Why Christmas can suck...

So, today has been a whirlwind.  I mean, it is Christmas Eve, after all... surprised??  We malled it, new grocery stored it, regular grocery stored it, and movied it.  (Wrapping has yet to commence, to our unfortunate dismay...).  We Nordic Santa'd it tonight.  Cookies and carrots are out tonight.  Guess how many gifts are wrapped?  Yeah, that'd be zilch.  And, it is 25 (min) before the hour as I type this, with youngest tot on tit, tapping her foot to Pandora Christmas music.... hmmmm.... 

But, as my title introduces... what sucks is missing your family for what, as a Mom, you have planned traditions since you owned your own baby doll.  So, hearing your "youngest step" baby on the phone upset... well, it sucks.  It ruined Nordic, wrapping, and my spirit.  All that it helped was my beer intake, and confirmation that wrapping would proceed sans husband. 

I have much to look forward to, and I know that.

So, the Merriest of Christmasas to you all, and Happy Holidays! 

Really....

How many sympathy posts can I make?!?  And yet, one gut buster brings all of the rest to surface.  I really, honestly, truly believe that I do the best that I can... There is no bone in my body that says perfection, so please understand that...   and if you have read any previous posts, all of me is usually for others, before myself and family.  Will I ever learn?  Will I ever find my niche or belonging??  I am at the point where shutting down my heart seems like the best viable option for me...    How do you get through struggles with friendship, life, children, taking all of those things out on your husband, and then being able to succeed in the end?  Is it okay to claim a fault of just being too open and trusting... or does that just make me dumb?

My Family Necklace

A post well overdue, but such is life!  A few months back, I was reading one of my most absolutely favorite blogs, Enjoying the Small Things by Kelle Hampton.  Not only is her writing and photography simply breathtaking, so are her little girls.  If you're not already on her bandwagon, I suggest you hop to it!  At any rate, she was showing off some gorgeous jewelery she scored from Bel Kai Designs, and I knew I had to have a piece.  Whitney's work is amazing, how could you not want every one of her magnificent, handcrafted masterpieces??

How perfectly vintage are these customized petite silhouettes?  

Of course we all know that THIS caught my eye right off the bat!  As she says, perfect for any doula!

To a classic lotus necklace.  Who would not love this adorning their neck?

Or better yet, raise awareness and help fight ovarian cancer when you buy this necklace.  There are a few purty treasures in her shop in which she'll donate a portion of the proceeds to a great cause, and this is one of them.  Purchase this, and 25% will go to Word On Cancer... How rockin' is that?

There is a perfect and affordable gift for everyone, and she does not disappoint!  After (well, I won't admit the amount of time I spent mulling over her shop)-I knew I had created the perfect piece of jewelery to compliment my perfect little family.  The wait was agony... I am a natural mailbox stalker, anyways, but knowing I had a special little treat coming my way, wrapped up in a box made perfectly to compliment the surprise inside, made the wait for that little white car?  truck? vehicle? to stop in front of my doorstep, even harder.

Voila!

(and my camera does not do it justice!)

Hop on over to her blog and like her facebook page, so you can stay up to date one what treasures she unfolds.

One day...

This song, and I have looked at the lyrics, which make no sense to compare how I feel when I listen to this song.

This amazing song....

I googled the lyrics.  They don't say what I hear.  What I hear is that I am focusing on my future...  Not the now.  Not the girls.  Not our dog.  Not what is important.  Jeff and I have focused on the future so much.  We have been missing the rapture this whole time... incomplete.  One day I'll be at peace and enlightened.  I am already married with children... I am not here, however.  I have been running...  It is time for me to stop.  Stop and admire what I have, because soon it will be gone, and I will miss it.  Because, I am too focused on the future... I am running far too fast for the future and my finish line.  I am missing out on the now, too concentrated on the future.  

rapture |ˈrap ch ər|noun1 a feeling of intense pleasure or joy

I am missing on my NOW rapture... too intertwined with my future joy, and that is not what matters to me the most, at the end of my day.  It is time for me to refocus.  My family.  My baseline rapture.

The color PURPLE...

I hate that I am a thinker sometimes... Once I think about something, it as though I have already written it down, and it clears my mind. Good for the everyday, however, not so good for the "what I want to remember". Today marks the day, or rather, the TENTH year.... of when a little girl, a sister, passed away. Katelyn. Katelyn Joyce Harper. I donned my purple today. My butterflies. I would post photos of what I wore... my purple bridesmaids necklace and bracelet, along with my hair all tied up, as usual-I'm a mommy :) But, I thought of this amazing butterfly piece, that I have never thought to add to my hair... It came in my bouquet at the most amazing wedding ever. Yet, my photos are downloaded on a bi-quarterly basis, at best (damn DSL with super memory!).

And, so, as with every 11/16... my brain fires a billion memories...Memories I wish I had captured, yet, I only have so many.

Another fire off memory, that I cannot remove... well, there are more than one.  Katelyn left this world on November 16th.  A precious life entered this world on that same date.  My first doula client had her baby on February 14th, the date of Katelyn's birth.  And, the precious life that was given to a sweet family on a November the 16th, also had a little 6 week old baby who lost his life on the birth date of my daughter - March 23rd.  All of these numbers bring me connections...

The purpose of this post was to help me, and maybe share with others, the love I have always had for this person....  Purple is the color I represent for her honor.  It was her favorite.  Her room adorned in purple, along with the paint pen letters and notes of her friends and family.  So, here is my purplesness, for now...

"Purple is the color of good judgment. It is the color of people seeking spiritual fulfillment. It is said if you surround yourself with purple you will have peace of mind. Purple is a good color to use in meditation.  Purple has been used to symbolize magic and mystery, as well as royalty. Being the combination of red and blue, the warmest and coolest colors, purple is believed to be the ideal color."

I think that compliments KJH quite well, no??  Spiritual fulfillment?  Peace of mind?

It was Katelyn, the ten years it has been, what drove me to FSU for their child life specialty program.  She has driven me to many more heights...  I know, that she knows... 

My love for her each and every day, yet especially this one, goes out to my Kate, and my best friend.  Ashley.  I thank you for changing my life... again, as you have always done for me.  It has been my utmost of pleasures, to be with Katelyn.  Masquerade Balls.  Homecoming.  Halloween,  Slumber parties.  Cinderella, hello, times a million!??!  Leotard showers.  Absurd pancakes.  Amazing love.  Amazing friendship.  Amazing life.

And, so for now... I leave you with questioning life.  Who do you have and who are there?  What makes your gears spin?  For me, today, along with many, it is her.  Katelyn.  Joyce.  Harper.  And, P.S., if a certain BFF is pregnant with a girl, I thought tonight, how beautiful Harper would be for a name...

xoxo

My "orange"photo

(RE) Freshed

That is how I feel.  And, my new outlook.  I often have this compelling need to write, yet with family, computer, timing, (perhaps I am driving), it is more than likely, not possible.  I hate that urging feeling for those reasons.  And, sometimes, it is simply due to the fact that my computer chair has been commandeered by a fellow family member for other, quite important purposes, surely.  So, tonight, I commandeered my own seat, the ottoman which houses my girls many tutus and dress up clothes. Actually, it is more comfortable than my Pottery Barn wooden chair.  HHhhmmm....  brain is churning on that idea-how to claim this as mine! 

Okay, so I am known to ramble....    I entered the sacred room of a child birth educator class, taught by the lovely Lindsey Morrow, whom I have grown to love and admire, thanks to Stephanie.  I went to the class.... okay, a truth and a 3/4 truth... because I want to know EVERYTHING about birth (FULL truth).  I want to experience every childbirth class, research every question, have answers to these questions, and be an entire full support reference/person to those who need it.  I am a doula, and I will say with confidence, I am a pretty damn good one.  I cannot help my love of pregnancy and babies.  I cannot deny my fall-in-love-at-first-sight with the bellies.  I cannot deny my love of being with women who are pregnant, laboring, or with a child entering this scary world-scary because it is so different from where they have come.  My fractions/stats, as stated above, now seem irrelevant, because now they all seem to be absolute.  I am so truly blessed to have the patience of my husband and children, to allow and enable me to do what I was placed on this Earth to do.  I am here to help mothers, fathers, and babies, along with being a mother, and I can do all of these things wholly.  In any and all capacities.  Labor is not something that can be planned or arranged.  I am so thankful that I have the ability to support a mother who is without her husband and the father due to the Military, and additionally sit in on a class in which I also have another client that is taking this class. My elatement, yes, new coined word, by these people, and their strength and trust in me, leaves me with the inability to type to convey the description of which I feel. 

The unexpected...

My life has been FULL of the unexpected...  and at each unexpectation, I think that I will grow stronger, and life will move on and be easier.  Honestly... that doesn't seem to be the case.  I have been through unexpected and expected deaths, friendships that have shockingly gone awry without cause or explanation.  I have made some connections and friendships that were surprisingly unexpected and blissful leaving me full at heart and grateful.  I have dealt with my own birth and been with clients that have been a positive inspiration and then at times,  place a chokingly negative weight on my heart.  As I reflect on my life and myself, I don't see where these "wrong" things go "wrong".  I believe this is where my gut wrenching, heart hurting, pain uninvitedly makes it's presence...  I give myself as completely and selflessly as I can, unconsciously.  Perhaps that is a/my fault.  I suppose my illusion that others act and feel the same, is where my problems lie.  I am a wife.  I am a mother. I am a step-mother.  I am a doula.  I am a dreamer.  I am a cynisist.  And I am, perhaps, overly positive towards and with others, and helpful.  How does one find where to draw the line?  Where and how do I stop giving of myself, and believe??

(FYI:  For those that truly know me, you know I often modify words to fit my statements/feelings.... Webster hasn't caught on quite yet, but I do know that the words from my heart have yet to be "technical", but should belong in that book.)

Back to School.

There is something about this time of year, that makes the inner kid in me excited, overjoyed, ready for life....  For some reason, it is a bit off, this year.  Perhaps it is having three, up from one, in school.  Well, maybe I should change that from 1 to 5.  School causes me such....what is the word for anxiety/dread/hopefulness/inspirational all rolled into one??  Anrefulnal??  Well, that.  Anxious for me that I will not disappoint myself, dread that I will not achieve to my standards, hopeful that I will accomplish both of those, and inspired because it will lead me on the path of my future.


My girls are set and ready to go.  We went school shopping, we bought clothes and shoes, and we tried on...outfit upon outfit upon shoes upon necklaces and new to this year-earrings.  Even though Avery is in FOURTH grade, it still makes me nervous, for me-not her, to walk up to the front of the school.  Claire is starting school in a new building, mostly the same people... she is just completely overjoyed and excited.  Nora is just happy to follow suit of her sisters.  I'm going to make another excuse that my Claire Bear is headed to Kindergarten in ONE summer... Yep.  That right there is a kicker for me to grasp right now.

But, what am I supposed to wear on their first day of school???  That is just as important as their first day of school outfits, right??  Too bad I forgot to pick one of those up for myself and the Estee Lauder counter was out of my make-up during their free gift with purchase. 

The camera is ready to go.  The hair, the clothes, the shoes... all green lights.  Just not the mommy...  stalling at yellow.  Not wanting to let go.... not wanting to put a foot through the door.  At least not my foot, anyways...

Multi-purpose nail scissors

Okay, so I suppose I must take some blame for this one... I had just given Claire and Nora a shower, after a quite tiring day away from home to help poor Victoria and her poor Vue, with little success other than being able to put Noah down for a nap this afternoon. I was worn out and itching to explore my creative inspirations that are attacking me from all directions at any given moment. I had a measuring tape out and my screen open to a website of arts and craft photos. Could lead others to explore their artistic expression, right?  It was the first five minutes of my day that I had sat down for me. I head some voices behind me, but distractedly mumbled, "Okay..uh huh... yeah. All right. Yeah, sure." This is when in hindsight, my parent guilt creeps in. For all I know, a 4 1/2 and 28 month old were asking me if it was okay to put the fish in the microwave, play with knives, call Cambodia, or... cut off all their hair. Most likely it was a request to watch a movie, eat, help them find a certain pair of fairy undies, or to have a story read to them.

While I do not have pictures of the direct aftermath, I snapped a few shots of their new 'dos. I hope my overpriced salon visits as an adult has taught me a thing or two about cutting hair.

So Claire has a kinda funky flair layered side swoop bang cut.  (Great, I'm going to have to do her hair every morning, too?!?)

And Nora ended up with a grown up, little lost baby curls, bob of sorts... 

(P.S. For quick photo upload purposes, these were taken with my phone...I'll upload the real-deals later.)

This is another time, a time which happens all too often, when I must realize my little girls are growing up.  They are individuals.  Independent.  Trusting and loving girls.  I guess that's not so bad after all.  

Insomnia...

Of the worst kind. What in the world is a mother of three children, a student with FOUR, yes... you read that correctly, but I shall type it again...four exams next week, doing awake? And may I carry on... who woke up just after 8 after an insomniatic (yes, it is now a word) night last night, to try to catch up with, well... life. Which is something I can never "catch up" on. It is absolutely impossible. I suppose that is the point of life, to keep a constant movement in direction... and even when you think you are "caught up", it is just a not-a-pause: A time when you actually have time to sit down and read a book or have a absolutely meaningless yet important conversation with your husband. If you could catch up with life like you can on the laundry or the bills, then where would you be? Left without...life? When I say, "I'm caught up on all of the laundry, honey!", that means there is nothing left for me to wash. No laundry at all. Maybe a washcloth or a towel, but when in the hell is that in a household of 3 children, a dog, and a husband.

Did you ever have conversations at the dinner table as a child, and your family would be talking about, say, homework, which could lead to Ben Franklin, and before you know it the topic of this conversation has become about how it is time to change the air filters?? That is how I am feeling write now... But as it says right up there... fingers hit the keys...

I Am That Mom...

This blog was inspired by Jeff Olden who in turn was inspired by Flo Gascon who was inspired by Ronnie Maier....  Or something like that...  At any rate...

I am that mom who doesn't have a plan.  I go to the grocery store without a list, I am carefree about bedtimes, and while I plan on taking my two youngest daughters to preschool tomorrow, I can't count on my plan. 

I am that mom who has come to terms with the fact that it is okay to wash my hair every four days and not even blow dry it when I do, weekly (self) pedicures are a thing of the past, as is the daily application of make-up.  

I am that mom who wants to be involved in everything.  I attend every parade, presentation, performance, and party, at least as an audience member, if not as a volunteer/leader.   I am that mom who is an over achiever, often putting others  and their children, before my own...  But I think that it is because I know mine are doing just fine.

I am that mom who breastfeeds until they are disinterested.... it certainly isn't the other way around...  

I laugh when I change my daughter's diaper, usually.  We have a little game we play... legs up, legs down, tickle the belly, and roll over.  I am that mom who had a serious problem with the buying/selling/exchanging of cloth diapers.  A new diaper in the mail was better than Christmas... and it wasn't even going on my ass.   I have, thankfully, overcome this addiction.  

I am that mom who loses my patience and freaks out and yells.  Often times over spilled (almond) milk... usually not the first through fourth time in the last hour,  though... it is that fifth time that makes me flip.  But I am that mom who apologizes.  

I am that mom who had an awful first labor/delivery, the perfect second labor/delivery, and the most fabulous of pregnancy experiences with both.  Being that mom has made me a doula, hopeful lactation consultant, and hopeful surrogate mother.  I am that mom who wants to share with future moms how great it is to be that mom.  

I am that mom who dreams.  I dream for me, and I dream for my daughters.  I dream of sitting through three beautiful weddings, of the three most amazing, beautiful, strong, smart, dreaming girls.  And I am that mom that wakes up to one of their nightmares, and joins them in their bed, to hold them.

I am that mom whose everything is Avery Elizabeth, Claire Maureen, and Nora James.  I am that mom whose children are my life and breath.

Well Jimminy "holiday"...

Boy, has it been an upper/downer kind of day.  I have been fixating on a certain event for the past few days.  Something of which I could not physically be a part.  Something of which I wonder if I ever was a part of in all aspects of being.  Something that I believe has altered my mood, in only a way such a thing of this proportion, emotionally,  can do, without my realization.  I sit and cry...  silently.  Hidden, to the best of my capability.  I kind of wish I wouldn't succeed in my ability to hide this, but, to my avail, I do a damn good job.  I have been trying to place blame on my emotions to be other than what they are.  What I know it is.  In the end, I am not all that great at hiding things from myself.

Where is mine?

My daughters, shockingly, are all in one bed.  No, not asleep, just entranced in a movie.  Brother Bear to be exact.  I pick up my book, and begin to read.  (While I cannot link the book as the website is down, or maybe my internet sucks,  or perhaps it was just not meant to be... Eat Pray Love). Well, I re-read, because I don't recall the last few pages as I would have liked to.  I am in India, now.  This is where I thought I would have had to hurdle an obstacle.  I am not particularly religious.  I really believe in nothing.  There is a Six Feet Under episode that embodies my thoughts on death.  How I envision the death of myself or of my husband...  Nature going back to nature.  The End.  This book has given me a perspective on life I have never thought of or imagined.  I'm not claiming "Born Again!!"...  However, she says in the first few pages of India, there is a Guru for everyone.  Where is mine?  Is he/she right in front of my face?  Did I miss her/him?  Can I just call out, "Guru, I am ready!!"?

Life is a funny, fickle thing...  I have come across many great people, some of which are moving on, and leave me afraid that I will loose them forever...  Then I look to the bottom of my boat.  I move on to someone who stumbled into my life, unexpectedly... and revel at how amazing that "chance", "fate", perhaps "random occurrence", has impacted me in such a short time of my life. 

I read and dream to write...  I read blogs that inspire,  I read blogs that catch me happily by surprise, and then listen to music that makes me love and appreciate life....  Maybe I have already met my Guru.  Maybe he is him - the one that I open my eyes to each morning.  Or the one I call after months of not speaking to, nervous of our conversation.  Those that I think of daily, that may not even think of me at all?

From the Heart

I mean, no surprise... all my posts come from the heart.  I suppose the difference here is that  I have 3 blog posts saved, ready to be completed and posted, but I chose those topics to defer my heart from it's true feelings.  That is why I could not publish them.  I assume, at some point, they will.... they still are my thoughts.  However, they were written as a distraction from my true, honest, open thoughts.  Every heart, the red construction paper heart, is different from all others.  I have had a hard time being able to see my red paper heart lately.  It isn't perfect right now.  It has rough edges.  Perhaps even holes cut out of it.  Maybe it isn't even red right now.  Those rough edges and holes, have a lot to do with my uncertainty of what it looks like right now.  I have had a hurricane, earthquake, tsunami, flood of emotions lately, and I am not sure where to categorize and place them.  They don't fit in my "schematic" reason of thoughts and emotions.  I feel loss.  I feel upset.  I feel sad.  I feel depressed.  I feel like a Queen.  I feel like a provider.  I feel like a back bone.  And I feel forgotten.  I feel second.  Quite a lot to deal with....  And for me, it is hard not knowing how to compartmentalize all of these feelings, which only scrape the ice.  I hope that soon, they will make it to their appropriate cubbies and boxes on their own, or at least, without much effort on my part.....

How and Why

Wednesday night, I was perusing my phone... late night as always. I opened my facebook and the first status update I read, was Top 5 most horrible news I have ever received. I never met this person, but I heard many great things... I facebooked with her... was supposed to meet her last summer, and plans fell through. I was so excited to meet her. I turned to my husband, who I was sitting right next to.. my mouth agape. He looked at me with funny eyes and a funny face. He knew there was something I had to tell him. "I have really bad news, honey." "What?" "Someone died." He immediately thought of his sick father, elderly grandparents.... you know, those that are supposed to die before you, no matter how much you want to punch the cycle of life in the face. But it wasn't. It was a 33 year old girl. His first girlfriend. His first everything. She was a pedestrian crossing a road, and hit by a van, at 8:40 in the morning, on the way to the bank. In broad daylight. A pedestrian.

I can't for the love of God figure out how to post an image on here...

My husband spent seven years of his life with her. High school, college, moving to be wherever she was during her successful fashion career in New York City. And in a split second, a precious life was taken away.
I have dealt with pain and loss before, but this time it is different. It is "uncopeable". I am so saddened with this news, and then look into the love of my life's eyes, and I feel his pain, too.
I have tried to be a backbone, a support, a counselor, a friend, and of course a wife. And when he falls asleep at night-I lose it. It becomes my time to be weak. To be sad. To be upset. I never even met her, but I know her. I know stories. I know photos. I know her. The lump in my throat never goes away. I don't understand. My dearest friend Ashley has been through so much in her life with this, and I have so much.... speechless... Love. Respect. Admiration. Courage. For her...
When will this end? When will the tears stop? I just wish... and think... what if? What if??

Donations for her arrangements, which are being set up with Jeff, myself, and her good friend Neevy, can be sent via Paypal to JillDavisMemorial@gmail.com

One of the most amazing days of my life...

Yesterday, I was blessed to co-host an amazing event with my dear friend Victoria. The Tallahassee SIDS Stomp. A friend of ours lost their 6 week little boy to SIDS. By definition, the unexpected sudden death of a child under the age of one, in which an autopsy does not have any way to explain this death. While there are speculations, precautions, and research suggesting what to do and what not to do, there is no answer, no cure, no guaranteed prevention. The Richardson family has been so strong through this, and maybe because I have very little emotional regulation, and cry without warning or control, I have had to be hugged and loved on from the parents who lost their child. I tear up about this as I write. I have made life long friends in this process, have been inspired, and have helped to raise money to donate to the SIDS Institute, so that we may become closer to finding a reason.... finding a cure.

I will post again, with personal pictures, and the dollar amount raised for the SIDS Institute. I am so happy to have been a part of this, and thank each and every one of you who came out, volunteered, donated, and the list is endless. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Milestones...

As a parent, I am always so ecstatic when my daughter's reach goals, achievements, and benchmarks in their little developing lives. Watching their face light up when they realize they understand a concept, learn a phrase, or simply uttered a sound that I KNOW was definitely "Mommy".
The other day, Nora and I were walking down the stairs, and she was counting...each...step.... 1, 2, 3, .... and made it all the way to 10, correctly! Which was then followed by 12, so I spoke along with her, to (one of my favorite words) scaffold (not a verb, but I use it as such) her... To help her build little bricks and steps, so that she can reach the top, with just my encouraging words. It isn't always words that I use when scaffolding. It could be helping them to manipulate the playground once or twice, til their confidence is there, and they have complete mastery over the obstacle. There is a certain picture that comes to mind, which I cannot seem to locate on the infinite worldwideweb, of men building the Empire State Building, and how they scaffolded their way 102 stories high, to complete this iconic masterpiece, 80 something years ago. This is the closest stockphoto I could find, and I think it does an okay job to share my mental image.


So, I am not constructing a world renowned skyscraper, but perhaps a world renowned person, if so be it :)
At any rate, while I can accept those milestones with utter joy and elation, it is the times when I realize I have to step back and in a way, let go, for them to grow and learn, that I just don't want to. They are my treasure. My life. Mine. It is selfish, but I'm not always ready or willing to give in and hand over freedom. (The sad part about this post is that it stemmed from my youngest daughter attending preschool for the first time today. What in the heck am I going to do when they turn 16 and demand far more entitlement and independence than me taking them to preschool?)
I am excited and happy for her to be in a place, where she will have the benefits of things I cannot offer, which will enable and empower her to be a strong, and social individual. Example: I am one that is all for painting, however, my threshold on paint clean up, certainly is not something I can commit to everyday. Nor do I have, or again, am I will to have, 4 other 2 year olds, and 6 or so other 4 year olds in my house at one time, for my daughter's to develop social interactions and relationships.
There is a quote I have written down, that keeps popping up, interfering with my words at times, and so I think I will leave you with that...
"Making the decision to have a child-it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." -E. Stone

My Beautiful Family

I am so lucky to have such a beautiful family. It is moments like these, that make the juice spills, temper tantrums, and bed time fights, okay.

Owie

I opened up an email this morning from a group of great mamas I am a part of. Though the subject warned have tissues ready, I expected something like "I won't be able to make it to the Easter egg hunt" or "my daughter bonked her little brother on the head with a Barbie". No such luck.

I can't focus. Think. Stop crying. Stop clutching onto my birthday girl. Go pick up cupcakes and her favorite birthday dinner.

A proud and wonderful mommy, lost her precious 6 week old in the night. She kissed him and tucked him in bed for the last time.

It has come to my attention....

I have realized, that I (we) have some amazing people in our lives. People that make me laugh like only my husband can...I care for them, almost as much as I do my own family. These people are those I never thought would give me so much happiness. It is just a reminder that the small things in life, are what maybe, most important. While I indulge myself in preparing for an acquaintances little girl, I realize how much more of myself I give to others, compared to my family.

My 1st actual doula client

It's Saturday. I wake up, and it is Saturday. Like most, I mope around in my robe, drink some coffee, and procrastinate getting dressed to avoid facing the world. By 12:15, I have successfully put on jeans, yet, still with robe. My phone rings... NAMEOFCLIENT CALLING. Fight or Flight kicks in. Flight-I have a best friends daughter's 1st birthday party to attend in just a few hours. It's probably just to touch base. Let it go to voicemail. I am not prepared. Fight-This is what I have been waiting for. My destiny and duty. "Hello?" "I think my water just broke." Oh, shit. Lazy Saturday Mom hat hits the wall and lands on the floor, and out comes doula hat. I go through some questions to determine her state of emotions and state of labor. No real contractions, just positive her membranes ruptured. I reassure her, she will be okay despite the lack of contractions, and remind her of my first stage of labor with Nora. "Call your OB's office, and then call me back to let me know what they recommend." Panic. I run out and mutter some words, four letter and otherwise, to Jeff. I pace and wander around some more... Finally, I focus. I pack my binder, booklet, lotions and massagers in a backpack. I hopped in the car to run to New Leaf. I need snacks, water, enough frozen dinners to last my husband a day, and I was sure I needed another lotion or oil to add to my bag. My usual anal grocery separation at the checkout, had to be revised to bag doula stuff separately from freezer stuff. I head to the mall for my procrastinating last half of a birthday present.

Fifteen minutes late and pulling into the party zone, my phone rings. Again, FOF, but Fight wins without any contemplation. Nameofclient is in the hospital, 1 centimeter dilated. I tell her to call me if she is checked and further dilated, or if the "P" word is brought up. Two hours later, obsessing over and double-checking my phone that I carried in my hand, I get a phone call with the "P" word. Her dilation is just at 2 and her water broke 5 hours ago. She okay’s the pitocin, and now I race. I change my clothes, grab my bag, and head to TMH. At 5:45p, there is no change in her progression, and NOC is as calm as can be, despite the pitocin running through her veins. The three of us (third party her husband) sit and chat. Cell phones are ringing, mine included, to see how everyone is doing. Within a few hours, the contractions are intense. Her mother shows up, which has me worried. I didn't want to replace the mother having a daughter, role.

The time of day is hazy from hear on out. As soon as she needed me, it was automatic and natural. Words came out of my mouth without thought, and counter pressure and massaging just happened. The mother was beautiful. She asked to labor in the tub, and despite the monitors and IV, she was allowed an hour. I filled the tub, while her husband and mother had a moment to walk and labor through the halls.

Husband and NOC spent some time together in the bath. I could hear a few intense contractions, and soon the nurse ordered her back to the IV. We stood, sat on the birthing ball, leaned on the bed, laid on all fours on the ball and bed... We are contracting, massaging, communicating, and soothing together. It doesn't feel like doula and client. It feels connected and intertwined. There is honesty. We shared something you don't get from relationships you have had with people for years, or interact with in everyday life. She stood, and I embraced her, let her sink her weight into my arms, as mine intertwined with hers, holding her weight, allowing her to sink, and her head would rest on my shoulder. There was nothing more beautiful.

We had been laboring together for nearly 8 hours. No more tub was allowed. It was after 4am. Only 4 centimeters along. She asked for Nubain. We labored in bed for a while, since she had to return there to have her progression checked.

NOC's mom was copying my acupressure and massage techniques, engaging herself in her daughter's labor. The husband came up frequently to kiss and caress her, saying words of love and encouragement, softly in her ear.

By 6am I was on my own. Mom was passed out in the rocking chair, Dad on the reclining bed chair. We rocked and swayed, I held her, she told me where to apply pressure if my placement was off during a contraction, and communicated more or less pressure, if necessary. I was in complete awe of this woman, taking each contraction with confidence and breath. I ran my fingers through her hair in between, and told her how wonderfully she was doing. I was so proud of her, and so proud of myself. We were doing this together.

Time went on...and on and on. The nurses kept increasing her pitocin in an attempt to increase and strengthen her contractions.

The birthing ball started to cause discomfort, so we moved to an in room toilet, just perfect for her to sit upon, contract, lean on me, and for me to access her back and sides to counter press.

The L&D nurses shifted at 7a, and we withheld more Nubain. Eventually, a third dose was given, along with antibiotics because the baby had been without his amniotic sac, for quite some time. Contractions started to be painful. She went from breathing, massage, and bearing weight on me, the ball, or toilet, to moans. She was the most beautiful laboring mother I could have imagined. She asked for another chance at the bath early morning, but was declined because of the fetal and uterine monitoring, deemed necessary because of her pitocin drip. Other pain regulation measures were asked for, and declined. She lied down in the bed on her back, for another cervical check. By 11a, she had no energy to get up again. Epidural was her last option. I asked if we could go through 3 more contractions before a decision, yet the anesthesiologist was already in route. Papers and contracts were in the room. I handed the contract to her husband, and explained to her the possible risks, and encouraged her she could make it.... we had come so far! She asked many questions... how will this affect my baby? If I need a cesarean section, will this make it easier? Increase in pitocin? In the end, she accepted the epidural. She apologized to her husband and I. While I was left with feelings never felt before, I knew those were MY feelings. I assured her that she knew her body, herself, and her baby better than anyone in the room.

I was in the room for the epidural, yet requested to remain in front of her, with her mother. Her husband turned white while supporting her during this procedure, and had to sit this one out. The L&D nurse (happily) took over... she had experienced a c-sec before. I rubbed and talked Dad through it. Water and words.... what more could I give?

After what seemed like an hour, she was back to lying down in bed. I left to get something to eat. I needed a break. I cried the whole way to the cafeteria, knowing whatever I bought, would not be eaten. This PERFECT, natural, beautifully laboring mother, had an epidural. I was not upset or sad with her, I did not feel defeated.... I am not sure what I felt. It was 2p Sunday at this point.... Much more than raw emotion was in to play. I even suffered three cups of hospital coffee in a styrofoam cup sans raw sugar.

I rubbed her through a contraction, and then realized she couldn't feel my hands. Another walk.... for me to a phone. My cell phone had died, and I needed to talk to my strength and encourager, my husband. I cried. Walked to the public restroom, and tried to de-cry myself. 2:25p Sunday. 9 cm, 95% effacement, and -1 station. The two words I never thought I would hear in THIS birth, were said, and a reality. "I'll give you thirty more minutes to complete dilation, effacement, and ascent. Otherwise, we will have to proceed with a cesarean section.”

I was so proud of her, and me. I think the hardest part of this was that my perfect laborer wasn't able to be my perfect birther. I asked the midwife and L&D nurse if they would fill out my doula certification forms. I asked NOC's mother if she would have NOC fill it out whenever she was stable. I kissed NOC goodbye, told her, amongst a flow of tears about as intense as her contractions, how proud of her I was... how beautiful she was. I meant it with every cell in my body. I still can't get through this without crying.

She called. Cesarean went well, and a healthy 8+ pound baby boy. She said her uterus has a congenital disorder. The docs say she'll never be able to deliver vaginally. Her uterus blocks her cervix, it isn't bilaterally symmetrical.

I walked out of the room with no emotional control. Jeff was to pick me up just outside the building, but I had to walk. I sobbed. Sobbed all the way down the parking garage and towards the street. Sobbed into Jeff's arms, despite the cars behind us.

I wanted SO badly for my perfect laborer, my first client, my perfect client, to have what she wanted, and also, selfishly, for me to have what I wanted.

I am more than pleased with my performance and role as a doula. The forms I have filled are all 5's. The hospital staff specifically stated how wonderful I was with the mother, how concerned I was for the baby, and that most doulas treat the staff like shit, yet I was extremely respectful towards them and great with the mom-they were HAPPY to work with me. Happy I was there. It was an accomplishment for more than just me, but also the doulas in my area. I made a statement for us.

I am seeing little baby boy tomorrow. I am excited. My eyes still look like baseballs, but, I am so happy to have been involved in such an important part of someone’s, more than one someone's life.

Today....

I woke up this morning... not literally, but mentally, emotionally... it was pouring down rain, too foggy to drive, and bone chilling cold. (Well, literally, when I first woke up, it was bone chilling cold, but I'm kind of a wimp that way.) My day began with flooded disappointment. Blocking out the gray skies, I focused my way through the day... little by little, the sun came out, and now there is a rainbow.

What I just typed up above, is absolutely not anything I would have thought I would ever type in my life. I read it...and... said... huh?? I've never said anything like that in my life before?! However, since it is my first metaphor, I will leave as is.

Excited for the future, and thankful for my friends and family.....

How I know I know what I want to do....

So, when I got a text from an old BFF, telling me she is in the hospital with an old friend, and asking me for advice, what do I do??? FREAK OUT in excitement. The honor of being asked by an old friend with a friend in labor, for advice, tips, and tricks, gets me sky high. What a great round of short texts, to affirm my love for being a doula, and encourage me in this directions. Too bad long distance doulaing doesn't count for certification!

The worst words you can string together in the Dictionary...

The worst 2 1/2 words, ever heard ever, are "I'm hungry". This is either coming from the mouth of a 3, 1, or 34 year old. As for the first 2 categories, they were fed 3 minutes ago, and as for the last, if he'd open the fridge, he'd find a horn of plenty to heat in the microwave for 30 seconds. Can not either of these three parties form some alliance, to eat three times of day, at the same time? There comes a time, if not every other day, but daily, when I say "F*** it to hell, Kitchen, my second lover, I am sorry to abandon you". And, so I must, leave my second lover, in a mess of sauce, soymilk, salsa, and spaghetti, in an attempt to maintain some failed attempt at sanity.

If it is not these 2 1/2 words, that I fear, it is those that say "I'm wet". It is hard to tell if this ranks number 1 or 2, yet the caveat is, since this happens a bit less often than the previous grievance, I look at it as being second. Waking up, slightly warm, yet slightly cold, and unsure of the cause, is a real bitch. Your upper thigh region is wet, yet cold, but sometimes warm, and you are left to wonder.... why??? What happened? Am I warm or cold? And as you open your eyes, you see a small child, and realize you are neither warm nor cold, just soaked in piss.

So, both of these circumstances, leave me in a conundrum. Which is worse? Regardless of the answer, it doesn't really solve anything.

Some of the best of YouTube....

Matt Damon's thoughts on Sarah Palin

Owl City Fireflies

Safe Word

Daddy's changing diapers

Someone wants their rent

Yaga Bombs

TBC....

2010

I read something today:

"According to the Shinto calendar 2010 is a year of growth. A year that all your hard work in 2009 begins to sprout. Think of all the seeds you have been sowing and keep watering them with your creativity, thoughts, and focus."

It made me feel hopeful, and I told all of those that I love and care about, that could comprehend. Last night, my husband asked me if I had any resolutions.... as usual, and last years post may I submit as evidence, I answered no. I don't believe in them. It is a sure way to enter disappointment and backfire. However, upon reading this, I found hope. I did not find reason to make any resolutions. Never have I had a New Year's revolution, as the song says, according to my fifth grade music teacher. As I entered the year this morning, I felt tired, exhausted, and upset..... pretty close to how I exited the year of 2009. I read this and felt optimistic, a strange feeling. Have not all I have attempted, strived for, and failed, NOT gone to the wayside? I don't believe in much, but this made me believe in me. As a mom, wife, stepmom, doula, student, hopeful grad student....among many other aspirations. And so with this, I will now start off the year of 2010, one I thought never achievable, or a realization of my dreams, until now. It is here. I did not see the "ball drop". I did not spend the newfound year's eve, surrounded by drinks, family, and friends. It was an unusual New Year's Eve, previewed by an unusual Christmas. And so with the wisdom of the Shinto belief, I take that I am to pursue what I have been dreaming about, during this past year. I told this to my 8 year old, and followed it with an example, and she too, believed in these words, and felt it comforting and encouraging. So, to a new year. A time to finish what I have been too scared to do and complete. My feelings right now are, I am all yours, 2010. I have a lot to offer, and right now, I am ready. Please don't deny me.