Planning Our First Roadtrip

We were supposed to go to San Diego next week, but we decided to cancel given the situation with the pandemic. Incidentally, things are opening up in San Diego this week, so we honestly might have been able to go. But now it will wait until next year. Once TJ agreed we could use our tax return to visit friends in San Diego, I decided that if I was going out west, I had to see the Grand Canyon. That decision snowballed into our first road trip, which included fly to San Diego, Joshua Tree National Park, Sedona AZ, Grand Canyon, Hoover Dam, Vegas (briefly), fly home. Since it is postponed, I might make it even bigger and longer, but we'll see.

Since we had to cancel, I started dreaming and planning lots of hypothetical road trips. It became my new hobby. It really was all hypothetical until I saw a few weeks ago that the Ark Encounter in Kentucky was opening up in June. I decided that would be our trip this summer. And thus began planning our actual first road trip. TJ has to take a class this summer, so we had to plan around that. Once he is finished with his class, we will leave about a week later at the end of July.

This road trip has been a lot more difficult to plan than our trip out west because the landmarks are less famous. It has required A LOT of time of research. But our general itinerary is this:
Day 1: A few hours in Pittsburgh, then drive to Hocking Hills State Park and set up camp
Day 2: Hocking Hills hiking and relaxing
Day 3: Pack up camp and drive to Cincinnati for the day, motel in KY
Day 4: Big Bone Lick State Park and Ark Encounter, motel in Louisville
Day 5: Explore Louisville
Day 6: Lexington to Red River Gorge for camping
Day 7: Explore Red River Gorge
Day 8: Pack up camp and drive to Hawk's Nest State Park WV, drive to Waynesboro, VA for motel
Day 9: Drive up Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive, stop at Luray Caverns, drive home.

And I just wrote that all from memory. This has truly been my obsession for the last two weeks or so. I'm okay with that. See, I think that the more you can plan, the less you will be floundering during the trip. Floundering wastes time, and if I only have a day in Louisville, I better know what we want to do there. Once we go on our trip, I will be able to post more about our itinerary and how things went, given that we have three littles to contend with.

For now, here are a few tips I have if you are interested in planning a family road trip:

1. Figure out the main destination for your trip. For our west coast trip, that was Grand Canyon. For this summer's trip, it's the Ark Encounter. With this main destination set, you can use Google Maps to see what else is on the way or nearby. It can be really time consuming, but if you see a nearby city or town along the route that sounds familiar, look it up on tripadvisor.com to see if there is anything interesting to do in that area.

2. Join roadtrip facebook apps. I joined two roadtrip apps on facebook that have been so incredibly helpful! The people on these groups are seasoned travelers and can lend lots of advice on routes to take and things to do in any state. I appreciate the first hand advice that they give. The two groups I joined are "See the USA via Roadtrips" and "The All American Roadtrip Group." You can either ask a question or do a search to see previous discussions on the state or city that you want to visit. There are also lots of forums on Tripadvisor where you can do a search or ask a question.

3. Another great website/app is RoadTrippers. You can create a route on this website and select what kind of places you are hoping to find along the route, such as historical places, photo op places, good restaurants, nature, etc. There is a paid version that allows you to create an itinerary that includes all the places you discover, but keeping it cheap, I just browse for interesting places and write it all down.

4. Figure out your budget. Originally, I wanted to do this trip in under $1,000. Which we could do if we didn't make a lot of stops, but the cost went up quickly with each day added. Ultimately, I decided to extend the budget a little (since we could) because I didn't want to have to skimp on the cool activities along the way. We are keeping the budget lower because will be camping for half of the time, or maybe even a little more than half. Camping wouldn't be my first choice, but it definitely keeps costs a lot lower! Plus, I think that camping in the parks is a great way to experience them. We will also be bringing a lot of food with us and eating out less. Again, not as fun. But you have to decide what is most important to you when traveling and what you can go without. Experiencing local food is a great aspect of traveling, but if I have to choose, I choose landmarks and museums over food.

5. For hotel rooms, consider staying further out of the city for cheaper prices. Expedia has a nice app where you can search for your city of interest, and they have a map with various prices on it with where the hotels are located. Our current conundrum with this trip is where to stay when we go to Louisville. If you stay in downtown Louisville, you have to pay to park in a parking garage (and possibly other places if you drive your car somewhere). If you stay further outside of the city, you may not pay to park while at the hotel, but it will be less convenient. Or do we camp outside of Louisville as well? We haven't hammered down this detail at all yet!

Those are just a few tips for beginning to plan a road trip. We have a month and a half until we go, and I can't wait to see more and more of this beautiful country. It's nice to have something to look forward to!

30 Before 30

About a month ago or so, I decided to make a list of 30 things I wanted to do before I turn 30 this November. It was a little late to start, but depending what I decided to put on the list, it was still doable. I looked online for various ideas, and everyone had different types of things that they wanted to do, including such things as throwing a drink in someone's face or traveling to Bali. Bali sounds awesome, but it isn't doable for me. Maybe someday. For me, I want to accomplish things that are adventurous or crazy or things that will make me a healthier person as I entire a new decade of life. I haven't accomplished much on my list yet, and in fact, I am only sitting down today to actually finish the list! Coming up with 30 things is not easy!

Something valuable that I have learned is that even if you won't be able to reach the goal you wanted to reach, it is still important to try to get as close as possible to that goal! My tendency is to just give up if I know I won't be able to reach the goal. But some wise women in a Moms' Running Group I'm in encouraged me to reconsider my expectations, and that was really valuable advice to me. With our basement flooding and the work and stress that that has entailed, TJ and I haven't been able to train for our half marathon as well as we would have liked so far, and I also have been stress eating, which isn't helping me get to my weight loss goal! Should I give up on this half marathon? No. Maybe I will have to walk a little, but I can still finish it. Maybe I won't lose the weight that I was hoping to lose by my birthday, but I can still lose what I can.

Another important thing I've learned (or still learning) is to stop thinking and dreaming about who I want to be, and JUST BE THAT GIRL! But change is hard. So. I'm still working on it.

Here is my (unfinished) list:
1. Plank for 5 minutes straight
2. Run half marathon (Oct 16)
3. Complete a successful Whole30
4. Go vegetarian for a month
5. Organize my kitchen
6. Start to love my body for what it can do!
* Make a youtube video
8. Try a new food
* Scream like a 13 year old girl at a concert (Mixtape Festival, Aug 6)
10. Give a stranger $20
11. Hike White cliffs, Bainbridge
* Beach day trip (Sept 2)
13. Get together with Rasa, Debby, Joy, Vanessa (Oct 8)
14. Dance like a fool at a wedding (Sept 23)
15. Establish a routine for reading the bible
16. Establish a prayer routine
17. Establish family devotions time
18. Declutter more
* Make money
* Make Lucky Charms ice cream cake
21. Try a new class at the gym
22. Cake smash photo
23. Help install basement floor
* Run with just a sports bra on
25. Go one week without facebook
26. Pray out loud at church
27.


My list is unfinished, but I guess that leaves room for whatever adventures might pop up between now and November!

Turning 30 feels like a big deal. I don't know if it really will be or not, but I am using it as an excuse to have some adventures and to start JUST BEING THAT GIRL that I desire to be.

"This is your life. Are you who you wanna be?" -Switchfoot

Whole 30: Post 1

So on Monday, I started doing the Whole 30. I committed to 30 days of no grains, no dairy, no sugar. This journey is a long time coming for me because I have been convicted for quite some time about my eating habits, and it's just so hard to make a change.

After I had Blake, I dealt with a long, difficult ductal yeast infection. Breastfeeding was so painful that I would scream out in agony every time Blake ate. Everything I read about said to minimize sugar intake, but I just struggled to make the change. Mama likes her pasta! But then came the awful guilt trips because when I was in pain, I blamed myself. I had the remedy to make it better, but I kept NOT changing my diet! Then after I had Malcolm, I was terrified of having that yeast again. I actually did have it. In my c-section wound, the *cough* typical area, and in my breast. Thankfully, it was short lived. But God really began working on my heart... I joined a Facebook group for psoriasis support and found out that diet has a lot to do with auto-immune diseases. Annnd the guilt trips began again. If I changed my diet, it could help my psoriasis. But I didn't, and I suffered.

But the psoriasis support group has taught me a lot about which foods are acidic and inflammation-causing. And how psoriasis can get worse if you don't do something about it. And how GOOD you feel when you eat REAL food. These people were healing, and they were thriving.

Why should changing my diet be so damn hard? Of course changing habits is always hard... but I had a serious heart issue. I started experiencing even more guilt now because I knew it wasn't just a cause and effect food issue... I was abusing food and myself. I binge ate when I got stressed. I binge ate just because there was a certain food that I "just can't say no to." I would go to a restaurant, convinced that I would order the taco salad... but I would convince myself that I HAD to get a combo platter instead.  Because everyone else was. And then I felt guilty. Because I knew better. I know that certain foods are bad for me. They are not life giving.

That's a phrase that God put on my heart. As with every decision we make, some bring life and some do not. Why wouldn't I choose life?

So I want better for my kids. That's why I really want to change our habits now. My brother is a big inspiration to me because he eats super healthy, avoiding sugar most of the time, and he is super healthy. He enjoys a good meal, but eating is not happiness to him. Why does eating mean so damn much to me?!

Anyway, this is part of the reason WHY I am doing Whole 30. For me, this is about a lot more than just losing weight, feeling better physically, and changing habits. This is a heart issue. Because I really, really like to eat. Much more than I should. And since this is a heart issue for me, I NEED to remember during this journey, especially during the difficult moments of temptation, that I need to be evaluating my heart. And I want to share this journey with you because I'm hoping to inspire others to evaluate their hearts and evaluate their plates. The food industry is seriously messed up, and we need to stop being ignorant to the results of sugar and chemicals in our bodies before it's too late.

What does my life mean without cheese? Is my life any less fulfilling? I love cheese, but I HAVE to know that I am okay without it. What's that quote from Cool Runnings?  "Cheese is a wonderful thing. But if you aren't enough without it, you'll never be enough with it." Something like that. ;-)

wednesday

Wednesday was the last day that I had a conversation with my dad. I would never have imagined that, though. On Wednesday morning, Blake and I went to visit my dad. He was getting a CT scan that morning. When he came back from the test, he was so exhausted from not sleeping over night. I told him that I would let him rest, and I would come again in the evening. Blake gave him a high five. And we left. That's it. That was the last conversation we ever had.

Blake and I went home for naptime, and after that, we went to my mom's for dinner. TJ was in the midst of his very first progress reports (which is very time-consuming at his school). He was pretty stressed and had a lot of work to do, but he went with me to the hospital on Wednesday evening while we left Blake with Grandma.

When we got to the hospital, Dad was sleeping. I didn't want to wake him, so I left him a note that said I would visit again in the morning. But I didn't want to leave without any answers. I still didn't know what was wrong. So we waited for Dad's doctor to have time to talk to us. We watched Survivor while we waited. Dad's doctor came in after about half an hour of waiting. He got right to the point. The ugly "c word" was in his first sentence. I felt my heart drop, but I didn't cry. My brain was really busy concentrating on what the doctor was saying because there were so many technical words in the diagnosis. The doctor told us up front that even though they didn't know for sure what stage his cancer was in, it was most likely not treatable. He told us that we should have a family meeting sometime in the upcoming days about what Dad's plan would be in the event of being diagnosed with weeks or months to live. The message was clear: Dad was going to die and probably soon.

I don't remember what our conversation was like on the way home from the hospital, but I do remember that I had to drop TJ off at LCCS to finish his progress reports, so I drove the rest of the way home by myself. And I don't think I was crying yet, but I wanted to cry, and I wanted to talk to God about it, but yet I didn't because I was too angry. I felt angry, and I felt sad. And I felt scared. Because my dad is supposed to be the strong one for me, not the other way around. I was having a baby soon. How would I be able to, also, take care of my dad?

Taking care of Blake during that week was like an escape. You would think it would feel like such a burden amidst all the emotions, but it was, for me, a time to turn off my emotions and just go with the familiar motions of taking care of Blake. I picked him up at my mom's house that evening, and I told her what the doctor said. And I remember feeling like, why wasn't she reacting more? And then I had to call my brother and tell him, and I felt the same thing: why wasn't he reacting more? My world turned upside down, and I felt like screaming out a mixture of anger and sadness and fear.

I was expecting bad news like that my dad needed a transplant, as I mentioned in my previous post. I wasn't expecting to hear that he had terminal cancer. And one question that haunts my mind still is did they ever get a chance to tell my dad that he had cancer? And how did he feel in that moment? Remember, I spoke to my dad for the last time that morning, before results came in from his CT scan. We never got to have a conversation about his diagnosis. 

tuesday

Two weeks before my dad went to the hospital, he just had a cold. We all did. But ours went away after a few days, and we all started to feel better. But Dad didn't. I just thought that because he was older, it was taking him longer to get better.

He had been having a lot of nosebleeds that I was concerned about, and I told him to go to the doctor about it about a month before his death. But the doctor said she had no idea why his nose was bleeding so much.

In the week before he died, Dad wasn't getting out of bed. He had no appetite. Our fridge was full of uneaten food. I brought him glasses of water, but I don't know if he drank them or not. That's when I knew something was wrong. This was not normal. With the combined efforts of my uncle, aunt, and me, we convinced my dad to go to the doctor again. This doctor ran a few tests and sent him home. Dad went back to bed and said we had to wait until the next day when the blood test results came in. I was really scared; I was expecting it to be something serious, but not immediately life threatening. Dad and I actually argued that morning (Tuesday) because he said that his appointment was at 11, but I KNEW that the receptionist said 10. We argued about it for a few minutes, and he called back and found that I was right. Dad was loopy though. He couldn't think straight.

The doctor called us about 6 PM that evening. We were just sitting down to have dinner, and she said that Dad's blood test results hadn't come in yet, but the tests that had come through were all wrong. His liver enzymes and his blood counts were all off. It was actually nothing new for Dad's blood cell count to be off. Several years prior, he had gone to several specialists because his white blood cell count was low. They couldn't find anything wrong with him at the time. But this time, doc said we had better take him to the ER. So I finished my dinner and, then, knocked on Dad's door to tell him to get ready. He whined like a toddler,

"Right noooow?! Whyyyy?!"
"Well, Dad, we can either go tonight, or we can wait until tomorrow. Either way, we are going, and we might as well go tonight so maybe you can feel better sooner."

He gave in, and we dropped off Blake at my aunt's house and headed to LGH. Dad was really dizzy. When they showed him his information on his bracelet, Quang M. Bui, he said that the W is supposed to be an M. He also kept standing up whenever they called a number because he thought it was our number. It wasn't even close. They would call 33, but our number was 102. Something like that.

Once we got called back, Dad kept asking how long he would be there because he was worried about Blake and TJ getting home because he had to work the next day. I really wanted to stay until they admitted him, but we had no idea how long it would be, The ER doc told me that it looked like liver disease, which is what we were expecting it to be. As shocking as it all should have been to hear that my dad might have liver disease, I wasn't all that surprised because my dad had been a heavy drinker for quite some time. And like I said earlier, I was expecting it to be a semi-serious issue.

I was not too emotional about everything because I was in problem solving mode. Everything was reactionary to me, and I just kept thinking what do I need to do next? But the one thing I did get emotional about was the fact that I couldn't donate my liver to my dad because I was pregnant. You see, I was assuming that the next day, we would go to the hospital to visit my dad and hear that he would need a transplant. That's the serious news I was expecting to hear. And I was expecting that it would be fixable. It was really hard for me to think that, perhaps, my liver was compatible, but my pregnancy prevented my donation.

I went home that night expecting that I would wake up in the morning and visit Dad and hear how many days they would want to keep him in the hospital. That's what we all expected.

too late to apologize

I find myself apologizing for Blake a lot. I say, "Sorry, he's shy" when someone tries to talk to him, and he fusses and hides. But recently, I started wondering why I was apologizing. What is wrong with being shy? Of course as adults, we know that even though we are shy, it's polite to say hello back to someone when they try to engage in conversation. But Blake doesn't know that. All he knows is that he doesn't like it when someone he doesn't know tries to talk to him. He doesn't like when someone gets too close to his personal space. He's an introvert, and he's shy. And that's okay!

I was actually far worse than him at this age with the same things. I turned out alright. But we are trying to work with Blake about how to express how he's feeling. I am trying to teach him words like "overwhelmed" so that when we have a situation like his birthday party where there were just too many people for him, he will be able to tell me that is how he's feeling instead of just screaming. We are doing our best to help him, but it can be tough sometimes. Blake had a tantrum for about 20 minutes or so the other day because I put a bandaid on his cut. He didn't want a bandaid on his cut. He doesn't speak well enough to even say that, so he just screamed and tried to rip it off. Today he had a tantrum because someone handed him a juice box, and it fell to the floor when he refused to hold it himself. Of course toddlers will have random tantrums over absolutely nothing, so oh well.

Being shy and introverted is nothing to apologize for. Blake gets overwhelmed when there are too many people around, especially when they are all trying to talk to him. He has never been one to smile and wave at strangers, and he doesn't like to accept a sticker from the well-intentioned grocery store clerks. It might sound silly, but it was only recently that I understood that Blake is a human with a personality just like me. I guess it didn't occur to me that a child could be introverted.

Now if only I could carry around a sign all the time that said, "Please don't get in my son's face" we would be all good. But since I can't do that, I still find myself telling people that he's shy, but I have taken out the "I'm sorry" part of it because there's nothing wrong with my son. He hasn't done anything wrong, he just doesn't like talking to strangers. That's really not the worst thing ever. Chances are, Blake will not be accepting any candy from strangers.

Q Update - 11 Weeks Old

Malcolm Quang, or Q as I like to call him, will be 11 wks old tomorrow. Wow, where has the time gone? Malcolm is, by far, a much more easy going baby than Blake was. He loves to sleep, which is great because I do too! He has slept some 9 hours stretches already. Blake didn't do that until he was over a year old! It is a huge blessing. Speaking of huge, Malcolm is a bit of a butterball at over 13 lbs. It's adorable.

Blake initially handled the transition well, but i think once he realized that Malcolm was here to stay, he was not happy. He started screaming almost every night. Still does about half of the time. We have been taking him into our bed and loving it actually, but sometimes it gets difficult because he wakes up when we have to get up. TJ and i are just doing what we can to survive and get some rest. Blake also wants to be held a lot when we go out, which can make it impossible to go out sometimes. He had a meltdown in the Chick Fil A parking lot because I tried to hold his hand rather than pick him up. He was grabbing onto my leg and screaming in the middle of the parking lot. In the rain. While I was holding a big diaper bag and heavy carseat. What a mess.

But Spring has finally sprung, and with that comes much excitement and hope for what the future holds. It has been a long winter adjusting to two, and unfortunately, I did not have much help with it, especially in terms of keeping Blake occupied. But we survived. I felt a lot like my family didn't care about Malcolm's arrival. It was tough for me because this little guy is very special. He is just as special as Blake and deserves just as much love. I didn't realize just how much I loved him until he was here. I kind of thought of him as Blake 2.0, but as he grows, I realize he is an individual. I am eager to see who Malcolm will be because he has already proven that he is much different from his brother (thank God for that!).

Speaking of comparison, this is Blake. He is about 7 weeks old in this photo.

And this one is Malcolm at 9 weeks. 

the annoying thing about my husband

My husband is a terrible photographer. He doesn't understand which angles are flattering and which aren't. He doesn't know what to do about lighting. And he just doesn't ever even THINK about taking a photo, so I don't actually end up being in a lot of photos since I always have to take them. I guess it isn't his fault. Not everyone has a value for capturing the beauty of a moment in a photo. But I do, so TJ gets to be in ALL the photos, which is really annoying. How annoying that there is so much beauty in the way that my husband interacts with his sons, am I right? Gosh. If he was a crappy father, maybe I would be in all the photos.

Then again, when my husband takes a photo, he always catches me in a really unflattering pose. Maybe it's my fault for not knowing how to be a model. But it's like he doesn't even notice that the way that I was standing, plus the angle from which he was taking the photo, made me look like I was five months pregnant! He hands me the camera with the photo display on it, and he says, "This one is really good!" What?! How annoying. Can't he see that I am fat in this picture? It's as if my husband doesn't look at me and see a fat lady.

-"TJ, I look really fat here. Why didn't you tell me I was sticking out my stomach like that?"
-"What do you mean? I think you look great!"

Ugh. How annoying.

And then last night, there was the fact that I specifically explained that there was a bottle with breastmilk in it, and there was some formula in the fridge to add to it when Malcolm woke up. Then when I woke up feeling refreshed four hours later, the bottle had been given with the extra container of breastmilk, and the formula was still in the fridge. How annoying that my husband was too busy preparing his midterm tests to understand my specific instructions about the formula. Now we will probably have to throw it away. What a self-absorbed jerk my husband is!

Then again... I suppose there are worse things in life than a husband who always thinks his wife is beautiful and who stays up late to give the baby a bottle so she can rest.

post c-section

Malcolm is finally here! He is so wonderful and was definitely worth all the aches and pains. He weighed in at 8 lbs 8 oz and 20 inches long. I was shocked to hear how big he was because I was guessing he would be just over 7 lbs!

Anyway, I had a much more pleasant experience this time around. The pre-op ritual was annoying because once you get to the hospital, you are just ready to get the show on the road, but it took almost two hours to get ready for surgery. It was very strange to walk into an operating room and lie down on the table! They gave me a spinal epidural, which was VERY painful. I cried. I was so panicky as they were preparing for surgery that I almost started screaming for TJ. I was just really scared. When TJ was finally allowed in, I could hardly speak. I was stuttering, and I just kept repeating, "Afraid. Afraid." (I don't seem to handle anesthesia very well.) I could feel a lot of tugging as they did the surgery, and when they were ready to get Malcolm out, they pushed really hard on my stomach. I don't remember that part being so unpleasant with Blake's birth.

But I said that this time around was more positive than last time, didn't I? Now to the good part! They lowered the drape, and I saw the most beautiful little face! Then I cried again. They cleaned him off, and I was able to hold him for the rest of the surgery. I was a lot more with it than I was with Blake's delivery, so as they wheeled me into the recovery room, I got to keep Malcolm with me. It was so wonderful.

Recovery from c-section is rough. It is hard to take care is your baby when you are hooked up to an iv and cant get out of bed on your own. It's an emotional experience because all you want to do is go pick up your baby when he's crying, and I just couldn't get up. I actually pushed too hard at one point while TJ was away and opened up my incision getting up out of the bed. I have been healing much quicker after this surgery than I did with Blake's though, which is such a blessing. But now that we are home, I am so emotional from missing Blake. TJ has been taking care of him since I can't lift him or get on the floor to play with him. Blake is handling the transition well so far, but I think it is only because he has daddy to play with him. The real test will come when TJ goes back to work next week.

I am so thankful for a much more positive experience this time around. I know that repeat c-sections are controversial in the mommy wars world, but I am so blessed to have two healthy sons, regardless of how they got here.

pre-c-section

Most women push babies out of their who who's. It's the way that God has designed us females. And it's really cool, albeit painful and gross. It wasn't until I was probably about 40 weeks pregnant with Blake that I watched some documentaries about natural childbirth, and I realized that there were options like a birth care center. Not impossible, but still, a little late in the game to change my hospital birth plan. A certain set of circumstances with Blake's birth, induction and epidural, led to an ultimate c-section. I was so devastated and traumatized. I was in labor for 30 hours, and I pushed for 3 hours. What can I say, the kid is stubborn! Since then I have come to terms with having a c-section for Blake. I have learned that it does not make me less of a mother because I didn't push him out of my who who. And he's a beautiful, healthy boy, so I have so much to be grateful for!

But I wanted this time to be different. I knew even before I was pregnant again that I wanted a VBAC. At my first doctor's appointment, I began discussing this with the doctors. They didn't even care to talk about it so soon, but they seemed supportive enough. So my "birth plan" this time around was to schedule my c-section at 41 weeks (which was the longest they would allow me to wait), and I just had to hope and pray that I went naturally before then to pursue my VBAC. No problem. My insurance deductible would restart Feb 1st, and I was to deliver Jan 9th at the latest.

Then in November, it all changed. I got a letter from my insurance stating that my plan was ending, effective Dec 31st, and I needed to apply for an "affordable" care act plan. WHAT?! Well, as some of you may have already experienced, those be some HIGH deductible plans! I don't have that kind of money. This was terrible news for me, but thankfully, I had a choice to schedule my c-section at 39 weeks, which is the traditional time that someone would schedule a repeat c-section. It was devastating, but it was a no brainer. Money talks, right? So December 26th c-section, it was.

The chances of going into labor before 39 weeks is slim, for someone who previously delivered, by force, at 41.5 weeks. But I certainly tried my best. As soon as I hit 37 weeks, I started trying natural induction methods. Nothing worked. Here I am, 3 days pre-c-section, and I am STILL pregnant and huge! I can't even wear my maternity shirts anymore; they have just become belly tops.

Anyway, as the days wore on, I started becoming more and more desperate to go into labor. I was ready to go outside and jog until my water broke. It became clear that this VBAC was insanely important to me. Was I tired of being pregnant? Did I really want Malcolm in my arms on Christmas morning? Yes, absolutely. But moreover than that, I just really want the experience of going into labor and pushing a baby out of my who who. Those of you who have done it might say, "Jess, believe me, it is painful! You aren't missing anything!" And those of you who have had c-sections may say, "Jess, the planned c-section is much less traumatic than the emergency c-section." And anyone might say, "Jess, it doesn't matter how your baby gets here, so long as you are holding your baby in the end!" I know all of these things. But this is my last baby. My last chance for feeling contractions. Screaming expletives. Knowing what it means to be ready to push. Pushing him out of my who who and having the experience of immediately holding him.

I didn't hold Blake for maybe eight hours or so after delivery. After many hours of epidural and anesthesia, I was a mess after my surgery. My whole body was shaking. Poor TJ was terrified. This c-section will be much less traumatic, I know. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it coming down to this. I suppose some women are not meant to push babies out of their who whos. And I suppose, at this point, I have to accept that I am one of those women. Doesn't make me less of a mother, but it does mean that I will miss out on this very special experience. I am pretty heartbroken about it. Could still happen between now and the 26th, of course. But at this point, I am accepting the fact that it probably won't. And I will get over it, as soon as I am able to hold sweet Malcolm in my arms, and definitely by the time I start to heal from surgery and can get out of bed unassisted. But for now, I am sad, wondering why I can't manage to push a baby out of my who who like so many others can.

advent

The day after my dad died, I was taking the trash out, and there was a beautiful sunset. I'm not usually one to marvel at sunsets because I think they are generally overrated. But this sunset had the most beautiful pinks and purples, and it just seemed so big. I felt like God was showing me how big He is--that He is much bigger than my circumstances. For a moment, I felt comforted and, I don't know, like I had gotten a bit of perspective. I pictured the big tapestry of everyone in the world's lives. But then I said (out loud, I think), "But God, you took my dad away from me." And He said to me, "I am your dad." Again, I felt comfort for a moment. But I didn't want to talk about it anymore. So I ended the conversation and went inside.

About a week later, I was going to a doctor's visit, and it was that time of evening when, if you are driving westward, the sun is RIGHT in your eyes. I was blinded the whole way to the doctor's. But on the way home, I was being mooned. I had a perfect view of the moon the whole drive home. It was beautiful and clear and huge. And if it wasn't a full moon, it was pretty darn close. Blake loves the moon, so I have a new-found fondness for it. The moon makes me smile in ways it never did before. I cried the whole way home that evening because I felt like God was trying to be with me. He was like a boyfriend, trying to cheer me up with a beautiful bouquet of my favorite flowers. He was throwing rocks at my windows and holding a boombox on His shoulders, trying to get my attention. I accepted the bouquet and the serenade, but I told Him, "This doesn't change things between us. I'm not okay, and this still isn't fair."

All I could think for weeks, over and over, like a broken record, "It's not fair." I get it: God is the one who gives and takes away. God works for the good of those who love Him. But it wasn't fair. My dad was fine, right? He wasn't sick. He just had a bad cold, a few nosebleeds. I didn't understand why my dad could be suddenly gone after just a few nosebleeds.

In this season of advent, I am anticipating spending my first Christmas without my dad. We set up my dad's Christmas tree in my dad's house. We will wake up Christmas morning and not have to wait for my dad to wake before opening presents. I was really looking forward to decorating for Christmas because I was thinking it would make me more cheerful, but it's not helping too much. It's no beautiful sunset or clear moon for me.

But here we are, entering the time of year that we celebrate and thank God for coming to earth to be with us. I cannot celebrate the holy holiday of Christmas without fully believing that God my father came to earth to be with me. He is with me. And actually there's nothing fair about that, considering none of us deserve God's outpouring of love to us. This advent season, I can either numbly go through the traditions of decorating a Christmas tree, buying presents, and busying myself getting prepared for baby Malcolm's arrival. Or I can stop and rest in the truth that God is with me.

When my dad was intubated in the hospital, and they were trying to wake him from sedation, my dad was coughing a lot. He was moving around, but he wasn't very "with it" mentally. It scared the hell out of me because he's supposed to be the strong one, right? I sat by his side and held his hand, telling him that it was going to be alright. I picked up his legs when he would kick them off the side of the bed. I readjusted his blanket when it moved, and I put an extra blanket on him because he seemed to be cold. I talked to him about Blake and Malcolm. I told him how scared I was. It is so painful to see those images in my mind. And yet, after some time has passed, I have come to view these moments as holy moments. It was a gift to be there with my dad so that he wasn't alone.

Beautiful sunsets and clear moons can be holy. But not everything that's holy is peaceful. In the pain and tumult of my dad's final days, there was much holiness for me to experience. What makes a moment holy? When God is there. And God was surely there with me in my dad's final days. So though my dad is gone, and I miss him terribly, there is no other option than to celebrate God's presence this advent season (and always) because God our heavenly father is here.

Reprise

I used to be a poet. In fact, I was getting to be quite a good poet, and then... I don't know what happened. My feelings started getting too complex to write about. Heck, maybe I'm not a good poet! Ha! Anyway, when we moved to my Dad's house, I lost my poem book. Of course I had them typed and saved in multiple places, but for some reason, there was just one poem that I couldn't find anywhere. I was heartbroken because I loved this poem. This poem, entitled "Reprise," is a reprise (obviously) of a poem I had written about two years prior. I could write a novel about my misadventures of dating my college boyfriend, but to be brief, this is the very last poem I wrote about him. I wrote "Reprise" at the beginning of 2010--approximately five months after we broke up for the fourth time (yes, seriously). I never made a habit of posting my poetry online because I thought maybe someone would try to steal it and claim it as their own. But today, I make an exception because I am so thankful to have found my poetry book containing this gem. (It's a gem to me. Don't rain on my parade if you don't think it's a gem!)

Reprise

You believe that we were never friends,

and we were never dating.

So maybe I did imagine it all.

The scenes play over and over in my mind,

like a bad movie that you wish you had never seen.

I only kept watching because I wanted to see the ending.

I wanted to resolve this mess and rectify your wrongs,

but justification never came.

I loved you. Didn't I?

I took your hits of blame and control,

seeded with the weight of the hurt you carry,

always thinking I was waiting for you to heal.

And since I loved you enough to stick around

and be understanding of where you have been,

I thought that things would get better.

But redemption never came.

We never got better. We could never heal

from the ways you threw my pearls before the swine

time and time again.

And the damned thing is, I let you.

I handed them to you. It must be my fault.

People are supposed to learn from their mistakes

and grow stronger and wiser in time.

So I thought I was learning. I thought I was being refined.

But sanctification never came.

Maybe you were right.

We were never friends or dating

because after dating, I couldn't just be your friend.

And after being hurt, I couldn't truly be with you

because there were just too many walls.

Donc, le chagrin qui marque mon coeur--

le chagrin que j'ai apporté pour si longtemps--

il doit être tué.

Why? Because I can live without you.

And it's time I started resting in that truth

so that my restoration can come.

my obituary for my dad

When I was really young, my dad drove a rusty truck. I was so embarrassed to be seen in it. As a six year old, if we were driving through the neighborhood, and I saw another kid on the street, I would duck so that no one would see me. Like many kids, I didn't understand money, so I wondered why we couldn't have certain things. I was soon told about how we had family in Vietnam, and we sent money to them every month. A little money to us can go a long way in a third world country. (Is that phrase PC? Sorry if it's not.) I learned that through the money we were sending to our family, my cousins were able to attend school, and my aunts and uncles were able to improve their homes. This changed my entire perspective on things, and it made me see that our sacrifice meant big things for our family.

My dad came to America after the Vietnam War ended. He was in the South Vietnamese army, and when they surrendered, it was completely mayhem. Soldiers were being sent to "reeducation" camps, and so, on a whim decision, my dad decided to jump on a boat and, then, on a plane. There were four planes going to different states, and the most popular destination was, of course, California. But the line for Pennsylvania was very short, so again, on a whim decision, my dad decided to go to PA. And that's the short story of how my dad landed here. By the way, in the mayhem following the South Vietnamese surrender, my dad took off his uniform. He came to this country, basically, in his underwear. He had absolutely nothing. Probably a rusty truck was not quite so embarrassing to him. After his death, we are now left with a home, a nice truck, and retirement accounts. Will there be any retirement account money left after we pay the hospital bills? Probably not. But my dad has come a long way since coming here in his underwear in 1975.

My dad had a lot of files for us to sort through after his death, Most of them were not his. My dad took care of his brother's and sister's families, so our home held all of their tax files, immigration papers, etc. When my dad found his family in Vietnam, over ten years after he had left, my dad signed up to have his youngest brother and his sister come to America. I was probably about three years old when that happened, and my uncle didn't come until I was maybe 16. It takes A LOT of paperwork and money to bring family over, but my dad handled all of it. He opened up our home for them to live until they got on their feet, and he found them jobs. My dad was no hero. He was not perfect, but he is highly regarded in our family because he took care of everyone.

My dad was never warm and friendly. He was not affectionate. I often say how I have daddy issues, and I believe that it is true, though perhaps a slight exaggeration compared to people who have serious daddy issues. But my dad always took care of us. Going to work every day, paying the bills, taking the trash out... these are the things that gave my dad his self-worth as a man. His presence is certainly missed in these areas, but the void that I feel is having that person to take care of me. I know, I'm an adult, and I'm married... but my dad was always there to call with a car issue or a home repair. He always said, "I don't have much. But if you ever need anything, you just have to ask."

When I went off to college, my dad was so upset that he bought himself a big TV. And the first time that he heard me say that I was going home, meaning college... he was very angry and said, "No, THIS is your home." I was his baby. TJ and I thought that we were mutually helping each other out when we moved in here, but now I can see that my dad was really helping us out, especially in the financial sense. But he liked taking care of us. It gave him purpose.

My dad was not perfect. He spent much of his life being depressed. And this was very hard on us as a family. But in his way, he consistently showed that he loved us. To me, he was rock steady. In his last few days, he was helpless, and it was really difficult and scary for me to see. I held his hand, and I told him it was going to be okay. But I was terrified. And I'm just so sad. I'm sad for the day when Blake doesn't look at a picture of my dad and say, "Pap." I'm sad for the day when my dad's voice isn't as clear in my mind. I'm sad that dad won't be here to meet Malcolm. I'm just so sad.

But we are his legacy now. He would want me to keep going and keep taking care of my family. When we were in the ER, he kept trying to make us leave because he was worried about Blake. So, all I can do is keep on keeping on. Ugh. I actually hate that phrase for some reason, but I'm using it now because my sentiments are basically fake. I mean, yes, I have to just keep going. Life keeps going. But I mostly feel like staying in bed. So I guess there's no neat and pretty way to end this blog post.

aftermath

There are few words to describe what it's like to see your dad in a casket being lowered into the ground. You just want to yell, "Stop! What are you doing? My dad is in there!" To see his body lying in a casket, and you wonder why he isn't waking up. To come home every day and see his truck on the street and think, "Oh, dad's home. No... he's not..." And the memory of watching him coughing up blood, moving around in his hospital bed while only half-conscious. I held his hand and tried to comfort him, and meanwhile, I needed someone to comfort me. I was so scared.

But the images that haunt me daily are the ones of Blake sitting on my dad's lap watching videos on the computer. Blake would go have time with Pap usually twice a day, and I was always encouraging him to go find Pap (aka leave me alone for a minute). I don't even know if Blake noticed Pap's absence because for a week or two before we went to the hospital, Blake would go knock on Pap's door, and I had to keep telling him to leave Pap alone because Pap was not feeling well. How can it be that a grandparent would be taken from such a young boy? Blake could make my dad smile like no one else in the world. I think he loved Blake more than anyone. Pap was one of Blake's first words.

I don't know what to say. Everyone keeps asking me, "How are you?" and I don't have an answer. I don't even know what people want to hear. Do they want to really hear all that I have to say? Do they want to hear how angry I am that my dad was taken from us so suddenly? Do they want to hear how overwhelmed I am when trying to figure out how to handle all of this financial stuff? Well, I don't feel like talking about it because it's just too much. That's why I had to type it now. So you don't have to ask, you can see it all here.

On my dad's death certificate, there were three causes of death. The first was my fault, the second was the hospital's, and the third, God's. I use the word fault on purpose, though I know that in the future, I will replace the word fault with other, more accurate words. I do not think my dad's death is "my fault," and yet, when you choose to take out someone's breathing tube and respiratory failure occurs... you feel responsible. Even though that's what he asked for in his living will. Eventually, I will feel more at peace and will call this my choice, and more accurately, his choice. And I use the words "God's fault" because I am angry at God for this. I'll get over it, but for now, that's how I feel. Might as well be honest because he already knows I feel that way. The cause of death that was God's fault, by the way, was metastatic blah blah blah carcinoma (cancer). I am not angry that my dad got cancer. I am only angry that he was taken from us so suddenly like that. The only cause of death that I will continue to use the word fault is pulmonary hemorrhage. That was the hospital's fault. Dad was perfectly conscious before he got his biopsy. The nurse called me to say he was getting the test done, and that Dad requested I bring him some toiletries from home. And I never got to speak to him ever again. Did Dad know there was a big risk in doing the biopsy? I sure as hell didn't. Doctor said, "It's easier to take tissue from the lungs than it is from the liver." Okay, but you killed my dad because you punctured his right lung. So it doesn't seem like it was easier to me!

Perhaps I am just rambling at this point. I have not had time to process my feelings due to all the funeral preparations of last week and just trying to get finances in order this week, even to things as simple as switching household bills into my name. Tonight while I was driving home from an appointment, there was a beautiful moon. I think I will have a special fondness for the moon for the rest of my life because Blake loves the moon so much. He gets so excited. On the drive home, I got to stare at the moon the entire time. It really was stunning. I told God that this didn't change things between us, that I am still angry, but I appreciate the kindness.

Oh, and another thing... there is no reason why I should have to "be strong." So don't tell me to. This period of grief should be spent grieving. Forget picking up toys, forget doing the dishes. I'm doing what I have to do to take care of my babies, but other than that, I should not have to be strong. I'm just a kid, aren't I? In the world, I know I have responsibilities and that this financial stuff has to get done. But even though I'm mad at God right now, it is (sometimes) comforting to me to remember that though I have lost my dad, God is still my father. And I don't have to do this all alone.

The Ugly C Word

I keep thinking about writing about my past week, but I don't have the words. Each time I try, I fall short because what words could there possibly be for the emotions behind bringing my dad to the hospital on Tuesday night and having him die on Sunday?

We took my dad to the ER on Tuesday evening because he had been lying in bed for about a week. He said he was constantly tired, dizzy, and without appetite. I forced him to go to the family doctor on Tuesday during the day, and she called later and said that his numbers were all wrong, and we had better take him now to the ER. Dad was in bed, so I knocked on the door, and he groaned.

"Dad, the doctor called and said we need to take you to the emergency room."
"Uhhh. Right now? Whyyy?"
"Dad, she said that your blood count is very low, and your liver enzymes are high. Don't you want to go to the hospital now, so that you can feel better sooner?"

Dad got up, and we took him to the ER. We were given a beeper with a number 37 on it. My dad was so confused that every time they called a number, he would stand up and say that it was our turn.

"100!"
"That's me!"
"No, Dad, we are number 37."
(A little later) "104!"
"That's me!"
"Dad, look at our beeper. It says 37."

This memory makes me laugh, although my dad was a very intelligent man, and when you think about how this was indicative that there was a health problem, it is a little less funny. Anyway, we get in to see the doctor, and the doctor suggests it might be liver disease. He takes blood tests, and he says that Dad will need a blood transfusion, and they will keep him overnight. Dad kept trying to get us to leave because he was worried about TJ going to work the next day and me picking up Blake. Eventually, we did go home before he got admitted to the hospital.

The next day (Wed.), I called the hospital to find out what was going on, and they said they were taking him for a CT scan of his lungs because Dad was saying he was short of breath. So when the test was over, Blake and I went in to see him. He was exhausted because they had him up all night with tests and things. So we only stayed for a few minutes. I told him I was going to let him rest, and we would come back in the evening. But when we arrived that evening, he was sleeping. I didn't want to wake him. We spoke to the doctor, and the third word out of his mouth was "oncology." I knew what that word meant, so before he even talked about the diagnosis, I knew what he was going to say. He told us that Dad had cancer in his liver and his lungs, as well as a few other health concerns. He did not know yet the extent of the damage and what treatments might be helpful, but he said we should talk with my dad about what measures he might want to take. When I got home, I had to make phone calls to my family that Dad has cancer.

On Thursday morning, I got a call that they were going to do a biopsy in the morning, so Blake and I were going to go to the library for playtime and head to the hospital afterward. On my way to the library, they called me to say that Dad had trouble breathing after his test and do I give permission to put in a breathing tube. My answer was YES YES YES! I turned the car around and headed to the hospital where my whole family was there waiting. Apparently the doctor had told my aunt that she better tell everyone to come because this might be it. My dad was in the ICU. He was sedated with a breathing tube. It was hard to see him, but he was peacefully sleeping at that time. The biopsy on his lung, where they had punctured to get some tissue out, made him bleed, and he couldn't breathe. He was coughing up a lot of blood (but not too much by the time I saw him). They said that the next step was to turn the sedation off in the morning and let him wake up so they could remove the breathing tube.

On Friday morning, they turned off sedation and told me that Dad would probably be awake by the afternoon. So I went in during the afternoon, but Dad was not awake. They said due to the damage in his liver, he would probably take a while to flush out the sedation meds. I was all alone on Friday, and it was terrifying to see Dad like that. He was coughing a lot, which sounded like vomiting. And he was moving around. It was on Friday that I just held his hand and talked to him a lot, trying to comfort him. He seemed so distressed. He opened his eyes a little, but he didn't focus them. There was one time that I was sure he was looking at me, and I said, "Dad, you know I love you, right?" And he nodded. That was the last two-way communication we had.

On Saturday morning, the doctor called me to say that Dad would have weeks to live at most, with the breathing tube or without. They were fairly certain he could breathe on his own, but they aren't allowed to take the tube out if Dad wasn't cognitively able to follow commands that they gave him (i.e. wiggle your toes, squeeze my hand). They said we needed to figure out when we would want to take the tube out, and in the event that he needed his heart restarted, would he really want that if he knew he would only live "weeks at most" more? These are not easy questions to answer. My dad has a living will that states he doesn't want to live on machines in the event of an incurable disease. Jason and I decided that Dad would not want to keep having this breathing tube and hydration machine sustaining his life. We didn't know if Dad would breathe on his own afterward, so we told all family who wanted to be there, they ought to say goodbye just in case. We were expecting that Dad might die that day, so my brother and I kind of made peace that day and said our goodbyes. There were many people there, which was really great. Dad tolerated the extubation, and when we left that evening, he was stable and breathing at 85%.

On Sunday morning, I called to check up on him, and they said that he was still stable, and they were going to move him out of the ICU. At this point, we knew it was just a waiting game for his death because of the decisions we had made. I chose not to go in that morning because sitting by his bedside was not comforting for him or for me. Dad was on high doses of morphine at that point, so he was sleeping peacefully and not aware of our presence. I was planning on stopping in after lunch time, so I called to check again at that point, and that is when the nurse told me he had just passed (probably a minute before my phone call). And it was weird. We were expecting it at any moment, and yet, when I called, I was expecting her to say there were no changes. And the weird thing about situations like this is that you kind of just want to curl up in a ball, but there are phone calls to be made. I made those phone calls, and TJ and I headed in to see him. Seeing my dad this time was much different because I didn't see his chest rise and fall. It was too hard, I only stayed in the room for a minute.

We went back home, and I cried myself to sleep thinking about how cruel this week had been. I can say without hesitation that I am at peace, given the circumstances, with the medical decisions that we made and the fact that he went so quickly. But why the hell did the circumstances have to be like that in the first place? A week ago, we were just at home wondering why Dad was sleeping all the time. And a week before that, Dad was up and moving, complaining that he was feeling sick. And a week before that, he was 100% normal, fully functioning.

So now I am left to handle the arrangements, figure out the financials (when the medical bills start rolling in), and sort through my dad's files and belongings. This is too much for someone to handle, especially a pregnant woman with a sick toddler. Shouldn't I just be grieving right now instead of being bombarded with questions and decisions? Doesn't anyone understand that in a whirlwind, I just lost my dad? I don't know what else to say or how to finish this post.

It's a....

While I realize I never wrote the second installment about cloth diapering, I have something much more exciting to write about. At this point, the sex of our baby is probably old news, but it is very exciting to me! To preface, I should mention that I really wanted a girl this time around. We are planning for only two children, and I would love to have the experience of a mommy-daughter relationship. I do love having a boy though, so I wasn't necessarily set on either gender.

At the ultrasound, the tech was doing some of the more "boring" measurements of the baby since TJ was late getting there, and as she was measuring something and was zoomed out, I saw it. The thing. The determining factor. I didn't say anything, though, because I thought maybe, just maybe, I was wrong. But a few minutes later when TJ got there, the tech gave the verdict: it's a boy. Yep, I knew I saw a thing!

I felt a hint of disappointment, but it was, as always, a beautiful thing to see the baby that you are growing in your body on a screen. This child that you love but you don't know yet moving around. We even saw him rub his eyes and yawn! My love grew for him that day. And even though he is not a girl, I love knowing more about who he is. HE is the child God has gifted and entrusted to me. There are some things I may "miss out on" by not having a daughter, but there is something beautiful about picturing all the things we will experience raising two boys.

We found out the gender of the baby on a Tuesday, and we were having a gender reveal party with our friends on Friday, so I had to keep my big mouth shut for a few days. Luckily, I was able to get my energy out by telling family and some friends who don't live in the area. The party was a fun time (even though I forgot to serve dessert), and we did a dance to a Justin Bieber song, and then I lifted my shirt (halfway) to reveal a blue heart on my stomach. Most people had guessed it was a girl (probably because they knew that's what I was hoping for).

Anyway, I had picked a name for him, and TJ wasn't quite sure about it. But it grew him on, so we "tried it out" by calling the baby this name for a while, and it just feels right to me. So he has a name that I am in love with. :-) I am not publicizing the name, but some people know what it is. We just aren't publicizing it. Facebook has made it seem like everything is everyone's business, but I prefer to keep some things just for us.

Is Blake excited about having a baby brother? He will be, someday. For now he doesn't quite understand. He used to point to my belly when I asked where is the baby. But when I ask where is your baby brother, or where is baby _____, he doesn't respond. We're working on it.

I am excited to be the mother of two adorable and crazy boys. Our family is truly blessed, and I pray that this sweet boy would continue to grow stronger and healthier every day! And come before the end of the year... just kidding. But seriously.

WHY I Cloth Diaper

There are many, many benefits to cloth diapering your babies. I always wanted to cloth diaper, but my mom scared me away from it because she had tried it with my brother and so many leaking problems. Well, folks, as my mom learned, cloth diapering has come a long way since then. She hates when I put Blake in disposables; she can't figure out how to put them on (don't ask me, I know it's quite simple). Anyway, I'm no expert on the topic, but I have been cloth diapering for nearly 18 months, and I have researched the various options many times over. Here are a few reasons I'm so thankful that I chose to cloth diaper my babies:

1. Cloth diapering is so cute. How cute are those bright colors and patterns? There are so many options! Especially if money isn't an issue for you. (Some people kind of go crazy with cloth diapers and buy "exclusive patterns" for $50 a pop or more! It's insane to me, but that's their choice. Not mine, for sure.)

2. Cloth diapering is green. If you don't care about disposable diapers sitting in a landfill for 100,000 years (which you should, but that's another story), consider the fact that disposable diapers contain lots of harsh chemicals that you put on your baby's bum. Blake has never had a problem with diaper rash because of cloth diapering. Plus we never had problems with blow out poops!

3. Cloth diapering is economical. For Blake, we use Best Bottoms, which I love, but if I could do it over again, I would choose something even more economical. So Blake has 4 Best Bottom covers, 17 hemp inserts, and 3 overnight doubler inserts. This cost approximately $186. I also bought cloth wipes, which I think cost maybe $30. The only other thing needed is a wet bag. I spent more than needed on wet bags, but I have a small one (for small trips), a medium (for a day trip), and two large hanging wetbags (to keep all for laundry day). Those probably ran me $100 total. So we are talking about a little more than $300. When I'm done using these with my two children, I will be able to sell them and get some of my money back. How much have you spent on your disposable diapers and your wipes? More on how to do cloth diapering in the most economical way coming soon...

4. Cloth diapering is easier and less gross than you think. I do two small loads of diaper laundry per week. It is definitely worth doing a little more laundry for the money I have saved. I don't really touch poop any more than you do. I wipe the bum, and then use a wipe or toilet paper to nudge the poop off the diaper and into the toilet. When Blake's poop was runny in the early days,  I snapped the diapers just like you fold over a poopy disposable (we were using pocket diapers at the time), and I just unsnapped them and put it in the washer on laundry day.

I love cloth diapering, and I am so thankful that I have chosen to do it. We don't struggle to afford diapers, and we never have to run to the store because we are low on diapers. I will soon be cloth diapering two babies. You may say it's impossible to cloth diaper when you have two or more in diapers, but isn't it even more worth it when you consider the cost of buying disposables for multiple children? I would rather spend a little more time doing laundry in my life so that we have a little extra money to do something fun together and so I have a little less financial struggle!

You may be thinking, "But I work full time," or "But I don't have a washer/dryer." Neither of these are factors in my life, so I can't speak to that. You have to make the right decision for you and your family, but I think so many people don't even consider cloth diapering as an option. And it is an option that would benefit so many families who are currently struggling with finances! So give it a thought. Don't automatically think that it's gross or impossible or too expensive or time consuming.

a love song

You have changed me. From the moment I found out that you were growing inside of me, something changed. My body wasn't just about me anymore. When I felt you stirring and moving, I felt awestruck in a way that I have never experienced before. When I experienced aches and pains because you were getting big, I had to remind myself that you were going to be worth it. And you were. I waited a long time for you. You grew in my body and did not want to leave (and you are still attached to my hip!). I forced you out against your will and ended up with surgery. But you came out one way or another, and you cried a lot. You didn't sleep quite as much as a newborn was supposed to. And you continued to have sleeping issues for A LONG TIME. You made me more exhausted and more elated than I had ever been in my entire life.

I have seen beautiful things in this world in Paris, London, Rome, and Venice. But nothing compares to how beautiful you are. Your eyes are so bright and full of wonder. Your body is so tiny and cuddly. Your laugh is the most infectious thing. I wish I could bottle it up to reminisce on your graduation day and your wedding day. I wish I could bottle up your hugs and kisses to save for a day when you no longer want to be attached to my hip.

You have made my heart grow bigger. You have made me care about some things more and some things less. You have made me grow in respect for what I am capable of and what my body is capable of. Growing you and nourishing you with my breasts for the first 16 months of your life has been the most holy experience and has made me more in awe of God's design than ever before.

Seeing you run around the yard, putting puzzles together, climbing stairs all by yourself makes me realize time is moving too quickly. So I will let you nap on me until you get too impossibly heavy to accommodate.  I will welcome your distraction from my tasks so we can just enjoy giggling together. I will not be annoyed when you grab onto my leg when I am trying to do my Wii Fit exercise. I will not stress that you aren't talking yet because you are already growing up too quickly. I will not try to force you to "measure up" to the other kids your age because you move at your own pace, and you are your own person. I wouldn't want you to be anyone else. You beat to your own drum, just like your mom and dad.

Soon you will have a new brother or sister, and I will be busy taking care of the demands of a baby. But it will not lessen my love for you or my fierce desire to spend time with just you and me. It will never lessen, no matter how many "I hate you, Mom"s, "I am quitting college to be a musician"s, or "I don't want to raise my kids the same way you did"s that you may throw at me. This new brother or sister of yours might mean that we don't get quite as much time together just me and you. But you, along with your brother or sister, will be my most precious treasures, and I will always value you more than you may ever understand.

here we go again...

I found out after the MS Walk that... I was pregnant. I told TJ before we looked at the results, "Either we are pregnant now, or I'm going on birth control." We went back and forth so many times about whether the timing was "good" or not. Apparently, this is the time God chose for us. We had just started trying! But according to my last period, I was 8 weeks pregnant already. Which was awesome. So I called the doctor and made an appointment right away and, also, signed up for an ultrasound because we just wanted to make sure about the due date because I had taken pregnancy tests that turned out negative when they should have been positive.

At the ultrasound, this is what I saw:

The ultrasound tech said I was only 5 weeks along. Which was disappointing. But then she scared the crap out of me by saying I needed to get another ultrasound in two weeks to make sure IF there's still an embryo. Uhh... IF?! So for two weeks, I was a mess. And part of me thought, well, maybe God DOESN'T think now is the right timing for another baby... I tried to relax, though. I have always had irregular periods, so it made sense that I was not as far along. My due date went from December 7th to (by my calculations) December 31st. 

After two weeks, I went back and saw this:

There's a little peanut in there! What a relief! She measured me at 6 weeks and 6 days. Which set me back even further! Peanut's new due date is January 2nd. Seriously, little one?! Don't know you anything about the importance of tax credits? ;-)

I was reassured during my two week anxious waiting period because I was having terrible nausea! It was awful. But it has not been bad for the past few days, which is great. I'm also having a lot of aversions, so the foods I have been eating has not always been the healthiest. Sandwiches, pastas, cheese. But I'm going to try my hardest to be healthier this time around, including lots of exercise!

Baby has already run two 5ks! 

On a different note, we have sent postcards to TJ's family with the first picture on this post (the math equation) as an announcement that we were expecting, and we never heard from anyone. And we gave the postcards out to my family at Mother's Day, and there wasn't much response. This is incredibly difficult for us because there is a lot of unknown in our life right now. TJ is looking for a new job, and we are currently living at my Dad's house (with, most likely, no option to stay because there's no room for another baby here.) Is that why we haven't heard a response? Because people think we made the wrong decision? I don't know. But Little Peanut is coming, and we could use the support. And we would like to celebrate! We haven't had much chance to celebrate, between the anxiousness of whether the second ultrasound would show progress or not and the lack of support from family. My friends are really happy for us, which is great. But family support is a whole different ballgame.

Have we wondered whether now is a good time or not? Well, who defines good timing? God does. Not me. So ready or not, here we go again... 

the big race

At the beginning of this year, I asked my brother to sign up for Philly's Hot Chocolate 15k race. It took 10 weeks of training, which was ALL INDOORS due to the weather and having a baby. And no, I don't have a treadmill. I ran in place. Seriously, I could jog in place forever. But when it came time for the race, I felt pretty unprepared. And terrified. I barely slept the night before because my heart wouldn't stop pounding. It was my first night ever without Blake, and it just figures that I didn't get to take advantage of sleeping through the night!

My brother and I started the race at the very end of the last group. This group was called "walkers," so we quickly passed by everyone in our group. After two miles, my brother ditched me, and I was left to pace for myself. The first five/six miles were easy, and then it started to get more difficult. Each mile marker seemed to get further and further away.

By the time that the running got more difficult, I stopped passing people and started to keep pace with the same group of people. There was a pregnant woman, an older woman, and an overweight man, among others. In my despair at the perceived extended length of mile 7-8 and 8-9, I started to feel bad about myself that these people could keep pace with me. Why couldn't I run faster? I'm not pregnant, old, OR overweight! But you know what "difficulty" I have? A weak mind. In fact, I almost bought a shirt to wear for the race that said "mind over matter" because THAT is what my struggle is. I had to overcome my mind that so easily wanted to make excuses about why I couldn't run the race that day and why I needed to walk instead of run. I had to tell myself that even if I didn't love where I was right now, it was where I was. So I might as well give it my all so that I don't have any regrets afterward. For me, that meant no walking. Even if it meant I ran really slowly when I needed to. And I did it.

The funny thing is that everyone was released in groups, and like I said earlier, we started at the very end of the last group. So the group I ended up keeping pace with, the pregnant woman, the older woman, and the overweight man, may have actually started their race 10 minutes before me. So while my mind is wandering with self-deprecating thoughts, these other runners may have actually had 10 more minutes on their clock than I did. Maybe and maybe not. I don't know what they were overcoming by running in that race. I don't know their stories. But we all have one. And that's why running is so powerful. We ALL have obstacles to overcome in life, and running a race proves to us that we can overcome! The definition of victory will be different for everyone. My victory was overcoming my mind and running the entire race. I'm not necessarily in a hurry to do a race like this again, but to know that I can makes me feel so powerful. It's a great feeling.

Best part of the race? When I saw TJ on the side lines at about 9.1 miles, and he ran with me across the finish line, hand in hand. That's something I will remember for the rest of my life. 

(By the way, this is not meant to say that I think I'm better than pregnant, older, or overweight people. Mad props to these people for running 9.3 mile races! My point is that I'm not better than them, but I'm also not lesser.)