Sweet baby Hayes

One whole week ago my life became more beautiful and complete in a way that I never could have imagined. I fretted over responsibilities and sacrifices leading up to the birth of my baby all the while trying to dream of the tiny little being that I was told would be worth all of it.

January 13th, 6:30 AM

I had been feeling some severe pains on my right side. I was certain it wasn’t labor pain because of the location of the pain but that knowledge didn’t make it hurt any less. There wasn’t a position I could lay down in that would alleviate the pain and walking or standing was near impossible. I text Tycen and told him how much I was hurting and he took it upon himself to look up possible diagnoses for my predicament. The thing about looking up ailments on WebMD is all the answers are death and destruction. I told Tycen that although I was in a lot of pain that I thought it was normal and the pain I was experiencing wasn’t one of the “3 reasons to go to the hospital” that my doctor had described.

He produced the possible diagnosis that I had a potential rupture or a tear in my placenta which would mean the baby would be losing oxygen and could suffer irreparable harm or worse, death… yeah, that was enough to get me out of bed and on my way to the hospital. I woke my mom up and had her drive me there. Tycen cut out of work an hour early to meet us. I had already had a false alarm visit to the hospital a week or two before so I was really hoping this visit would prove to be the real thing and not another oopsy.

We got all checked in and the nurse hooked me up to the monitors and there it was, my baby’s heartbeat, going strong as ever. In all honesty I really didn’t think I needed to be there. The pain I was feeling was something the doctor told me to expect, all those abdominal walls being stretched out can and will cause some sharp, shooting sensations. After all the scary things Tycen had read online though I was still pretty relieved that everything was okay. The good news was my baby was healthy and doing just fine but the bad news was my cervix hadn’t budged a centimeter in the two hours I was there so they wouldn’t admit me. Once again I would make the walk of shame out the hospital and have gotten my family all worked up again for no reason, embarrassing...

All the more frustrating was that I had my final appointment with my doctor later that morning. I had hoped my little surprise visit to the ER would mean I would be exempt from another invasive check up but alas my doctor still wanted to see me, protocol I suppose. Because of all the running around that morning I never got much sleep, I was so exhausted, that and I had been experiencing braxton hicks contractions all day…

January 14th, 4:00 AM

I woke up to some serious pain in my hips, lower back, and groin. The pain was very reminiscent of the pain I had felt a couple weeks before, it was a pain that had me convinced I was in labor but alas I was sent home from the hospital that time as well. I let Tycen know that I was hurting because hey, dads need to be informed of that kind of stuff. I was able to move around a little bit and get back to sleep.

9:30 AM

I couldn’t sleep any longer. The pain was radiating and it was getting to be rhythmic. I could expect moments of reprieve but then the pain would come back. I hurried and downloaded a contraction timer app and began timing the waves of pain. My intervals were all over the place. Sometimes the pain would come in 10 minutes, followed by more in 8, then again in 7, then next up to 15, then back down to 8, ect. Allll over the place. Since the timing wasn’t exact I didn’t want to make much of a fuss, especially where I had already gone to the hospital for a false alarm the day before, so I went about my business that day.

I got a phone call from my doctor’s office letting me know that they had scheduled an induction for me for the following week on the 20th, inwardly I laughed. There was no way this kiddo was waiting until then. I spent most of the day in bed pretending that I wasn’t having contractions, I resented and refused the humiliation of being sent home again. I did get brave enough at one point to go to Walmart with my mom, luckily I got to push the cart so whenever the pain came I had something there to help me stand.

I told Tycen about the pain I was in, his level of concern mimicked mine. He asked if my water had broken and I told him it hadn’t, but I kept praying it would because the pain was getting harder and harder to deal with.

7:30 PM

My mom had had it. Where all afternoon she had thought me to be napping as I silently endured each wave of excruciating pain, by that evening I had begun to whimper and cry through my torment. She insisted I get in the car with her and go to the hospital. I pleaded with her that  I couldn’t handle one more painful yet fruitless pelvic exam. I had begun to doubt my cervix would ever let my baby out. My mom reasoned that our first trip to the hospital was my call and the second trip to the hospital was daddy’s call, well this third trip to the hospital was her call and she didn’t care if it came on the heels of a visit the day before.

I told Tycen that we were headed to the hospital fortunately he wasn’t at work at the time so he met us there. Once he saw how much pain I was in I think he started taking this little trip to the hospital more seriously. Things were so tense. I was worried about being sent home, my mom was worried about being the reason for dragging me to the hospital, and Tycen was worried about whether or not he would have to try and get his graveyard shift covered that evening. All our spirits were dampened even more when the nurse came in to check my cervix and I was still sitting at a lousy 2 cm, just like I had been the day before.

“And your water hasn’t broken?” She asked. I shook my head because I thought it hadn’t. From what I knew about the water breaking is it is gooey and thick, not like the actual consistency of water. I was in pain but I hadn’t had that fail proof sign I was in active labor, which was lousy because if my water had broken they would admit me regardless of my stubborn cervix.

The nurse was so sweet and she felt my plight, I was obviously having contractions and I was clearly suffering some serious pain but their policy would not allow them to admit me unless my cervix dilated one more centimeter. We had gone through this motion before, two hours of sitting there waiting for something to happen, only to be checked again to discover that nothing was happening. After how the two previous visits to the hospital went Tycen was visibly frustrated and I don’t think it helped that he had to watch me suffer in so much pain.

“Can’t you guys just induce her?”

The nurse explained that since this was my first pregnancy that hospital protocol prohibited them from inducing me prior to 40 weeks gestation… her explanation sent us all into a near rage, my due date was the next day! Literally, 3 more hours and I would be 40 weeks gestation! It was maddening to know that there was nothing they could do. The nurse suggested we go for a walk.

Tycen and I were determined to get this baby out. They unhooked the monitors, gave me another gown, and we walked. In circles we walked and walked and walked. The walking had helped regulate my contractions. Like clockwork every 4 minutes I would stop, grab onto the railing and get really quiet, just breathing, once the pain subsided we would continue walking. I mostly talked about food. I was so incredibly hungry but with all the pain I had been in throughout the day I just hadn’t managed to sit down and eat much. I talked all about the things I wanted to eat and it didn’t help that every so often on our rounds we would pass the nurses station where they were eating something that smelled incredibly delicious. Periodically Tycen demanded I stop and do some deep squats, which lets be honest, at 39.6 weeks gestation was not fun, but whatever it took.

The moment of truth came when we had arrived back at my room and the nurse had come back in to check my cervix. It was silent as each of us were praying that this was it. One single tiny insignificant metric system centimeter was all that was standing between my relief and my humiliation… SUCCESS! We were at a 3! WE WERE GOING TO HAVE OUR BABY!

11:45 PM

They escorted me to my new room, the room that I would be delivering my baby in. Even though the contractions were still coming on very strong, I felt so much relief knowing that I wasn’t going home and that soon I would get the epidural and could get some rest. After all the past 48 hours I hadn’t gotten much sleep. The room was massive and I mean, MASSIVE. I asked if all their birthing suites were that large and they told me they only had two rooms that big, I was lucky enough to get one of them.

The pain was getting worse and I was aching for that blessed epidural. At one point during my pregnancy I had entertained the idea of going naturally, but we had done little to prepare for that. I applaud any woman who has delivered naturally because the contractions alone were killing me, I couldn’t imagine how much worse the pain could be to feel everything as you push a baby out… uhg.

We sat there listening to the heartbeat on the monitor and they began hooking me up to IV’s when there was a knock on the door, I was so excited because I thought it was the anesthesiologist. Oh the disappointment I felt at seeing my mom, although I know Tycen was glad to see her, she had returned with his food. He got Del Taco and I got ice chips…. yay…

I got my epidural shortly thereafter but even with a numb lower half I still couldn’t sleep. How could anyone sleep really? Well actually, Tycen slept, but for only about an hour or two. I laid there just thinking about how much everything was going to change. I wondered if I could handle it. I kept thinking of this little human inside me that I was finally going to be able to meet.

Every other hour a nurse would enter the room to check on my vitals as well as my baby’s. There were a couple times the baby’s heart rate dropped which was another reason I couldn’t sleep, I wanted to make sure everything was okay. The nurses changed my position and that seemed to fix the problem. From there on out it was just a very anxious waiting game.

January 15th, 5:00 AM

I was exhausted and my voice had become raspy. I’m so glad I had made the decision to get the epidural because had I not I think I would have been in labor for 3 days and I’m certain when it came time to push I wouldn’t have had any ounce of strength to do so. All I wanted to do was sleep. The nurse came in to check me and measured me at 5 cm, it seemed as though the petocin was working its magic and moving things along nicely.

6:00 AM

The nurse came in and checked me and measured me at 10 cm. I’ll never forget the look on Tycen’s face, it was a mix of terror and panic. The nurse calmed him and by letting him know that while I was at a 10, the baby was only at grade 1 or something to that effect. Basically the baby hadn’t quite dropped into full blown birthing position yet which meant more and more waiting. Although occasionally they would have me do some practice pushes in order to get the baby to drop down into a more “ready” position for when my doctor arrived.

8:45 AM

A nurse I hadn’t seen came in with a table full of instruments followed by a rolling vessel for my baby… my heart was racing because I knew it was going to happen soon. That breathing and pushing, I’d seen it on movies and TV shows, I’d heard about it from family and friends, and now it was my turn. I felt anxious and excited but I felt scared and unsure. There is no going back, this is going to happen and I hope to high heaven I can do this.

9:00 AM

My doctor had arrived. She joked and laughed about how she had a feeling that scheduling my induction date would help move things along and sure enough it had! I asked her how often babies are born on their actual due date and she estimated roughly 5% of the time. Wow. What a lucky little babe!

9:15 AM

My doctor was all ready to go. Tycen was by my side, coaching me as was my doctor, to bear down and push through each contraction. I held my breath and did what I thought was pushing, honestly, I couldn’t feel anything so I had no idea. This was it. The nurses all knew that we didn’t want to know the gender of our baby so they all promised not to say anything and to just have my doctor hold our baby up and show us so we could see for ourselves. A second contraction came, I held my breath and pushed and pushed and pushed. My baby’s head was coming out at a weird angle which was slowing things down, but my doctor was certain that this third contraction we would have our baby out. Three more big pushes and I heard a cry.

9:32 AM

In my doctors gloved hands I saw a bloody, messy, screaming baby… a little boy. I sobbed.

I had hired a photographer to capture all these moments in the delivery room and bless her for doing what she does because I cherish all the pictures. In my head I was going to have perfect hair and make up and I would have a serene look on my face. Instead I had bags under my eyes from three sleepless nights, a sweaty messy bun, and in nearly every picture I’m ugly crying. Not blissful tears, oh no, I was sobbing like a little baby that whole morning. Tycen wasn’t fighting off the tears either, he wanted a little boy so bad and there he was, our little baby boy. He was swollen, bloody, and had a cone shaped head, but he was perfect there laying on my chest as they cleaned him up. January 15th, 9:32 AM, 8 lbs 1 oz, 20 ½ inches, Hayes Bryan PoVey made his way into this world.

In an attempt to quell all my fears and anxieties about motherhood I would often dream of the little person that resided in my belly. The perfect little person I dreamt up doesn’t even come close to how wonderful my sweet little baby boy is. My baby is so much more than perfect and somehow the word love as powerful and encompassing as it is, seems to fall short of expressing what I feel for this tiny human. I watch him sleep and I cry when I think about how much I love him. My whole world is forever changed. Its incredibly challenging right now. I’m running on fumes most days and I’m still trying to recover from the trauma that is delivery, but I would never in a million years go back to the life I had before him. I feel so lucky that I was picked to be this little boys mommy… I am not just someone's mommy, I am his mommy. Now it finally is a happy mothers day.

Finally feeling ready

I can feel it, the end is nigh. That is to say the end of this pregnancy anyhow. I haven’t felt an overwhelming feeling to nest. I’ve collected things, gathered items, and rearranged my room, none of which was frenzied and all took place sporadically. Tonight it hit me though. I was overcome by this feeling that I didn’t have enough baby clothes. Luckily for me and my credit card the feeling has come late at night, prohibiting me from hitting up all the baby apparel shops. Although if I wake up feeling this same way I don’t know that my money will be safe.

It is this overwhelming sensation that has me believing I am in my final nesting stages and that this baby is coming soon. I am torn between the part of me that is so ready for this baby to be out of me and the small part of me that doesn’t feel ready for the undertaking that is motherhood. I have had many women tell me to enjoy this special time when baby is nestled safe in my tummy, cautioning that I’ll miss it when its over.

Sometimes it feels impossible to enjoy being pregnant, especially at 38 weeks. I miss feeling like my body was my own and like I have control over it. There seem to be a lot of things my body does these days that all I can do is shrug my shoulders at. I miss exercising and I mean real exercising, not this whimpy walking crap. I can’t wait to start seriously lifting again and pushing my body to the limit. I miss being able to shave my legs and put on my shoes without a struggle, hell I miss being able to actually wear most of my shoes. I miss fitting into my clothes, my cute clothes. Buying clothes and dressing up used to be fun, lately it just kind of feels like, “well this is as good as its gonna get.” I miss sleeping on my tummy and I miss being able to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. And sushi… oh how I have missed sushi.

If I had to think about the things I would miss about being pregnant… hmm… Well I will miss all the junk food. I’ve been pretty strict with what I’ve eaten for years now. I limit the amount of times that I partake in scrumptious high caloric delights, but being pregnant? Suffice it to say I can eat a whole package of Oreos and not feel an ounce of guilt. I feel a lot of this guiltless eating is due in part to the other thing I’ll miss. Right now is the only time in my life it is socially acceptable for me to gain weight. Seriously. I pack on the pounds and no one even bats an eye. I get told all day how cute I am or how small I look, the fact I’ve steadily gained weight for 9 months and I’m still getting compliments is astounding!  While I’m talking about food and gaining weight, I am going to miss midnight snacks. Nothing has helped me sleep better than a full belly right before bedtime. I am not looking forward to going to bed hungry. Oye, dieting.

I’ll miss my little baby moving around in my tummy. I remember moments laying there and worrying because I hadn’t felt a movement in a while, right on cue my little wiggle worm would stretch, kick or punch. The first movements were so distinct and Tycen couldn’t feel them at first. I would always reach for his hand when I felt the baby moving, hoping he would finally feel it. For weeks he couldn’t feel anything and was convinced I was making all the movements up. One morning I grabbed his hand before he could say anything and put it right on my tummy and he felt it, he felt the baby kick.

I bid a fond farewell to all the aches and pains, the weight gains, and the constant need to pee. Adios to hot flashes, breathlessness, and unrelenting heartburn. Sayonara runny nose, itchy skin, and swollen feet. I will probably miss being pregnant, like all the other pregnant women before me have warned me about, but I will gladly say goodbye to being pregnant because that means I get to finally meet this little person that I have known all along. I’m ready sweet baby, I’m finally ready… at least until my water breaks, then I’m sure I’ll fall back into terror!

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.