This year

This has been one for the books, this year.  I'm overwhelmed to tears when I think of all the emotion, all the uncertain steps, all the pushing through that was required.

Don't misunderstand.  I'm overwhelmed too by Gods grace and blessing in each moment.  My family is safe, my children are fed.  We are clothed in comparative luxury. We live in my dream home.  I am not complaining.  Im simply acknowledging that had I known all that the last year was to hold on October 12, 2016, I would have...

I'm not sure what I would've done.  But it seems to me a grace, a blessing, that the future - good or ill - is a mystery.

This year for me has held hard things: shock, trauma, physical struggle, occupational questions, lives rent in two that were never meant to be, upheaval, exhaustion, illness, addiction, even death.

Praise Him that these last 365 days are past.
Praise Him that I had the privilege to live them.
Praise Him that I never have to live these particular days again.
Praise Him that hope springs eternal, and His mercies are new every morning.
Praise Him that through it all, He never changes.

18 years

18 years
3 high school graduations
2 college graduations
1 graduate degree
18 Christmases
2 weddings
4 children
18 birthdays
12 moves
3 dogs
18 winters
4 cats
who knows how many vehicles
18 summers

Internet
Facebook
Texting
Blackberries
Laptops
Tablets
iPhones
iPods
smart watches
smart phones
3G
4G
Instagram
Snapchat
IM
Podcasts
Netflix
Apps

Leggings
Jeggings
Skinny Jeans
Fauxhawks
Ombre
Bleached tips
Pink/purple/blue

Things that didn't exist in your lifetime.

Tomorrow morning is 18 years.

I wonder what our relationship would be like if you were here.  I wonder what I'd call to talk to you about.  I wonder if we'd text often.  I wonder if you would've gotten into Facebook or avoided it like the plague.  I wonder what your wife would be like and if my kids would have cousins.  I wonder if you'd have a cabin we'd visit in the summers.  I wonder where you'd work and who your friends would be.

I wonder what life would be like if 18 years ago had been different.

Sometimes I still get that taste in my mouth.  That wretched, clenching, can't-believe-it's-happened taste.  Grief.  Such a miserable mistress.  God, I wish she wasn't part of what we all fear, dread, face eventually in this world.  I choke up. Wish that if I caved and vomited she would be gone forever and what has been for 18 years would be gone too.

"I wonder..." is a place to visit on rare occasions.  It's not a place to live, or dwell, or even spend much time.  It cuts too deeply.  It hurts too much.  It breeds envy and anger and regret and frustration.  Questions. So many questions.  Rarely does it breed anything of value.

Except when it's time.  When there's time.  To mourn.

I tuck my babies into bed tonight and wonder what they would think of you.

I try to remember what I was doing 18 years ago on this night.  But it's been so long.  The memories have faded, blessedly and cursedly faded.  I can't remember.  I was gone overnight... or maybe you were gone overnight?  I think you were with friends.  Yes.

They would adore you.  That's what my babies would do.  They would adore you like I always have.  We don't talk about those things so many of us knew about you - you weren't perfect - because you're memorialized now.  Somehow immortal in your mortality.  Forever 17.  Forevermore not here.  They would adore you in spite of your imperfections just like they adore each of their family.

Tomorrow marks the day.  Or rather 9 days ago did.  The day that our parents moved from walking more days in life without you than with you.  As a mother now, myself, I can't imagine.  I try not to imagine.  Even a second of thinking about imagining walking such a road leaves me breathless and in agony for mothers the world over who have walked such a dark journey.  But especially it leaves me in agony for our mother.  For our father.

What about my life would be different if 18 years ago had been different?  Everything.  And perhaps very little.  Marriage, college, moves, children, visits home, pets, clothes, so much could have been the same.  But maybe it wouldn't have been.  We - I - will never know.

Never again, Lord, please.  Never again may we walk such dark days.  But don't spare us the dark days if in so doing we would also miss the days together...

Cousin Sean's first birthday.  Chet watching the candle carefully
(presumably so the baby doesn't get burned. Ha!).

I wanted to go shirtless like my brothers.  Now, looking at this
picture we took that night, I'm so grateful my parents stayed firm
on that point.  We three.  Roughly ages 5, 1, and 8.

Flower girl and ring bearer in uncle and aunt's wedding.  He
tried to lean out of the picture at almost every shot that was taken.

Except when I did, because I thought he was
the absolute coolest and wanted to do everything
that he did.

Vacation to Chimney Rock. Dark shades cuz
that was the thing. You probably can't tell because
this is a bad picture of an old picture, but his hair
had the coolest wave. 

Time.  Spending time.  Because that's what she needed from him.
On our last big vacation all together.
Not that we knew that at the time.

This was about the time we were starting to
become real friends, because siblings aren't always
friends, but sometimes it can work out that way.

All of us.

This was just about a month before he was
gone. Wasn't he great?  I wish you could
have known him if you didn't.  I wish we
could all know him now.

So much life

How has it been 4 months since I wrote last?  So much has happened.  I have a 3 year old.  So many friends have had babies.  I have had a baby.  We walked through the first stages of buying a house.  (We're only waiting for closing now.)  We traveled via car, plane, and ferry to a wedding with a baby and a 5 year old.  We celebrated 12 years of marriage!  What an amazing ride this is!  Here are some highlights...

Connor Turns 3

Way back at the end of March, this handsome guy turned 3 years old.  It was the birthday of turtles.  I think just about every gift he received had some sort of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle included.  The big thing was he moved up from a toddler bed to his big boy bed, a twin size - you guessed it - TMNT themed bed!  He drug every one of his birthday party guests upstairs to his room to show them his new bed.

If you don't know Connor, let me tell you just a bit about him.  He's the second born, so he follows the lead of his older sister.  He is a thinker.  He likes order and cleanliness.  He also likes to get dirty and make a disaster!  He likes to do things technically correct - meaning sometimes he won't try new things until he's 100% positive that he can accomplish them to his standard.

He starts many of his stories with, "Remember a long time 'go when..." Even if it happened only yesterday.  He is meticulous in his writing - he can trace any dotted line you can draw - and he is excellent at puzzles.  He's coming into his own in terms of expressing his emotion, and he's learning (at least he's trying to learn) how to regulate it and express his emotion in a way that's appropriate.

He's adorable, and he's mine!

Park Playdates

We had an unseasonably warm spring... or at least we had unseasonably warm days throughout late winter and early spring.  So we spent as many as we could at the local parks at playdates with friends.  It helped pass the time and wear the kids out for me and my mom friends.  Many of us were nearing the end of pregnancy in this season, and I think we were all so grateful for the great parks we have around!

Nolan William Arrives!

On May 11, 2017 at 3:40am, Nolan William joined our family - our 4th child!  (You can read the details of his birth story here - Introducing Nolan William Francl!)  He weighed in at 9lbs even, and was 21 1/4 inches long.

He was my biggest baby at birth, and remains my biggest as he has grown over the past 2 months.  He is a chill baby who sleeps at night and eats a lot during the day.  He is loved to pieces by his siblings and is a blessing all around.  Looking at the pictures below, I have no idea how he was in my stomach only moments before they were taken!

Spencer was very concerned any time Nolan's pacifier wasn't
in his mouth.  Here, you see the green paci that Spencer is
giving to Chase for Nolan.  And notice that Spencer has his
own orange paci in his mouth.

Going home.

First outing with all 4 - to church on Sunday morning.
Also, cars eats.  So many car seats.

Graduating to Kindergarten

The week after Nolan was born, Lily went to her last day of preschool.  It was a cold day that felt more like March than May.  It was especially bittersweet because Lily's teacher will be moving away this summer and we will miss her and her family very much.  :(

Lily and Mrs. Leonard.

Lily and her class.
Mrs. Leonard
Lily, Lucy, Brynlee, Mable, Tyla
Gabriel, Jonah, Ryan

Winging Our Way to a Wedding on Mackinac Island

Back in the fall of 2016 I got a call from my roommate from college.  "I'm engaged!"  I squealed with delight and we talked about the proposal, the engagement, and the wedding.  She asked if I'd stand with her as a bridesmaid.  "Of course! ...Except I'm due May 10.  I'll make it work if I can."  She also asked if Lily would be a flower girl.

So when I received a call a few weeks later asking if I could make a June 10 wedding work, I agreed.  Of course.  For Cara, absolutely.

The wedding was on Mackinac Island, a small vacation spot between the southern and northern parts of Michigan.  You get to the island by ferry, and no cars are allowed on the island - only horses and bikes.

A month after I delivered Nolan, Chase, Lily, Nolan, and I packed up and got on a plane headed for Michigan.  Connor and Spencer stayed with grandparents back home and enjoyed some extra special time in Nebraska.

Lily's first plane ride.

Everyone traveled incredibly well.  We had a 2 hour drive to the airport, followed by a 2 hour flight, followed by a 4 hour drive to where we stayed the first night.  I really couldn't have asked for more cooperative kids!

The evening we got to Mackinac Island.  That is the resort
in the background.

And this is was the view when the resort is behind you.

Taking pictures the morning of the wedding.

Lily danced from the second she could until
we left the reception 4 hours later.  The other
flower girl and the flower girl's brother were
her dance partners and I think they all had
the best sleep of their lives that night.

It was a beautiful wedding in a beautiful location for a
beautiful couple.  We were so glad to be part of it!

Daddy/daughter dancing.

On our way back to the airport, we spent a night with these
dear friends from college.  It was so fun to have even just 24
hours with Adam, Gina, and their kids.  They're the
soul-reviving kind of friends everyone should have.

Nolan is 1 Month Old

In just a few days I'll have to do a blog post with Nolan at 2 months old, but for now, I'll put just put this here.  At 6 weeks old, he was in the 99th percentile for height and 90th or above for everything else.  He only ever wore 1 newborn outfit (the one he wore home from the hospital), and he lasted about a month in 0-3 month clothes!

Sick

When we got home from the wedding in Michigan, Spencer got sick.  Really sick.  The highest temperature I got from him was 105.4, which was a little scary.  But it came down with Tylenol, and it turned out that he had roseola.  I'm just glad that he waited to get sick until I got home, and that he got sick before we moved.

Almost Homeowners

Speaking of moving, we're within a couple of weeks of closing on this house!  It is our "first house" we're buying, though we lived in 7 other apartments or houses throughout our 12 years of marriage.

It has 5 bedrooms, 1 3/4 baths, all kinds of space and a huge, wonderful backyard that will see lots of use.  It's on a quiet side street (a definite improvement from living on the highway like we do now), and it's just a block down from Connor's best friend.  We are going to love living here!

Of course, all this means that I will move my family for the second time within a 9 months.  BUT this is the last time we'll move for a looooooong time.  At least I hope so!  And this time I'm not pregnant.  I can't even believe how much of a difference that makes.

We're less than 3 weeks from moving and the packing has started.  Paint for a few rooms inside has been purchased, and all we have to do now is keep plugging away at packing (and painting as soon as we close).

In my mind, this move marks the end of one of the most packed years of life I've ever lived - one of the most packed years of life I ever want to live.  I know life will be busy moving forward, but I hope it's less busy with the hard, the life changing, the overwhelming to mentally process.

From May 2016 till now has felt like the sprint that never ended.  Just as I was within steps of the finish line and thought I could slow down, the finish line would move out into the distance again and I'd brace for just that much longer.  And that happened again and again.

But now we're close.  So close.  After this move, Lily will start kindergarten and we'll settle into that routine.  And if we're lucky, we'll get to just live life for a bit.  Process all that's happened.  Enjoy the little moments.  And keep walking this road we call life.

Introducing Nolan William Francl!

I started writing this in the hospital just after Nolan was born, then finished it when we got home.  It's pretty detailed, and largely just for my own remembering.  If you love birth stories, I imagine you'll like this.  If not, you may want to browse elsewhere on the blog!

It’s quiet.  Nurses check in periodically.  Food (albeit hospital food) gets delivered at my call.  There is this handy red button that I can push any time that brings someone to meet my every whim. 

This stage at the hospital, at least for me, isn’t so bad. 

So much has happened over the past days and weeks.  I finally have time to process.  To think.  To reflect.

The End is Near

About 2 weeks ago, I was 38 weeks + weeks along and when asked by others when I was due, I would respond, “___ days, but maybe today!”  My other boys came 10 days early and 4 days early, respectively, so it felt reasonable to expect Nolan to make his appearance sometime at least a bit early.  And Lily came on her due date, so going over due never seemed likely. 

As the days passed, I tried to focus on the three children I could hold in my arms.  We played, we went places, we read LOTS of books, we snuggled.  I didn’t want to leave them anywhere, knowing that at any point I could be leaving them for a couple of days to go to the hospital.  Yet my patience wore thin. 

Physically, I felt better in my last 2 weeks of pregnancy than I did earlier during my 3^rd trimester.  My back hurt less, I slept better, and other physical complaints faded.  Except for new stretch marks and a terribly itchy, heavy belly, I really shouldn’t have complained.  (But I did anyway.)

I’m not sure how my community of friends put up with me.  I think some just checked out to my “woe is me” texts, and I can’t blame them.  More than anything, I just needed to voice to the universe that I didn’t like the state I was in. 

What didn’t I like?  I didn’t like that my hips (where they connect to my backbone) hurt so bad in the night that I almost wouldn’t be able to roll over.   I didn’t like that when I did get rolled over, I had to adjust all the pillows and blankets, and that made my middle back hurt.  I didn’t like that often I would then realize I needed a drink, and hefting myself up to get one would make the muscles in my lower stomach spasm.  I didn’t like that my pubic bone was often out of place and painful.  I didn’t like that my belly itched so bad from stretch marks that I just wanted to scratch it always, but when I did, that made it burn and only itch worse.  Putting lotion on caused irritation which made it itch all the more.  

I didn’t like that lack of good sleep made me exhausted by noon and short with my kids.  I didn’t like that I needed longer naps than Lily and Connor, so Lily was often awake by herself for an hour, and then we’d wake Connor and I’d let them watch an hour or two’s worth of TV while Spencer and I finished napping.  That meant that the kids got too much TV time, and had “TV-itis” for the rest of the day and I had to deal with attitudes.  And I didn’t like that I woke up like a cranky bear each afternoon and it took an hour for me to get MY attitude worked around to the point where I could be a decent mom.  I didn’t like that each evening I was somewhat upset that I wasn’t in labor, and yet I went to bed relieved and hoping it wouldn’t happen that night because I was just too exhausted. 

I DID like the mystery of putting the kids to bed each night and wondering if this would be the last night before they’d get to meet their newest little sibling.  I DID like the wonder they experienced as they walked through my pregnancy with me.  Lily and Connor at ages 5 and 3 knew that Mommy had to pee in a cup because the doctor needed to check it for protein to keep baby safe.  They knew that Mommy’s buns had to get checked by the doctor to make sure the baby was ok.  They knew the nurses and doctors by name and got to experience the whole process at the levels they were able.  

At my 40-week checkup, Spencer asked to put the urine cup in the little cubby in the wall, because he knew where it went.  They got to hear the heartbeat each week, watch my tummy grow, and talk regularly about how horrible it would be for me to get a shot when I went in to have the baby. Because shots are terrifying when you're 3 or 5. (Obviously, they had NO idea what labor actually entails…)

They learned to be gentle to Mommy’s tummy, and Connor often would turn to me with a smile when sitting on my lap and say, “Mom!  Baby brother kicked me!”  And he was always right.  J  They learned that there were things Mommy couldn’t do because of my big belly, and all of the kids became very helpful at cleaning things up, picking things up, and following direct requests/commands to help Mommy. 

I have always liked the “special” feeling that comes with being pregnant.  Not the tangible or physical natures of the state.  I could do without those, generally, but the “special” that’s intangible.  People ask questions they normally wouldn’t ask - they have a ready reason to talk to you and you can have ready responses so conversations even with the most awkward of people are eased.  You can think up jokes and be witty with people in a way that you can only when you’re pregnant.  (“When am I due?  What are you talking about?...)  And these are largely only 3^rd trimester opportunities.  They exist for such a fleeting time.  

Everything is about you – you have to eat well, you have to rest well, you have to take care of yourself, you have to pamper yourself, you get to give yourself grace in ways you don’t when you’re not pregnant.  People offer to do things for you that they would normally never offer to do, and the expectations on you as an adult and community member are eased.  Because it’s such a short time of life and you should really enjoy it to the full extent you’re able.  (Hemmorhoids and all…)

There is much to love and cherish about pregnancy, but those final days are hard.  You must plan life, or at least I must, or I’ll go crazy just sitting at home waiting for things to happen.  But the more you plan, the more tired you are and you never want to let yourself get too tired, because inevitably that will be when you go into labor.  And you need strength for labor!  

You can plan your life, but nothing can be set in stone because at any moment you could have to drop everything and rush to the hospital.  There always has to be a contingency plan for getting the kids where they need to go, getting bags where they need to go, getting you and your spouse together and where you need to go.  I mean, obviously, if you didn’t have your bag with you, you’d survive.  

The hospital puts you in a sexy backless gown, and they take care of all of the gross laundry of anything you ooze on.  But there are things like chapstick, gum, a tooth brush, etc. that are all so helpful to have, and to be without them when you want them would be so hard.  And of course all it would take is a phone call to any of 100 people and they would rush to do whatever you asked, because you’re in labor and they’ll do anything to help – run this or that here or there, check on the cat, water the flowers, anything.

And people ALWAYS take your phone calls when you’re nearing your time.  Answered on the first ring and with an air of expectation in their voice they say, “Hello?!?”  So I respond, somewhat guiltily, “I’m not in labor.  The reason I’m calling is…”  

For me, there’s a small group of people who we notify when we go in, prayer partners, friends, family who support and uphold us in ways only they can even from a distance.  It’s these people that I always feel a little bad calling in those final days.  I always feel like I should send a text a few minutes before I call that says, “I’m not in labor, but I’m going to call in a minute.”  Just so they don’t have that heart jump from the expectation.

The Final Wonderings

You spend your days wondering at each pang, each abnormal “normal” pregnancy twinge, “Could this be the start?”  And you try things – foods, positions, contortions, exercise, activities, sex, and a slew of other things in hopes of bringing on the end.  Except when it really comes down to it, you don’t want to do the end either.  It’s miserable and you dread it.  Though not with your first, because you just don’t know yet.  You go into your first labor feeling like you’ve educated yourself, feeling like you can handle it, excited because you’ll soon get to experience this motherhood business, and you have NO idea the ride you’re about to take.  At least, I did.

With the early contractions you think to yourself, “This isn’t so bad.  I can handle this!”  And then they start to get painful and you begin to wonder, “How much longer can I take this?”  But you remind yourself of all the reasons you don’t want to start that intervention landslide.  

You'd start with some Nubain, which makes you feel queasy and really doesn’t help the pain that much anyway.  Plus they don’t want to give it to you within an hour of baby being born because it suppresses baby’s heart rate and breathing.  From there you can go to the epidural, which seems like such a good option because it simply numbs your lower half.  But then sometimes it doesn’t take or it does but only partially, or it falls out, and there’s always the fact that they’re shoving a catheter up your spinal column, and if something goes wrong there, it can go really wrong and cause long term side effects.  Even the most minimal miss, and you end up with two weeks of a spinal headache rather than two weeks of bonding with your baby.  

From those pain relieving interventions, you head toward pitocin to augment labor, breaking your water to speed things along, each of which can cause undue stress on baby and cause heart rate to drop thus sending you toward a c-section.  All this runs through your head and fights against the voice that screams, “MAKE THIS PAIN GO AWAY!!!” But you labor on (literally) in hopes that they will tell you to push and it will be over in 5 minutes.  Little do you know it will be 4 hours before you will get relief.  At least, that's what runs through my head.

But back to the pangs.  You’re constantly preoccupied, wondering what you felt and if it was anything.  Will you call your husband soon enough?  Will labor go fast and you’ll want him home or will he waste a vacation day at home when you need him to save that for postpartum?  Will you get to the hospital in time or birth in the car?  How will you keep from making a mess in the car?  What if your water breaks in bed? In the car? Will it gush?  Will it ooze?  What about cord prolapse?  Will baby keep moving during the labor process?  Will you feel it?  What if something goes wrong?  How will you handle it?  What if everything goes “right?” How will you handle it?  What about everyone around you?  Your spouse?  Your kids?  Your parents?  How will they all handle whatever it is that’s going to happen?

There are SO many unanswered questions and worries in those final days.  And with each twinge, pang, shift, or twitch, you wonder…

And you try your best to heap all those questions into a pile in the Hands of the Creator who knows the beginning and the end.  Who IS the Beginning and the End.  He can handle them.  He knows the answers.  He’s already handled it.  You just have to walk the path that He knows you’ll handle.  But it is the not knowing that’s so very hard.

But then the knowing would be so very hard as well.  If you knew that in a few hours your body and your baby’s would agree and labor would start, then you would live differently.  You would prepare differently.  You would treat people differently.  

In some ways the preparation would be nice – your children would be watched, your bags would be packed.  You wouldn’t forget to throw your purse and wallet in the car.  

And you would dread the moment it started.  At least I would.  I would look forward to the moment with the greatest kind of woe.  And if I knew the duration, I would probably just weep for myself leading up to it. And in the midst of it, if I knew the duration, I would watch the clock as it crawled along, just waiting for that last minute to come.  

As it is, I lose track of time and assume much less time has passed than really has because I’m so focused internally. 

But you can’t know when labor comes, and that seems to me a grace from God.

Nolan's Story

Wednesday, May 10 was his due date.  I woke up ready for the day.  I had things planned, and if he didn’t come, I was going to be ok with it!  It was ok to go overdue.  Most of my friends who’d recently had babies had gone over their due dates by as much as 10 days and then faced induction. 

Thankfully, I have a track record that that was unlikely, and I’d have enough activity in the previous week to believe that I’d made some progress from the 2cm I’d been hanging out at since my 37 week check. 

The house was spik and span, and I fed the kids breakfast before we headed to Grand Island.  We played at the Grand Island library and then headed for our regular trip to the chiropractor.  The kids trooped along just as they had been doing for the past 2 months.  They knew the routine.  Snacks at the chiropractor’s and doctor’s offices and then lunch in the car on the way home.  (Why are children starving the instant you leave the house?)

Chase met us as the doctor’s office as I was checking in.  Crystal, Dr. Kenna’s nurse was ready for us and took us back to our room, and Amy Schreiber joined us just as soon as we got settled.  Dr. Kenna was in shortly.  Baby’s heart rate was in the 120’s, and Mommy was at a 3.5/4cm.  Progress!  But no contractions.

After lunch at Runza, we drove home, took naps, and I woke up crankier than ever before from my nap.  It was survival till Daddy got home.  Blessedly, he got home at 5.  We ate early and by about 6:15 headed out for a bike ride for the kids. (Chase and I walked.)  On the walk, I wept as I admitted to Chase how upset I was that my family would likely not be around when Nolan made his appearance.  Mom had plans to leave the next afternoon for Michigan.  Dad was planning to leave the day after that with Grandma and Grandpa so they could all make it to Kim’s graduation from Hillsdale College on Saturday.

It didn’t REALLY matter when they all met Nolan, except that it did, because it’s my favorite day, the day everyone comes to the hospital to meet this new little creature I had some miraculous privilege in making. It would just feel like a huge void if everyone was here to meet him except my family.

But I resolved through tears to be ok with it.  We headed home and started getting the kids settled into bed.

As I tucked in Connor and Lily, I reminded them that if I wasn’t there when they got up, then Grandma Becky would be - that would mean the new baby was here.  It was about 8:50 by the time I walked out of their room, and headed downstairs. Chase and I spent the next hour or so preparing, trying to will labor to start.  We asked Mom to come to the house at about 9:45 to sit with the kids while we went on another walk.

The night was still and clear and crisp, but mild.  I started timing contractions, and they came regularly every 2 minutes as long as we were walking, but only lasted 30 to 45 seconds.  I could walk and talk through them, and after 30 minutes of walking, I was just frustrated.  There had only been one I hadn’t talked through, and I was sure that this was just early labor that would stop if we stopped.  I was getting tired, and it was late, so we headed home.

On the way home we debated putting bags in the car, but decided against it and sent Mom home, though we quipped that maybe she should just stay on the couch.  After she left at 10:30, we went upstairs and climbed into bed.  Chase turned on The Big Bang Theory (the one where they get a dining room table, against Sheldon’s wishes), and he tried to sleep.  As I laid there still timing contractions on my phone’s app, they got slightly farther apart, maybe 2 mins and 30 seconds, and slightly longer, averaging maybe 50 to 60 seconds.  I started breathing long and deep to relax through them.

At 11:15, I texted Mom asking her to head on back, I thought it was probably time.  As we packed up the car and gathered things around the house, I stopped every 2 minutes to have a contraction.  I started leaning over something, breathing and swaying.  My hands and arms were shaky and I remember being annoyed.  That wasn’t supposed to happen till transition, and I obviously wasn’t that far along.  I figured my blood sugar had gotten low and I needed to eat.  But eating sounded horrible.  Still, I forced down a few dried dates in hopes that they would stop the shakes and settle my stomach.  I drank a bit of water.

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table as we went about gathering things.  I went to the bathroom and finally saw the confirming “bloody show.”  It was time.  I went to the kitchen table and had a contraction.  I was telling Mom a few details for the kids, then another contraction rolled in.  She commented, “You’re having another one already?  You’d better get to the hospital!”

We were finally ready, so that’s what we did.  I remember the still night as we walked down the back steps.  I stopped to have a contraction by the trash can.  It was a relief to sit in the car, knowing we were headed to the hospital.  Finally.  It was finally time.

We took off for the hospital, both in our own worlds, but glad that this pregnancy would soon be over.  As we headed out of town, my insecurities began to turn to anxiety.  “Are we really going to be able to do this?”  Chase reached for my hand and responded without missing a beat, “Of course you’ll do this.  You’ve done it three times before without any medications or complications.  I’m less nervous this time than I was any of the previous three times.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

As another contraction rolled in, I felt infinitely more confident.  We can do this.  I can do this.  We’ll meet this little creature soon, and I’ll have him in my arms rather than in my stomach!

We made it 5 miles outside of Central City before I realized we’d forgotten to grab my purse, which contained my photo ID which I needed to check in at the hospital.  Confident I’d be fine, because I was handling the contractions well, we turned around.  Chase ran into the house, grabbed my purse and ran back out.  We headed for GI again.  But by the time we reached the first stop light a few blocks from home, it occurred to me that my wallet wasn’t in my purse.  We turned around again.  “By the 4^th time, you’d think I’d remember what to pack.” I quipped.

As we headed toward GI for the final time, I was relieved.  We’d be there soon.  Contractions rolled in like waves consistently every 2 minutes and lasted what felt to me like 20-30 seconds, but each time I opened my eyes as they passed, I was surprised to see that it had been over a minute.

Once we were through Chapman, I commented to Chase that I was glad we were on that side of Chapman, closer to GI than not.  During one contraction I felt the car go over the rumble bars on the right side of the road.  As I came out of the wave and opened my eyes, Chase exclaimed, “Did you see that?”

“No, I was in a contraction.”

A semi was left of center, almost completely in our lane.  Chase had to swerve almost off the road to avoid an accident.  Fortunately for all of us, he was driving defensively and extremely alert at that point, despite that it was now after midnight.

We got to the hospital and Chase parked.  I made it to the boulder outside the front door before I had to stop, lean on the rock, and have a contraction.  Amy Schreiber, who was already in the main lobby, came out to meet us.  I think she was afraid I might birth the baby right there by the rock!  Ha!

We headed up to the 2^nd floor, and the charge nurse had my chart in hand.  I told her that I had bloody show, contractions 2 minutes apart, and that this was happening.  Could I please skip triage?  She smiled and said, yes.  When she saw on my chart that this was my 4^th, she figured I probably knew that this was the real deal.  We followed her into room 222.

As she started to get monitors ready to track contractions and baby’s heart, I changed into the sexy backless gown, and I turned the water on in the tub – all the way hot.  I asked them for the paperwork to sign, pointed out the vein I wanted the IV in, and requested the birthing ball be brought into the room.  I leaned on the side of the bed to have a contraction and my hands were shaking.  The charge nurse said, “Oh!  You’re already shaky.” 

After my IV was in, they checked me, and it was the most uncomfortable check I’d ever had.  I wasn’t in a contraction, but was breathing as if I was it was so painful.  When the nurse finally pulled back, she said, “I think you’re complete.  Your bag of waters is low but loose, and I can’t find any cervix behind it.”  “Get out the baby stuff!” said the another nurse.

“Don’t break my water!” I begged.  “Can I get in the tub now?”

After being pestered to not push in the tub, which I promised I would let them know the second I felt the urge to push, they let me in.  (Turned out the hot water there was actually hot this time, unlike when I went in with Spencer.  It was gloriously warm to get in the tub!)

I soaked in there for what felt like 30 minutes, but turned out it was about an hour and a half.  (Why does labor seem to make time speed up for me?  I think most people feel like it drags on forever.)  Amy and Chase took turns sitting with me or were both in there and the nurse, Andrea, checked in regularly.

My goal was to get Nolan to descend a bit into the birth canal as he was still pretty high.  After an hour and a half in the tub, my bag of waters was getting tighter, and it was now clear that there was an anterior rim still on my cervix.  So I was like 9 and 3/4cm, sort of.  I knew that that rim wouldn’t go away unless I was upright, and I was beginning to not cope as well in the tub.

I moved to the bed, which I had them drop the end on so that I was on all 4s.  I had Chase push my hips together, which helped me not feel like I was totally going to fall apart at the hips.  I would utter “ooooppppeeennn” over and over again through contractions, envisioning my body opening to let my son out without tearing.  I did it quietly enough that I don’t think anyone knew I was saying anything, but it was out loud enough that it was audible.  After 20 minutes or so that way, I moved to the birthing ball.  At 3am, Andrea checked me and as she did, my water broke.

Meconium in the fluid.  But not a ton.  I knew things were about to get real, so I got back on the birthing ball.

“I should have asked for the damn epidural.”

For the first time in 4 unmedicated labors, I swore.  I lasted for 3 contractions on the ball before I asked to be checked again.

“Oh!” the nurse said.  “I need you to breathe through the next 3 or 4 contractions.”

“Can you call Dr. Kenna now?”  I asked, thinking that she was going to call after those few contractions.

“I just did.”  She said.  “The reason I need you to breathe through a few contractions is so that he doesn’t come before she gets here.”

Oh good.  Oooooooh good.

By 3:15 Dr. Kenna had arrived and we were in the phase where it was up to me how fast Nolan would be here.  My goal was not to tear, so I needed some help to just breathe him down.

I remember a nurse asking if I wanted Nolan put straight onto my chest after he was born.  “Yes!  Yes.  That’s why I do all this work – for that moment.”  The question seemed absurd and ridiculous to me at the time.  It still does.  Of course I wanted to hold my baby at the first possible second.

I switched from “horse lips” breathing during contractions to “moo-ing like a cow.”  (Ina Mae knows what she's talking about when she says to use those sounds to help cope!)

I asked between contractions, “Is he close?  Like, you’re seeing head, right?”

Dr. Kenna nodded.

“Like is he crowning?  How much head are you seeing?”

Dr. Kenna said “Eh…” and held up her fingers, maybe ¾ of an inch apart.

My head dropped back on the bed in discouragement.

Dr. Kenna said, “I can tell that when you get to the point where your body wants to push him out, that’s where you almost hold him in.  You need to let your body push him out.”

“But I don’t want to tear.  If I push at this stage am I going to tear?”

Dr. Kenna shrugged.

I pooped at least twice on the table, and I remember how unpleasant it was for Dr. Kenna to clean that area, thanks to my hemorrhoids…  Ugh.

So on the next few contractions I worked harder at moo-ing longer before diving into my fast breaths out to slow his coming.  Eventually the contraction happened where his head didn’t recede.  It had come partway out and despite that the contraction was over, the ring of fire burned on and he didn’t ease back in.  I fast-breathed/panted and thought I was going to die until the next contraction came and his head slowly made its way out.

“The head’s out Steph!  His head’s out!  His head’s out!”  Chase said over and over again.  He knew that was a big deal for me, so he made it a big deal.

I took a breath and pushed hoping his body would come quickly.  I felt Dr. Kenna working his shoulders out, and then he was here!

“Oh!”  I reached down and took the slippery little ball of wonder from Dr. Kenna’s hands.  Knowing meconium was in the fluid, I remember being slightly concerned that he hadn’t let out a huge scream yet.  As I settled him on my chest, the nurse began to rub his back and that first loud scream came (though he’d been breathing before that).

I could feel the cord still attached to me, but I was focused on the little creature, now no longer alien but entirely human laying on my breast.  This was the moment.  This moment is the one I lived for through the hard that was pregnancy and labor and delivery.

“I’m SO glad that’s over.  I’m so glad that’s over.”  I said over and over again.  Everyone in the room laughed as I repeated the sentiment over and over again throughout the next hour.

Amy snapped shots of Nolan’s first moments on the outside, and after about 10 minutes of cuddling, I handed my 3^rd son off to be cleaned up, weighed, measured, and diapered before being handed back to me.  He smelled so sweet (thanks to the Pampers Swaddlers diaper!).

3:40am.  Nine pounds even.  Twenty one and one quarter inches long.  Thirteen and a half inches for his head (though it felt like so much more).  Everyone safe, healthy, here.  Perfection.

“Dr. Kenna, you missed the due date by almost 4 hours.  Do we get a refund?” Chase teased.

Dr. Kenna laughed and replied that due dates aren’t an exact science, but she was pretty close.

Nolan latched on and nursed for a long time.  We agreed to wait for his first bath until siblings came the next morning.  Chase told me later that our nurse, Andrea, kept saying about me, “She’s textbook.”  Evidently my labor was just what you'd expect from a mom laboring without medication.
Amy's comment was, "You were just so controlled."

From my perspective, I had to stay in control of myself.  If I didn't, I would've spiraled and not been able to cope.  That happened with Lily, and I hated the way it felt.  It's why I begged them not to break my water with Nolan.  Each time when my water breaks, it gets infinitely more painful and harder to cope, so the longer I can labor with water in tact, even if it takes hours longer for baby to come, the better in my mind because I can handle it.  But that's just me.

After all the excitement subsided, I couldn’t shut down to sleep (I never can), so I dozed for maybe 40 minutes before 7am when I ordered breakfast.  Chase zonked out on the couch for about 3 hours.  He didn’t wake up for nurses coming in and out, for me ordering breakfast, or anything else. 

Visitors started around 9am and over the course of the next 36 hours, I showered, Nolan's siblings came, my family and Chase's came to visit, dear friends stopped by to see the newest Francl, and I had my day, my very favorite day of showing off my newest little one.

In Retrospect

Looking back now, almost 2 months later, it was definitely a good experience.  I mean, except for the labor and delivery part - that was super painful!  I'm so grateful for those who were there that night, ready to check me in and who responded positively when I told them what I wanted.

One thing that has become very important to me as a laboring woman is the freedom to labor how I want to, but to have the support (emotional, physical, and medical) of those around me in case anything goes awry.  It was a short experience - about 3 hours from the time we arrived till Nolan was in my arms, so I guess it wasn't that long to cater to me.  But still.  It was quiet when I asked for everyone to be quiet.  I was in the tub when I wanted to be.  They put the birthing bar on the bed when I asked, though I never ended up using it.  They put warm blankets over me as I labored when I asked.  Water was always put to my lips with merely a point of my finger.

I used to think that if I had to be a nurse, I'd want to be a labor and delivery nurse.  But I think they have a really hard job - walking with women through some of the physically darkest, hardest hours of life.  Those hours and moments that feel to the mother like death just before new life shines a new ray of hope into the world.

But what a privilege to be part of that process.

Spencer was very concerned any time Nolan's pacifier wasn't
in his mouth.  Here, you see the green paci that Spencer is
giving to Chase for Nolan.  And notice that Spencer has his
own orange paci in his mouth.

Going home.

First outing with all 4 - to church on Sunday morning.
Also, cars eats.  So many car seats.

Am I enough?

I wrote this a little while ago, but couldn't post it, because it was too raw.  I'm over the hump.  I'm at peace and past this grief.  It seems the theme of the last couple of weeks for me has been grief - blessedly not the grief of losing human life - I am so very grateful for that.  But grief isn't only for those horrific occasions.  If ever you've struggled with letting dreams go or putting them on hold, maybe you can relate to how I was feeling when I wrote this...

Recently I learned some fabulous news about some people I knew in what feels like another lifetime.  College cohorts who have achieved great successes and are doing amazing things in the world.  Influential things.  Things that may not only make a difference (and headlines) today, but may make a positive difference for years and generations to come.  Truly.

They are in positions to put people in place to make good decisions in the courts, in the media, in the current presidential administration.  They ARE the people BEING put in place to make good decisions.  They have clerked for Supreme Court justices, they have been top of their classes in the top schools in the nation, they have worked countless hours over many years to earn this privilege.  And they're not just lawyers.  They are lawyers, and speech writers, and journalists, and state representatives, and civil servants with great civic influence.

These were people I called not only "classmate" but also "friend" in that other lifetime.

I sit in my yoga pants with my laptop jiggling at random as my belly button is pummeled from the inside by the 4th little miracle I've had the privilege to carry.  Dishes from 2 days ago fill my sinks and my counters.  Toys have exploded well beyond the playroom to every nook, cranny and corner of the house.  And don't even get me started on the laundry...

I see the headline about these amazing people, and I wonder, "Am I enough?" 

I wasn't just in class with these people.  I was their intellectual peer.  We challenged each other.  I learned what "the good" is with these people; I learned how to logically challenge thought with these people; we studied friendship together via Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics.  In essence, they helped me as we went through the metamorphosis from know-it-all teen to learn-to-love-learning-for-learning's-sake, reasonable, thinking adult.  (Or at least, a reasonable, thinking adult when I am well-rested and not pulled in multiple directions by sticky little fingers...) 

... 

I am pulled from slumber at 2:37am by stifled sobs and a pair of big brown eyes peeking over the edge of my bed.  "My legs hurt, Mommy." 

Growing pains. 

I heft my pregnant belly over as I roll to make room, while simultaneously reaching down to pull this piece of my heart into bed for snuggles - the only remedy that eventually eases these growing pains away. 

I wrap my arms around him, and I wonder, "Am I enough?"

I am not.  No matter how much I invest in them, my children always want and need more than I will ever be capable of giving. 

I have a job I love, a job I'll likely have to give up eventually because the demands of home will outweigh the benefit of even my flexible, wonderful, invigorating job. 

And I'm not complaining.  I chose this life, deliberately.  And I almost never look back.  How could I?  Trade the greatest treasures the Lord can bestow for some title and insane work hours in a city far from everyone I love?  No thank you.

But I just need to take a moment and be honest with myself and wonder, "Am I enough?" 

The question has many applications.  In fact, that very question years ago (when I was 23) got me to take the GRE and start applying for grad schools.  With what many of my peers were doing, I thought maybe I was just stupid and not smart, so that's why I was still in the same job after almost 2 years.  (Turns out, that job is still one I look back on as the most exciting, interesting, challenging, fun job I have ever had!)

The answer I learned back then was that I was enough.  I could still pull great GRE scores, get into great schools, even get some of my tuition covered with great scholarships.  (That doesn't change the fact that we're still paying off the student loans that resulted from me needing to answer that "am I enough?" question...)

And today, I wonder, if life had gone differently (not that I wish that it had), but would I have been enough?  Am I enough?  Could I have?  Would I have?  What would it have been like if I had? 

I don't often live in the "what ifs...?"  Most of the time, they're not helpful.  But sometimes, every now and then, I slip into a puddle (or pit) and wallow in the "what ifs...?" 

They are a good opportunity to look back at life and review the decisions I've made (most alongside my husband - we celebrated 17 YEARS since our first date earlier this month!).

The honest truth is that I don't regret any of my major life decisions.  Not all have been easy, but they have each been good - the right thing at the right time. 

And then I wonder, will I be prepared for the next thing?  (Chase can attest that I was in tears very recently telling him that I am, indeed, NOT prepared for the next thing.  Four children ages 5 and under completely overwhelms me!!!) 

But then, that's trusting my own strength.  In my own strength it is not possible to live well with 4 children ages 5 and under.  In my own strength it is not possible to face labor and delivery, yet again, with any kind of positive thought.  In my own strength it is not possible to be prepared for the thing just around the corner that I don't know is coming.  In my own strength, nothing is possible.

My strength, if I had any, is gone anyway.  I am tired.  I am weary.  I am worn out, discouraged, beaten down, exhausted, unworthy, incapable, and worthless.

But. 

It is not by my own strength that any of my life thus far has turned out well, nor is it by my own strength that I will joyfully take on whatever the next challenges are beyond bearing #4 and bringing him into the world. 

Psalm 127 has been a theme this pregnancy for sure.  It states just exactly what children are - a heritage from the Lord, a blessing.  Blessed are we if our quiver is full. 

And you know what else?  It says that, "Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in ones youth."  

I don't think of myself as an archer or warrior, nor do I think of my children as arrows.  At least, if they are, then we've got a loooooooooooooot of sharpening to do!

Not all are called to the life that I am walking, just like not all are called to work in the presidential administration or write speeches or make movies or anything else.  We each have different paths to walk.

This is mine.  It's not over yet, and the question of "Am I enough?" will inevitably rear its ugly head again.  But as I have done before, I am choosing now to sit back in the arms of my Creator and trust that He has a plan, better than any plan I could imagine, dream up, or invent, to make my life exactly enough to fulfill His purpose. 

And you know, if I've done what the Creator of the Universe designed for me to do, if I have fulfilled exactly that role, how could I not be enough?

Frazier

Like birth, death is unpredictable.

Sometimes it comes and you see it a mile away and have time to prepare - an achingly long, arduous journey through the valley.  And sometimes it strikes so quickly you flail in the fall, struggling to catch your own breath in light of the one now forever breathless.

The latter happened today.

Our dear, faithful, noble-souled dog Frazier passed away this afternoon.

He wasn't acting quite right for about 1/2 an hour, and then a howl came from the other room.  I dialed the vet as I went to check on him.

As the vet answered, I watched Frazier take his final breath and go peacefully beyond to wherever it is that dogs go.

Likely a stroke, heart attack, or brain aneurysm I was told, based on how things went.

But you know, none of that matters.  Because he's gone.

Please don't think me overly emotional or ridiculous about all this - he was just a dog, different than a human life in both body and soul.  I have lost human life and that is so very, very different than this.

And yet, grief has many levels and many stages, and it is a miserable mistress whatever the case.

Eleven and a half years ago, Chase and I got married.  We moved to Michigan where we went to college; we got permission from our landlords, and went dog-hunting.  It was Labor Day Weekend when we found him.

Frazier wasn't the one I thought we'd come home with.  Bigger than his siblings, he hung back from the pack.  The little black and brown female was aggressive with her love - chewing shoelaces, leaping into laps.  The other siblings followed her lead.  So unlike Frazier who hung back a bit, more calm and less aggressive.

He was Chase's pick, because he was to be "Chase's dog."

Within a week death was knocking at his door - Frazier had parvovirus, a very serious virus for puppies.  He suffered severe dehydration, and in the middle of the night, I sobbed as we took him to the vet who injected fluid directly under his skin.  It gathered into a hump on Frazier's back, making him look like a tiny, floppy-eared camel.  Over the next few hours, the fluid absorbed into his body, and he was hydrated again.  The prognosis was unsure.

He recovered and became a fixture in our young household.  His birthday was the same day as our wedding, so we never forgot to celebrate him.  In college, he served as the mascot for the intramural flag football team that I was on and Chase coached.  We were The Fraziers, "fierce and sneaky."

He went with us everywhere - on walks, on trips home to Nebraska, to work with me every now and then if I worked odd hours, and on all of our moves.  In his 11 1/2 years, he lived in 6 different houses - all rentals - he flew twice, he toured the monuments in DC, he welcomed 3 babies home.  He welcomed another dog into our family and then grieved with us when she died.  He tolerated the cat we got 2 years ago, and I think they could have been great friends if the cat would have ever stopped picking on poor Frazier!

He never chewed a shoe, bit a person, or got into the trash (except that once).  He didn't bark, except when people came to the door, and he rarely got onto the table or counter, except when I forgot to feed him.

He cleaned up the floor underneath the table and in the kitchen as I cooked and our children learned to eat.  He sat patiently, begrudgingly, when I groomed him.  He rolled in cow poop (or any other kind of poop) whenever he had the chance, and once managed to corner a skunk without getting sprayed.  Kind and gentle with everyone, never meeting a human he didn't love, and patient with tinies crawling on him and pulling his ears.

Essentially, he was the perfect dog.  Just what I needed in that phase of life where I was privileged to have him.  Because, let's be real, he ended up MY dog.

Rest in Peace, Frazier.  Thanks for sharing your life with us.

Trying to sleep in the bean bag.

Mid-bath.  Also, this is where he would go when
there was a thunder storm, because bathtubs are safe.

At the park.

Vacation to Texas, driving through the night.

This guy's life changed a LOT when we had kids.

But he found ways to enjoy even the kids, or at least their things.

He was always looking for the perfect place to nap.
The back of the couch made the cut this day.

This was a good place whenever he was allowed.

Christmas pictures made him yawn.

The face I'll always remember so fondly.

Bringing home babies was exhausting for all of us.

These were the glory days, when we were in college, and he was
just a puppy.  This was before his first haircut.  I let his hair get
so long that we put it in a ponytail on top of his head so he could see.

And after he started getting haircuts, I got him clothes.  Poor guy.
After we had kids, he never wore another piece of clothing.  That
was a good thing for him about us having kids.

In Michigan, the snow would get so deep that we'd
have to scoop a path across the patio to the yard
so he could do his business.  He loved to play in the
snow when he was young.  He'd come in with hundreds
of tiny snowballs stuck in his fur.

Tell Brook "hi" for us buddy.  We miss you both.  <3