  Entitlement is not a suit anyone should adorn but after each unrelenting heart ache, after every single tear shed, after every raging insecurity hung out to dry, I couldn’t help but ask, “when will enough be enough…”  

I have never been one to sit around and wait for someone to walk into my life.  Chalk it up to impatience if you’d like, but I didn’t very well fancy the thought of ending up alone.  I was a very active participant in my dating life and was always willing to put myself out there.  The reward of finally finding that special someone always out weighed the risk of being broken.  At least that is how I saw things until someone actually broke me.  

The task of gathering the pieces and putting yourself back together is no easy feat nor is it something one builds a tolerance to.  Each and every time it happened my world fell apart.  I would spend my days forcing a smile, make believing that I never really cared for him in the first place, so that those around me might never know just how much I hated myself.  In the quiet solitude of my bedroom I would cry and cry.  Ashamed of the pain I was in, angry at myself for being fooled so easily, and mad at the rest of the happy couples in the world, I would just lay there and cry.  Heavenly Father, why?  Why is this happening again?  Am I not learning the right lesson?  Why must I go through this?  Why won’t they give me a chance? What is wrong with me?

Enough time would pass, the hurt and the torment would slowly subside, and once again I would solemnly return to my feeble answer and hope that far beyond what I could see, that maybe there was a little truth to my answer.  Perhaps I still just hadn’t found the right guy.

I was given mixed reviews from family and friends.  On one end I had those telling me that I was too picky and my standards were much too rigid.  I was advised that if I ever wanted to find someone I had to learn to be more flexible and compromising.  Those on the other end of the spectrum shouted to never stop searching, you deserve to find someone that is everything you want and you will, you just have to keep going.  The cynic in me wanted to side with the former, but the ever omnipotent idealist in me would never surrender and continue the hunt for happiness… at least until I turned 30.  Maybe then I would let go of this mystical unicorn.

And then I found Tycen.

For the first time all the dribble I had begrudgingly listened to my friends prattle on about at bridal shower after bridal shower finally made sense.  “When you know, you know.”  It was the most illogical and idiotic thing I had ever heard uttered, but that was because I had never experienced it myself.  I hadn’t known that silly statement to be so incredibly true.  I loved many a man before and the thought crossed my mind in several relationships that, “I could marry this man.”  That sensation was always laced with just a bit of doubt because somewhere deep in my heart, I knew to some degree I was settling.  It may have been something small, some trifle quirk that most people would chide me for even thinking, but that didn’t lessen the lingering doubt.  With Tycen it was different.  There was never any room for doubt… I just knew.

For so long I had burdened myself with blame for every failed romance.  I had begun to believe that something was terribly wrong with me and I was so fatally flawed that no one would ever love me enough to stick by me.  I was trapped in a prison of resentment for all the men who had hurt me and I was even angry with our Father in Heaven for allowing this travesty to happen time and time again… but Tycen freed me.

I felt myself let go of all the anger I had been harboring.  Everything was so easy and simple with Tycen.  It gave weight to all those times I stood there begging for some sort of answer and receiving a measly, “it shouldn’t be this hard.”  I would roll my eyes at that and scoff, but now I understand what all those men were saying.  So much baggage and weight has been lifted from my soul through his love.  I am finally able to truly let go of all of it by basking in my own happiness and for the first time in my life, celebrating the happiness that each one of those men found after me.

It is here and now where I actually need to thank all of them.  Each and every single one of those men that broke my heart deserves a sincere thank you.  I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn’t have left any of them, even if I wasn’t as happy as I knew I could be.  Much like my heart that is so easy to love, I am also cursed with a loyalty that will never let me leave.  I am grateful that each of them had enough insight and fortitude to know that there was someone better out there waiting for me.  I especially thank each of those men for being brave enough to break my heart.  All too often I was on the receiving end of such torment but I do know how incredibly difficult it is to cause that amount of harm to another human being, it hurts just as much.  Each and every one of you did me the biggest favor by dumping me, because I couldn’t be happier.  He is everything I ever wanted and everything I never knew I wanted.  He is the one that Heavenly Father was preparing me for.  I thank you, all of you, and I sincerely hope that each of you are able to find the same happiness I have.

Let me be enough

My pregnancy could be described as the envy of other women.  Often when describing my symptoms or lack there of, I am often met with a scowl or a short, “I hate you.”  Its true, I lucked out in the gene pool.  My mom had relatively mild pregnancies with all four of her children so it stood to reason my pregnancy might mirror that.  I have even one-upped my own mother with the fact that I have a frame more conducive to carrying a baby.  My mom delivered all her babies fairly early, simply because she ran out of room to carry any of us for any longer.  Me? I’ve got the room.  Wide hips and a long torso make for a cozy little home indeed.

While I’ve avoided several of the dreaded symptoms, the nausea, the swelling, the food aversions, even food cravings, there is one thing that has stuck with me rather pervasively.  That is the overwhelming fear that I am going to screw this poor kid up.  It might sound silly, but I am more than aware that this next job, this next roll I am taking on, will be the most important thing I ever do with my life… ever.  This is a job I can’t quit when it gets too hard or when I feel tired and underappreciated.  I can’t even call in sick.  This will require every minute of every day.  Even when I am sleeping I will be on call.  I don’t take any of this lightly.

Beyond the incredibly demanding work schedule I am required to navigate the world of today and somehow find a way to bring up a healthy, happy, and functioning member of society. How on earth am I supposed to do that???  With the media and gadgets, the apps and the advertisements, and boat loads of information pulling a parent in different directions, how am I supposed to discern what is best for my child?

Some people might not know this about me but I actually graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in a major called, “Child and Family Studies.”  No kidding.  For years I sat there in a classroom learning how to raise a child from birth to adulthood.  I took child development, I learned how to coach a child through their emotions and I learned how to educate parents on how to parent their own children.  I took classes on relationships between spouses and between parent and child.  I have more knowledge on this subject matter than the average mommy so to speak.  Even still I feel completely unequipped and unprepared for the magnitude of this endeavor.

I worry about the amount of changes coming my way and whether or not I will be able to handle them.  I fret over being able to provide enough for this new life.  Contrary to what the Beatles said, love is not all you need!  Love doesn’t pay bills or buy diapers!  I’m not trying to sell love short, because a baby with material things and no love will not thrive or survive, but I am not so naïve as to believe that love will be enough.  Money and love isn’t enough.  I have knowledge, but do I know enough?  Have I learned enough that I can really help this child have all they need?

There are these moments, when I feel the little kicks and wiggles of my tiny little baby, and I can’t help but feel an overwhelming amount of love.  I don’t know this person, have yet to meet them, and I already know that my love for them is insurmountable.  It feels as though these moments of joy are fleeting because shortly there after the gravity and the reality set in and I’m back to feeling fearful.  I pray that I am enough sweet baby.  I pray that I will somehow be enough to help you through this world and give you a wonderful and happy life. Lord please let me be enough.

French fries are a vegetable right?

My routine was simple.  Wake up, go to gym, lift for about an hour, drink protein shake, come home, shower, get ready for the day, eat some chicken and drink an energy drink.  Somewhere in there I went to work or I did stuff around the house, I would eat more chicken at some point along with some veggies, and I’d probably have another shake.  My life was about my body, what I put into it and what I could make of it.  I had gotten down to my lowest weight to date and felt a real sense of pride in what I was able to accomplish.  I was getting to the point where I was ready to start adding muscle to my physique when a teeny tiny little plus sign changed everything.

That night I cried, as previously stated, but when the tears subsided I looked at my beloved and said, “well, I guess this means my diets off.”  Then we walked to Betos and I chowed down on a burrito.  Don’t get me wrong, there was a part of me that said I was going to eat healthy throughout my pregnancy but that notion faded out rather quickly.  

I had spent months of my life avoiding cookies and candy, french fries and chips, and everything tasty in between.  For the first time in my life it was not only acceptable for me to gain weight but it was encouraged!  That being the case, I was more than apt to eat an Oreo or two, or ten….

Before we had told anyone we were expecting was probably the most difficult, especially for me.  My coworkers had become really accustomed to my chicken and broccoli or my salmon and broccoli.  They had congratulated me on all my weight loss and were asking me for tips on how they could achieve their goals.  Then out of the blue one day I was eating french fries.  The next day chicken strips.  The next day a sandwich and *gasp* some bread.  Aside from that there was the sudden, unexplainable absence of my long time friend, a can of Rock Star.  One of those things was glued in my hand the moment I walked through the doors, so for there to just one day be nothing but some water or some juice… to say my coworkers were looking a me strange and questioning my sudden change in routine would be an understatement.

Its funny because one of the first questions people ask me or I’m sure any pregnant girl for that matter is, “are you having any cravings?”  I mean, I might be having some but its hard to tell.  With my diet being so restricted before and now suddenly most things are fair game, its hard to say.  I’m just happy eating all the food I couldn’t eat and will for certain discontinue eating once this little babe is born.  There was that one week I couldn’t stop drinking lime juice though… I suppose that was a craving?

Diet aside I was determined to continue working out.  After meeting with the doctor she said I could continue to lift weights so long as I didn’t increase my repetitions or the amount of weight I was doing.  More or less I had a green light for maintenance, save for maybe laying off the squats for a while, which hurt my heart a little bit but I was fine other wise.   

I set out for the gym, as per my usual routine, but I could feel it, something was off.  To my fellow exercise enthusiasts, the sensation is relatable, when you’re dragging through a workout and can’t seem to get a hitch in your giddy up.  Its like you just can’t muster the energy to push through it.  I would usually turn to a caffeinated beverage to help produce some of the energy needed but hey, since I was pregnant that was no longer an option.

This relentless fatigue followed me from the gym to home and then to work.  I can’t complain much because I have honestly bypassed most of the dreaded pregnancy symptoms.  I literally didn’t have a single ounce of morning sickness.  That’s right all you mom’s out there reading this, go ahead and hate on me because I just so happened to be part of the very small percentage of women who don’t end up hugging that porcelain throne.  But what blessings I received from not puking my guts out was more than made up for by the debilitating case of the sleepies.

I have always been a night owl so I’m sure it came as quite a surprise to Tycen when I was falling asleep around 9 o’clock.  You’d think this early turn in time would result in my morphing into an early riser, FALSE, you are dead wrong.  I’d sleep in till 11!  The fatigue was crippling!  I pretty much napped all day unless I absolutely had to get up for something like work.  Apparently manufacturing placenta round the clock, 24 hours a day, takes a lot out of a girl.  Soon my weeks of working out every single day turned into working out 3 days a week, then twice a week.  Then finally came the a whole entire week without working out.

For 12 weeks I suffered through this insane amount of feeling tired, by the time I finally made it to the blessed second trimester and my energy levels picked up again, I had fallen so far behind on my work outs that I no longer knew what I was capable of in the gym.  Once my long time friend the gym was now a stranger to me.  Should I go back to lifting as much as I was before?  Or would that hurt the baby? Everything certainly felt different.  My body is a vessel for a tiny miracle, it just didn’t feel right to be punishing my body anymore.

Now I’ve settled into walking.  Occasionally I’ll make it to the gym and I’ll complete an arm workout, albeit a much shorter and lighter one than before, but for the most part, just walks.  Walks around the neighborhood, walks around the track, walks around the restaurant.

I see other pregnant women at the gym doing absolutely incredible things.  More power to them and I applaud them, however I’m not there nor do I see a need to push myself to get there, at least not right now.  Once that sweet little babe is outside my belly you had better believe it will be game on.  The punishment and sore life style will begin again for me along with a highly restricted diet.  Until then I’m going to enjoy my french fries.

All dogs go to heaven

The Maki family has never really been a dog family, per say.  We’ve always kind of lingered more on the side of “cat people.”  Cats I feel like can sense this about humans because for as long as I can remember we had an influx of cats in and out of our house.  I can think of maybe one cat we actually adopted, my sister’s cat.  The rest were just strays that we gave a home to.  There was one time when I was very young that we got a dog, a cockerspaniel we named KC.  I was the only one that cared for him really and his stay with us was brief.  It seemed that we would never get another dog until one day when I was about eleven, my parents surprised my siblings and I with a sweet little puppy.

A playful little Jack Russel Terrier, mostly white with brown floppy ears, big black eyes, and the sweetest little puppy kisses.  We all finally settled on the name Saydee.  She was a curious little dog that would tilt her head from side to side in wonderment of something.  Her breed is known for being incredibly smart and outrageously energetic.  She was obviously a smart dog, picked up potty training and human training rather quickly.  

It was ironic, because my dad was the one that didn’t want a dog.  He always seemed to the one thing stopping all of us from getting one.  My mom was the one that wanted the puppy and finally after months of convincing (all without mine and my siblings knowing) she got him to cave, but his one stipulation was that he would get to pick the dog or at the very least the breed.  He settled on the terriers because of their smaller stature and high intelligence.  For all intents and purposes, Saydee was meant to be my mom’s dog, but she sure did take a liking to my dad.

She quickly became his shadow, following him around the house, dreadfully sad when he left for work and unimaginably happy when he returned.  His rather sour disposition toward owning a dog quickly melted when that sweet dog chose to love him above all.  She became his little pal and a part of his everyday routine.  Wake up, go to work, come home, feed Saydee, take Saydee to park, come back home, eat dinner, and nap.  Oh the naps they had.

Saydee, while true to her breed in intelligence, was quite the opposite when it came to energy levels.  We had heard stories of JRT’s having an insatiable energy, but Saydee?  She was a mellow that enjoyed bee-bopping around the house and frequent naps.

When I was in high school we finally got around to breeding her.  To be honest she may have  been a bit past her baby-bearing years because while the pregnancy was smooth for her, the birthing was quite a trauma on her.  She only had two puppies and one of the two didn’t make it.  It was decided that since she only had the one living we might as well keep him, we named him Kato.

Motherhood gave Saydee a bit of a mean streak, Lord help anyone if you disturbed her during nap time, she would nip at you before you even saw it coming.  I remember friends coming over in high school and I would always have to warn them, “the one with black ears is friendly, you can pet him, but the one with brown ears will trick you, do NOT pet that one.”  She was a tricky little bugger too, she would wag her tail all nice like and walk right up to unsuspecting guests, and just when she lured them into reaching down and petting her, wam!  She’d bite them!

As she grew older her mean streak subsided a great deal and it was replaced by this absolutely sweet and loving demeanor.  Long since had passed the days of her biting anyone.  I feel that she realized somewhere down the line that she rather enjoyed being pet and that people were much more apt to pet her when she wasn’t growling or nipping.

Her naps became much more frequent in her golden years.  She would tough it out and try to keep up with my dad and Kato on hikes, but she would usually settle into her own comfortable pace.  She always went on the trips to the park.  Chasing trains and nosing through garbage ranked amongst her favorite things.

Clearly my need for writing is because she is no longer with us.  The past year she had begun to lose weight and would turn her nose up at most foods we tried to feed her.  My parents would get a new dog food for her it seemed weekly.  She would eat the new one a few days and then quit.  The only thing they could continuously get her to eat was chicken.  She LOVED chicken.  I remember when I was living at home and eating clean.  I would cook up my chicken and out of no where she would appear, staring at me with those big eyes, hopeful that I might drop her a piece or two.

This past Sunday I was over visiting my parents when she had a seizure.  She had never had one before and the event was rather traumatic for all of us.  It had unearthed some rather unsavory memories of my sweet cats passing in me, and in my current state of already heightened emotions, I was in down right hysterics.  My dad had to coral Kato, he didn’t understand what was going on and he acted out rather aggressively.  In some way I don’t think my dad could handle seeing his puppy like that, and my poor mom… she was the only one of the three of us that could comfort her.

It was all downhill from there.  The vet ran blood tests and diagnosed her as being in advanced stages of renal failure.  They offered a possible diet that my parents could start her on that wouldn’t reverse the state of her kidneys, but it could help her live just a little longer, maybe six more months.  It gave them just a glimmer of hope.  One more birthday to celebrate with her, one more holiday season, she may even get to meet my little baby.

The hope was short lived however, when two days after her first seizure she had another one.  Each day she grew weaker, she stopped wagging her tail and her steps began to falter.  My poor parents spent the days tip-towing around and jumping at any odd movements made by her, would she have another seizure?  How long would this one be?  How long would it take to help her to come back down and relax?  Each of us kids awaiting text messages us, updating us on our sweet puppy’s condition…. sadly it was getting worse.

It was fitting that my dad, the one whom she adored most, was the one who made the decision that it was time.  Her seizures were happening more frequently and her quality of life was diminishing.  With heavy hearts we had a date.  September 19th at 4:45 pm, that is when she would meet her maker.

I don’t know what was worse, the sleepless nights and the uncertainty surrounding her condition, or the impending doom and actually having a time stamp… the sound of a clock ticking away never rung so loudly in my ears.

I have come by frequently over the past week.  Each time I left my parents house to return home, I hugged her just a little tighter, kissed her a little more, thinking that each time I saw her might be the last.

I came by today, knowing all too well that this would indeed be the very last time I saw her deep and gentle eyes, staring back at mine.  This would be the final time she ever so lightly kissed my shins.  This was it.  The clock was ticking away.

I can’t explain it, but I feel like somehow she knew.  Everyone stopped by to see her today to say their goodbyes to her.  For a dog that slept 18 hours a day and was never much of a lap dog, she spent all afternoon walking from person to person, staring up at each one, and kissing their hand.  My dad tried to keep the routine as normal as possible, taking her to the park, feeding her her breakfast, and just doing things around the house like normal.  She even got to snuggle up to him for one final nap.

I’ve been on edge all week and I’ve been hurting.  There are times when my mind lets me forget, when I can actually laugh about a commercial or whatever is on tv, but the nights were haunting.  I couldn’t seem to calm my thoughts enough to gain a restful sleep.  I’ve been weepy and longing for a different outcome, or a different world where death doesn’t have to be a part of life.

I can’t really describe the pain I felt as my mom and dad readied themselves, they were to leave at 4:30.  It was here too soon, it just couldn’t be that time already.  I gave her a hug, I messaged her behind the ears and told her I loved her, that she needed to say hi to Homer and Kia for me.  I watched them all get in the truck, my dad helped her in and I saw her curl up in my mom’s lap as they drove away.  Tears had been streaming down my face but the moment that truck was out of sight I couldn’t compose myself to mere tears any longer.  I was alone with Kato, who only seemed unsettled because he didn’t get to go along on the car ride.  I sobbed by myself and called Tycen, he offered what comfort he could over the phone, and left me to my writing.  Through my writing I would find some sort of peace.

So here I sit, sharing stories of a tiny little heart that housed this huge spirit, that has impacted our lives in ways we couldn’t imagine.  Its so strange how quickly these little creatures become such a part of our everyday, even just by resting somewhere near by.  Even now across from me is the chair she always slept in.  It was her chair, no one else ever sat in it.  We put a down pillow on it and a flanel blanket.  I can almost see her circling as she always would before finally getting herself comfortable and hunkering down for a long nap… it’ll be like that for a while.  Hearing the phantom jingle of her collar, seeing her out of the corner of our eyes, and that feeling that she is sitting somewhere near by, begging for some table scraps.  It’ll take time for those haunting feelings to subside.

My heart is utterly broken. I hate this part of life.  I know that it is necessary and unavoidable, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.  My only comfort is knowing that she lived a long and wonderful life.  The saying is, “a dogs life,” afterall.  She got to play and nap, eat tasty food, go on hikes and chase trains at the park, and above all she was loved.  She had a family that loved her deeply and cared for her to the very end.

Often times we want to be selfish with our love, we want to keep these little souls with us for as long as we possibly can because their love and our love for them makes us happy.  At some point that love means knowing when it is time to let go.  For Saydee, our sweet little old lady, that time was today.

I know in my heart that when I go, when my clock stops ticking, I will be welcomed by the many who have gone before me, my grandparents, likely my own parents, and my savior.  I also feel strongly in my heart, that my sweet kitty cat Kia and my Saydee will be there as well to greet me.  All the spirits I love most will be there.

To my sweet girl, I love you.  You’ve only been gone for a few hours, but I miss you incredibly already.  Enjoy rummaging through those garbage cans in the sky, where no one will tell you to stop.  Chase those trains and for the first time, you’ll keep up with them.  And those naps you were always taking?  May all the doggy dreams you had during each one come true for you.  Till we meet again sweet Saydee, you’ll always be in my heart.

October 24, 1997- September 19, 2014

Happy Mother's Day

I had a professor in college that had this saying that is so very true to my own life.  He would always say to us that, “Life IS plan B.”  This saying is close to me because I feel that I have often envisioned how my life would turn out.  I had detailed fantasies and dreams of how each major life event would occur.  I had dreamed of this long awaited moment when I myself would become a mother.  In my dreams I was happily married, my husband and I deciding when the perfect time would be to bring a new life into this world.  I would surprise him when he came home with some sort of gift, cluing him into his impending fatherhood.  Tears of joy would be shared as we began the plans of how to announce our sweet little bundle of joys arrival into this world.

Life of course did not deliver this sweet picturesque moment to me, because life so rarely happens as how we think it will.

I was right smack dab in the middle of a whirlwind romance and I couldn’t have been happier.  I was so in love and basking in the fact that I had finally found someone to love me just as much as I loved them.  I felt very blessed.  Amidst all this I was training rigorously.  My days were spent eating clean, lifting and sculpting my body, and spending time with my sweetheart.  I had goals to finally compete in a figure competition, this was going to be my year.

It was incredibly fitting that we both stood there in that tiny bathroom, hovered over a small piece of plastic that could change our lives forever, on none other than Mother’s Day.  That was the day I found out I was going to be a mommy.

I cried, like the little baby I was going to have in nine months.  I went and sat on the foot of the bed and cried.  I had to wave a silent goodbye to how I thought my life was going to play out.  I sobbed about trivial things while my honey sat next to me, hand on my back, talking me through each silly thing I cried about.

“I was working so hard on my body, now I’m going to get fat!”

“What am I going to do with my Jeep?  I can’t put a baby in that!  I love my Jeep!”

“I wanted to get married first!”

“My family is going to hate me, my sister is really going to hate me!”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.  Most couples are prepared, we aren’t even married!”

“Your parents are going to hate me, I just barely met them… NO!”

Bless him for being so calm and taking my less than exemplary reaction in stride.  A lesser man may have taken my reaction personal, as though each tear was an indicator that I didn’t want to be stuck with him.  That was the thing though, of all the insignificant things I sat there and cried about, having him in my life as the father of my baby was not one of them.  I was never once sad, scared or frightened by that.  If I was going to be hurled into chaos then I was certainly relieved to know that he would be right there by my side, stumbling along with me.

I am certainly grateful that the gestational period is nine months.  Nine months is a good long time into tricking myself I’m ready for this.  We’ve already waded through some of the muck and the unpleasantries.  I’m uncertain but I feel that expectant grandparents react much differently to a married couple breaking the news verses a new couple, a very unwed couple.

I’m already past the halfway mark of this pregnancy and I’ve been given lots of advice, do’s and don’t’s, and how to’s.  There are times when I feel like I’ve let my little baby down, I haven’t done any progress pictures or begun work on a nursery.  I also know that there is a lot to be done and that like any major task in life, I’ve learned to take things one day at a time.  It has been my mantra and saving grace.  All I know is that whatever dreams I have for this baby I had better shelf them, because the odds of anything playing out the way I want it to are slim to nil.  One thing I do know for sure and that is that this baby has got a whole lot of love coming his/her way.

And its a....

I’ve had a few people ask me when I was going to post a blog about my little bundle of joy.  Originally I had intended to retell all the events that took place the day I found out I was expecting, but instead I think I’m going to talk about the most surprisingly controversial decision I’ve made about my little babe.  That is to say, my decision to not find out the gender of my baby.

I don’t know where or when this desire came about.  In some way I feel like I have "Father of the Bride: Part 2" to thank for this.  I’m uncertain but there just seems to be something so romantic and magical about that moment, after nine long months of wonder, when your tiny little miracle has breathed his/her first breath into their lungs and wailed out a healthy cry, and the doctor exclaims, “Its a… !”  That moment just seems so powerful because no matter what gender either parent was hoping for, it washes away when they meet this sweet little face for the very first time.

I think the brand new daddy gets one of the most special moments, as he gets to tell all the family members anxiously waiting in a near by room, what he is the proud father of. He gets to see all their delighted reactions, smiles, tears, and lots of hugs.

I find all these moments to be so endearing that I am more than happy to wait around and experience them myself.  Even with this explanation in tote I have met with a lot of discord amongst my peers.  Some telling me I’m “brave” or “crazy” for deciding against finding out.

Tycen, my beloved daddy to be, his initial reaction was similar to that of everyone else.  If he was having himself a boy he needed to know and he needed to know right now!  He’s come around to my vantage point, that and I think he likes upsetting and confusing people.   My sweetheart sure does love stirring the pot.

The biggest concern my friends and family alike have had with this little decision always comes in the form of this question, “But what am I going to get for you?”  This concern seems so inconsequential and outright silly.  My mom said when she was pregnant with my older brother, she didn’t know what she was having, back then people rarely knew with certainty what they were having and they seemed to manage just fine.

The fact is that even if I knew I was having a boy, I wouldn’t dress him in blue every single day, inversely if I was having a girl, I wouldn’t dress her in pink every single day.  In all honesty I’m not a big girly-girl myself, should my little bundle be a little girl I don’t fancy that I’ll be adorning her in pink tu-tus, giant bows, and glitter.  As far as a babies needs go, I don’t need to be shoving gender rolls down his or her throat in the form of pink skirts of blue pants, we’ve got a life time to do that.

I guess a simple answer for any individuals wondering what on earth you get for a baby you don’t know the gender of… how about whatever is on my registry?  I mean, that should make it pretty fool proof.  Tycen and I are definitely going to need more diapers than anything, we’ll also need onsies, blankies, a crib, bottles and all that other good stuff. Should anyone feel so inclined to break the mold and get me something not on the registry, some sort of apparal, then I say keep it gender neutral.  Lots of whites, greys, blacks, navys, greens, browns, and yellows are highly recommended.

I’m already at the halfway mark and I am unimaginably excited (and terrified) to meet this little babe that’s already wiggling around in my tummy.  As a new mom to be I am accepting all kinds of advice and helpful tips, but on this one matter I will kindly decline, in January when we meet our little human is when everyone will know the answer, “is it a boy or a girl?”

What would an athlete do?

There has been a recent influx into my inbox.  My facebook, my instagram, and my phone are all getting slightly bombarded by friends inquiring as to what I’ve been doing that has helped me lose so much weight.

This last September I was a whopping 147.  That is nothing really that crazy, truthfully.  On my 5’8” frame by no means could I be considered overweight.  I mean I’m no health professional but I am pretty sure I was hanging around close to what my ideal body weight should be.  So why the weight loss?

I have always had the desire to compete in a fitness competition.  A few years ago I attended one, I was supporting my friend who was about to compete in his first bodybuilding competition and he wanted to do some research.  While there I had an immediate admiration for these people who had so much discipline and tenacity to mold their bodies, like clay.  The amount of dedication is unfathomable and extreme.  I want it just so that I can say that I did it, that I could do it, that if I could accomplish this, I can accomplish anything.

It wasn’t until this January that I finally got really serious about my goals.  I hired a trainer and cleaned up my diet.  This right here is the reason I am posting this blog, for all the ladies that have been asking me, “what is your secret!?”  Listen up because I’m about to tell you something that you already know…  There is no secret.  Diet and exercise are what have gotten me this far, 20 pounds lighter and down 2 ½ dress sizes.

I know that isn’t comforting and its probably the opposite of what everyone wants to hear.  We all want a quick fix and we all want something easy, especially when it comes to weight loss.  I will make a short list of the things I’m doing.  My diet isn’t perfect right now, I’m still a ways out from competition shape and I’m certain that my diet will be tweeked as the days go by, but for your average house wives, this list is manageable.

1. Clean it UP.

-No fast food, no junk food, and if you can avoid as much processed food as possible.  When I first cut these things out of my diet it was really hard, I will be honest, I missed Nacho Cheese Doritos like they were nicotine, I was craving them constantly, to which my trainer said, “The junk food will still be there, its not going anywhere.”... it was that simple.  I don’t have to eat this garbage because it will still be here in nine months.  Sure, its hard when the boss buys a pizza for everyone at work, I mean how often does that happen?  I have found that whenever I am presented with a moment of weakness I ask myself, “what would an athlete do?”  That is a natural question for me because of my goals, but maybe you need to tailor your question to your own life style.

2. Eat grains sparingly.

-Breads, tortillas, pasta, ect. All that really yummy stuff, you can still eat it… a little bit… I try not to eat it.  The only thing I will eat is a piece of wheat toast in the morning with breakfast.  That’s the goal, if you are going to eat grains, eat them as early in the day as possible.  Complex carbs take more time for the body to burn off, the latest I’ll have a piece of toast is noon or 1 pm, but I don’t go to bed at 9 so my times might be a little off.  Honestly, just use your best judgement.

3. Simple carbs rock.

-I’m not here for some kind of atkins diet.  Don’t get me wrong, I eat protein like a fool but my goals require that I do that, but protein is hard for the body to turn into energy unless of course you are starving it.  When I’m feeling sluggish, I reach for an apple, an orange, mango, pineapple, fruit my friends, its glorious.  The natural sugars in fruit are simple and easy for the body to turn into fast energy.  Fast energy is fast in all respects.  You gain energy quick but you’ll also burn through it quick, I can feel the instant I have run out of the energy from my apple.  This is a good thing however, it means our body won’t get the chance to store these carbs for later much like our unpleasant complex carbs.

-You can also get these simple carbs from vegetables as well.  The only reason I note this is because I stop eating any carbs after about 6 pm.  This time works for me, I work most nights until 9 pm and don’t fall asleep until about midnight, that means any lingering complex carbs or simple carbs I have taken in during the day have about 6 hours to be burned off.

4. Oh my gosh water.

-I drink so much water its rediculous.  Don’t drink yourself sick, but you should always be toting around a bottle of water.  This is the most annoying step. This step has turned me into a literal pee machine.  Water is a necessary nutrient, it helps with osmosis which I hear is a pretty cool thing that happens in the body.

5. Eat some meat.

-My diet consists of a lot of protein.  At this point I’m drinking 1 ½ to 2 shakes a day.  I eat a piece of lean chicken at least once, if not twice a day.  When I work, which is every day, I treat myself to a piece of salmon, but I also eat tilapia and tuna… its boring.  This step has taught me that food is fuel.  It isn’t fun.  It isn’t pleasure happy time for my mouth.  It is simply fuel to help me keep moving through the day.  Chicken is so incredibly boring.  My mouth is bored, but I keep doing it because I know that with every single piece of boring chicken I am getting closer to where I want to be.

6. Keep eating.

-I eat small meals every two hours.  Much like the water step, this one is annoying.  I feel hungry all the time.  Its like, “I swear I just ate like an hour ago and I’m freaking hungry again!”  I am eating all freaking day.  This step means you have to make time to eat and you have to plan ahead.  I pack snacks everywhere I go or I’m prepared to spend some money on some healthy food.  For me, I just try to keep things as simple as possible because hey, I don’t mind boring chicken.  If you don’t want to get bored, you had better plan your meals ahead.  Take time on Sunday to coordinate and prep your meals for the upcoming week.

7. The last meal.

-My last meal is always about 2 hours before I plan on going to bed and of course, its a protein.  Reason being is you want to once again give yourself time to burn it off, luckily the body won’t store protein like it will carbs and fat.  I go to bed around midnight, so my last meal is around 9-10.  If you got to bed at 9 you had better put the fork down around 7.  If you were following the last step then you should be feeling pretty hungry by bedtime, but guess what?  I go to bed hungry every single night.

And thats it.  Notice I left out dairy… you don’t need that crap.  Maybe some greek yogurt here and there but other than that, ditch it.  See what I mean though?  Nothing crazy.  No fad diet.  No fancy pill or magic shake, just a lot of willpower, because what I want for myself in the future is much more important than this single potato chip here in my hand right now.  Delay of gratification at its best people.

I did mention that I hired a trainer, but for any of my lady friends reading this blog, you don’t need to take that step.  Honestly, just get out and go on a walk or something.  I’m not here to belittle exercise because it’s incredibly important, but in the role of weight loss, exercise is about 10%.  Granted building muscle mass will help increase your metabolism.. just saying girls, you might want to think about lifting.  I hope this helps.  Like I said, I’m not doing anything crazy, the list is actually very simple, following the list?  That’s the hard part.  Good luck ladies and always remember, NEVER SKIP LEG DAY! xoxox