Leyla's Birthday

"Had it."

That is the text Jered sent to my parents about half an hour after we left them at our apartment on Saturday morning.

Needless to say, some confusion and assumption of pure jest ensued, but the truth was that our second daughter had arrived in dramatic fashion.

Birth story time! Warning: lengthy post for a short story.

"Bey-bey," as Evelyn called it, was appearing to have a mind of his/her own as I experienced some early labor signs in the middle of the week before our due date. I finished packing up my hospital bag, did the quickest cleaning of our apartment ever, and waited. And waited. And waited.

Nothing happened, and spicy food, fresh pineapple, walks around Target, bouncing on the exercise ball, the excitement of Game 7, and tempting fate with Jered going hunting all failed to put me into labor.

Then Jered came home from work last Thursday with what appeared to be the stomach flu, and I thought, "Great. Now I can't even wish to go into labor because this would be the worst timing." He spent half of Friday totally miserable, but I told him I bet he would feel better by that night when my parents arrived (they had planned on visiting a new baby by that time), and then I'd go into labor.

Mom and Dad got here around 10:15, we got Evelyn up for a little bit to play (we're rule breakers, we are), and I scolded my stomach some more, urging Baby to "GET OUT."

I woke up a little after 3 a.m. with a contraction that was finally painful. After a couple of them, I nudged Jered and told him it was starting for real. I think I stayed in bed for about half an hour and realized I wouldn't be going back to sleep, so I decided to take a shower and get myself ready.

I took my time and shaved my legs and started having some contractions that made me bend over. On my way back to my room, I passed Dad in the hall and told him I was just killing some time. Jered asked me how it was going, and I told him he should probably get up in about half an hour. To my surprise, he got up right then and showered.

It's a good thing he did. By the time he was done, I was kneeling or squatting through the contractions. We finished getting ready, said goodbye to Evelyn, and my dad prayed for us before we left. (I told him he could only do so if he hurried.)

 

[holding my breath through a contraction as I held our *only* child for the last time]

I gave Jered the OK to stop at the gas station for coffee and donuts again, asked him to get me some gum, and told him to hurry. (I'm not sure if he was really as hungry as he said, or if he was trying to be traditional- he also wore the same outfit he wore when Evelyn was born.) When he got back I told him to really hurry, but not to get pulled over or get a camera-issued ticket in my parents' van.

We got to the hospital in record time, and I had to sit on the same curb as last time to wait out a contraction. At the check in desk, I paced, wondered again why there is so much paperwork even after pre-registering, and also wondered again why the check in ladies don't seem to be in any rush.

Then things really started. (I will try to share without any traumatizing details for you.)

I had to squat and lean on the counter through another contraction, realized something felt different, started to stand up to find a bathroom, and my water broke. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, telling Jered it was coming and that I couldn't move. Nurses were suddenly standing all around me, trying to get me into a wheelchair, but my body felt like it had locked up. Somehow they got me into the chair and rushed me down the hallway. 

I was mortified that I was doing it, but couldn't help yelling in pain the whole way. I couldn't control my breathing enough to get the words, "but I wanted the drugs" out. All I could think was, "No, this can't happen- I can't do this without the epidural! This can't be happening!" They got me onto the bed, and I think they still didn't realize how serious I was about the fact that it was coming. I don't remember what they wanted to do- get me into a gown maybe- but I said again, "It's coming now!" 

They got me partially undressed, I heard someone ask if the doctor was almost there, and someone else said it didn't matter because the head was "right there." Jered was rushed up to my side, and I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE. I don't know how women do the natural thing, guys. It was terrifying. It almost makes me cry just remembering it. I just remember yelling alot more than I ever thought I would, and that I must be disturbing all the people on the floor. I also remember feeling like Jered was scolding me for not slowing down my breathing. (And he thinks I take things too personally. Ha)

Jered said I pushed twice, and she was there. I've heard people say they don't like epidurals because it makes you foggy, and you aren't as present after the baby comes, but I'm telling you, I think the shock of doing that naturally made me foggier than an epidural. I remember it barely registering when they said it was a girl and placed her on my chest, and then I wanted Jered to take her because I didn't trust my arms to work because I was so shaky.

It was the most intense, terrifying thing I'd ever done. And I know so many women don't have a choice and so many choose to do it that way, but I never had any desire to go the natural route, and I certainly never thought I might come close to having a baby anywhere but on a hospital bed. 

Anyway, start to finish, the whole thing took about two and a half hours. I woke up around 3:00, Dad says I passed him in the hall at 4:15, we left around 5:00, and Leyla Jolie was born at 5:31. 

I'll save the later details and talking about our two girls for another time because this is already long. Suffice it to say we are in love, and the fact that we now have two beautiful daughters is still surreal. 

Season of Faith

I came across a prayer a few weeks ago, and a line from it has stayed with me ever since, changing the way I view life.

"Let not faith cease from seeking thee until it vanishes into sight."

Faith will vanish into sight. The need for faith will cease to exist.

Cue my mind being blown.

This prayer, from Arthur Bennett's The Valley of Vision, was in an eight week devotional study I just finished, and throughout the book, I found myself learning that I carry around way more anxiety about worldly problems than I realized. 

In fact, my worries seemed to intensify as I went through the study. The whole time I kept wondering what I was doing wrong. Why wasn't I able to trust that everything would resolve in time? Why couldn't I relax and know that God was in control? Why was I stressing out even more after reading and rereading about trusting in God?

Each week, although focusing on different aspects and steps to intimacy with God, at some point circled back to the fact that the valley, the hard parts, the shadowy place, is where we do our growing. It is where our faith is grown, our hearts and souls, developed.

So, I suppose I've just been going through a growth spurt of sorts. It has been hard. And stressful. But it is for a season, and something I've been taught is that we must enjoy the season because it is short in the scope of eternity.

My entire life will be a season of faith. Someday that season will be over, and I will be granted sight in its place. For now, I will do my best to embrace the necessity of faith, to use the time to get to know God's character better, to develop my heart and soul.

***

On a slightly different note, I'm beyond ready for this season of pregnancy to come to an end. Everything is harder when you have what feels like a bowling ball in your middle. At least I have this goofy girl around to keep me laughing:

43 Days

All over the place today- hang on.

Can I have a whiny pregnant lady moment? Just real quick, and then I'll move on.

Is it time yet?? I absolutely don't want to rush my alone time with my girl, or our three-person family, or time in general, but I'm tired of being pregnant. I'm tired of sharing my bladder with a squirmy baby, not being able to lie on my back, being so tired but unable to sleep because it's too uncomfortable, not being able to breathe, the sweating, the contractions. So many contractions. We're down to 43 days, but who's counting?

Ok, I'm done. Promise. Go ahead and finish cooking, babe.

That girl- she is stinkin' hilarious right now. She has been incredibly excitable the last couple days and will just be totally wired for an hour at a time. Laughing, dancing, and acting a goof. And she is all over the place. Climbing everywhere. She can get up on the couch now, so there's really no stopping her. Last week, Jered was still in bed and heard some rustling. He rolled over, and there she was, sitting right next to him, just grinning away.

She has also, I think, officially begun transitioning to a single nap a day schedule, but somehow missed the memo that if she's only taking one, it needs to increase in length.  One hour nap a day is simply not going to cut it for me.

Sweet thing chipped a tooth at some point. (Before the mouth gushing blood incident of last week.) It's one of her top teeth, so we rarely see it. She has developed a dashing mullet as well. Even so, she sure is the prettiest thing I've ever seen.

Oh, you're wondering how my nesting is going? Not great.

I mean, I've purged two large diaper boxes full of books we don't need to keep anymore. Well, almost- they're ready to go to Half Priced Books to make us a couple bucks, I hope. I also got Jered to finally dump somewhere around 20 to 30 old textbooks that have no use or ability to resell.

New paintings for our dining are about half done. (Just waiting on a decent nap to finish those!)

Katie is coming this weekend to help me with some cleaning, organizing, and possibly a few projects, so that will be awesome.

Apparently my third trimesters are fraught with intense cravings, particularly a sweet tooth. Give me all the chocolate, all the time. I would love to bake something right now, but I didn't make it to the grocery store today, and we have no eggs.

We went sans dishwasher almost all summer. Huge pain. Huge. Maybe if I didn't have a toddler demanding attention, or limited, precious nap times to get as much done as possible, I wouldn't mind. But I do. Jered called our maintenance man and it got fixed a couple weeks ago, and the angels sang. Until yesterday when it started doing the same thing all over again. Womp, womp.

Speaking of Jered, a few days ago I went to lie down for a minute while Evelyn was napping, and Jered came in to see what I was doing. I warned him that I felt like I was about to cry and had no real reason to, other than being tired and not feeling great. He laughed (nicely!), and I promptly burst into tears. He brought me a blanket and told me to take a nap. He's a keeper.

We went to the Peoria Blues and Heritage Music Festival a couple weeks ago for Jered's birthday present. Jered loved it, which I loved. I was mostly excited about fair food and sitting (so, so glad we brought chairs) and listening to some good bands/artists. It proved to be a great time for me to use my art journal- so much to sketch!

We saw Buddy Guy perform, which is a pretty big deal. We were right up front, and Jered caught one of his guitar picks. I hosted an inner dialogue over the battle of the age groups that went on during the O.A.R. concert right before Buddy Guy, where a group of younger people came in and stood directly in front of all of us who had been sitting and waiting for Buddy Guy all day. Each had a right to be there. I think if the older people had known they weren't staying beyond the O.A.R. concert, they wouldn't have cared so much. Brawls were a-brewin', I tell you!

It was also the first time Evelyn spent the night away from both of us. She apparently had so much fun that she didn't miss us at all. I'm trying to remind myself that this is a blessing, and that I would have felt guilty and heartbroken had she been miserable while we were gone.

I actually had some personal revelations to talk about, but I'll save them for later since this has already been quite lengthy. 

Lata gata!

Momma-ish Worries

We have passed the 3/4 mark of this pregnancy. Woohoo! I keep thinking that I'm practically there, and the rest of the time will fly, but then I also remember that baby still has some massive growing to do in the next two months, and that is daunting.

I'm beginning to enter the panic stage. (That's a real thing, right? Not just me?) Surely every parent hits that at some point, no matter which pregnancy they're experiencing.

My mind is being overrun with thoughts of are we ready for this? Two under two- what were we thinking? I've never had a newborn in winter before; how am I going to lug around a highly bundled newborn and Evelyn, wear a winter coat myself, and get out to the car without having a heatstroke? Or without falling on ice? How am I going to do store runs with two? How will I catch Evie if she decides to climb up on her music table when I'm nursing a baby or otherwise tied up? How will I get anything done with two kids and two different sleep schedules? HOW?

And perhaps the most menacing of all: how am I going to snuggle that newborn and still have enough arms to hold and snuggle and love on my big girl? DID I GIVE HER ENOUGH TIME ON HER OWN?

See what I mean? Slow down and breathe, Aimee! This has been done by billions of women, billions of times. And I'm a living testament that firstborns can turn out ok. 

But in all seriousness, I'm still terrified by how much I love her. LIKE IT HURTS. When I think about how much my heart is wrapped around that little girl, it hurts. How can I do it again? Won't my heart just rip open? I don't see how it can withstand more love.

We watched an episode of Grey's recently where Maggie asks Meredith how she does it, and it is exaaactly how I feel.  Watch the clip HERE instead of having me recite it for you. (And then come back to see some cute pictures of my kid, k?)

 

It's weird to think that anyone else has these feelings. It's as if I think my parenting experience is unique. And of course each parenting experience is unique because no two people are exactly the same, but the emotions must be universal. 

Parenting is funny that way. While it's a unifying experience because you find out so many people are going/have gone through the same ups and downs, you feel at the same time that you must be the only one in the world to have ever felt this way.

Or maybe I'm the only one thinking that. Ha.

Good Lives Still Have Problems

I have a good life.

I am well aware that my problems are largely first-world problems. In the grand scheme of things, my life is easy, and I don't know pain like so much of the world is currently experiencing.

But still.

I find myself feeling on the edge of despair over certain circumstances from time to time. I hesitate to tell you all this because in light of everything that has been going on, my issues would seem petty. However, I listened to a sermon recently that hit home for me, and one of the points made was that we shouldn't belittle the pain.

We were asked to repeat a verse that "just so happened" to pop up in my devotions the very next day. That God. He's so sneaky like that.

The verse he asked us to repeat was, "Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning." I'm sure it has a larger than literal meaning, but I find that it literally tends to fit my life too. Those times when I feel the most burdened, the most wearied and hopeless, usually occur at night. Maybe it's just exhaustion at the end of the day, or maybe God shows mercy and refreshes me because I do feel better in the morning for the most part.

My problems, even though they may seem petty to some, can cause me pain. Within the same week that I heard this sermon, I read Psalm 31:7-8 during one of my devotions.

I will be glad and rejoice in your love,
for you saw my affliction 
and knew the anguish of my soul.
You have not handed me over to the enemy
but have set my feet in a spacious place.

He knows the anguish of my soul. Jesus was fully God and fully man, so he knows and understands human emotion and experiences.

I also came across the phrase "the valley is the place of vision," by Arthur Bennett in that devotion. This concept has stuck with me ever since. Sometimes the only way to learn what I need to know, or to see God work, is to be in the valley and let Him lead me out of it.

I don't know why I'm still so amazed when God teaches me one lesson from more than one resource at a time.

Also, it would be silly of me to think that any of my problems are as bad as they feel. I do tend to be a bit sensitive and need to remember that my emotions are the variable, not God. He is unchanging and should be my focus.

Anyway, it is not my intention to whine, but merely to share what I've been learning lately because I can't be the only one with all the feels.

In other news, we are tired of teething and allergies at our place. So. much. snot.

Thoughts of All Sorts

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever have full control of my brain function again. Between being pregnant and having an incredibly busy toddler, my thoughts are all over the place, and I struggle to form complete thoughts. So here- be the pinball in my brain for a few minutes. (Also, please don't begrudge me some random phone pictures of my girl while we're at it.)

Evelyn has this toy that fills up with gears, and when you push the button it plays music while the center gear spins, turning all the rest. That is all well and good, but putting it away drives me crazy. The gears are yellow, orange, red, green, and blue. Some sick part of me cannot put it away so that any like colors are touching/close to each other. I also can't put the red and green next to each other because that looks too Christmasy. Every night when I put it away I think, "this is just stupid. I can't believe I'm wasting time trying to get these spaced out just right." But I can't help myself. IT'S A SICKNESS, I TELL YOU.

In the last week or two Evie has started doing some fun things. She now makes a [very] surprised face, puts her hands up in a "where did he/she/it go?/I don't know" motion, sniffs like a bunny, growls like a bear, pants like a puppy, and makes a monkey sound. We're quite entertained by it all.

  

I think I'm nesting. Or maybe it's because Jered talked about buying a house and got my hopes up, and now it seems we will be here at least one more year. All I know is that I basically want to redo everything in the apartment. I want to paint furniture, hang different artwork, update throw pillows, and de-clutter the heck out of this place.

Similar to my problem with the gear toy, I take longer than needed to eat my Frosted Mini Wheats. I have to flip them all frosted side up so that I can eat the plain ones first and save the best for last. I can't be the only one, right? Speaking of Frosted Mini Wheats, Jered was pouring us each a bowl the other night and kind of chuckled when he handed me mine. HE HAD TRADED ALL OF HIS PLAIN ONES WITH FROSTED ONES FROM MY BOWL. What kind of marriage is this?

 

Yesterday some adorable cloth doll patterns came in the mail. The goal is to make at least a few for Evelyn in time for Christmas. Hopefully five months is enough time.

I would say that thus far, birthing and raising Evelyn is at the top of my accomplishment list. (You may remember that I also went through the Target clothing section and came out with only the jeans for which I went- and I have since gone in with my sister while she shopped for clothes, and I didn't get ANYTHING. So those are pretty high up there as well.) However, I recently outdid myself. I got Jered hooked on Grey's Anatomy. As in- he has started watching it without me. As in- he didn't study enough for one of his finals because he couldn't stop watching. Also- he's a keeper because he has the same favorite characters as me (Mark and Lexie), and he has seen me ugly cry so many times in the last couple weeks and admits when an episode is a tearjerker. (Oh- he doesn't cry, FYI.)

 

I love summer. And I love fruit. One of my favorite things about summer is the abundance of amazing fruit. I'm not even that picky about it- I don't mind eating a tart strawberry or a slightly crunchy peach. But a perfect summer peach? The kind that is just right, juicy, and exploding with flavor? If I was a poet, I would write a love sonnet, no- multiple love sonnets about that peach.

 

I turned twenty-nine last week, and my parents got me The Longevity Book by Cameron Diaz (per my request.) It's all about the science of what happens to you when you age (specifically as a woman) and from what I can tell is about how to appreciate your body and embrace aging rather than fearing it as society teaches us we should. I flipped through it real quick and it's muuuch more science than I anticipated and has hardly any photos, so I think it will be quite the learning experience and I will be armed with a highlighter at all times.  Time to get back in school mode.

 

Here's a slightly more connected thought:

My parents took Evelyn and me to Branson a few weeks ago. It was a ridiculously sweltering week, so we mainly relaxed at the condo, at the pool, and ventured downtown a few times. After a week of having two extra sets of hands that were happy to take over meals, diapers, and bedtimes and being spoiled to death by my parents I felt refreshed and ready to jump back into the daily routines of being a stay at home mom and wife.

Then I came home to an apartment that I had not left clean and tidy before vacation. Instantly overwhelmed. Within the first half hour of being home I was scrubbing down the bathroom because our water leaves a gross ring around the toilet if it isn't used for a few days. I grumbled to myself on my hands and knees as I wiped down the floor. And then I caught myself. It was 11:30 on a Monday morning. Jered and I left a hotel that morning to make it back for my 10:30 meeting, and now I was at home with my husband and baby. I mean, I was still scrubbing a bathroom floor, but we could have had to push our way through the drive to make it back the night before, and I could have had to be sitting at a desk away from my family at 8:30 that morning. Reality and attitude check- check.

And now it's off to a hefty pile of dishes I left for myself.

Ta-ta.

A Toddler and Pregnancy 102

The baby is officially one year old.

I looked at her after bath time last night, and I swear her looks had changed over the course of the day.

Her cognitive development within the last week has been astounding as well. She brings her water bottle to me when it's empty and asks for more, she brings books to us and wants us to read (usually the same book- thank goodness it's one I like), she has been sitting and flipping through each page of her board books on her own with intense focus throughout much of the day, she is starting to bring objects to us when we ask for them, she goes to other rooms to find things when we suggest it, and she's starting to figure out things like her nose when we ask her about them.

(And every other mother says "blah, blah, blah- no big deal. Every kid does this." I can't help it, ok? It's exciting because it practically happens overnight!)

[We went to a splash pad for her birthday, and she was so brave! She ran all around on her own 

and loved watching all the older kids playing. You could tell she wanted to make friends.]

It seems that both babies are growing like weeds (or as Mark Sloan puts it, "mighty oaks") right now. I felt J 2.0- ooph, we need a better nickname than that- for the first time around Memorial Day, but he/she has majorly stepped up the dance moves. Jered was able to feel the kicks well last night, and I even saw the movement.

I hope to whine a little less during this pregnancy, while still being real. I still don't enjoy being pregnant, but it's true what they say. You don't think about being pregnant as much with the second because you're busy attending to your first.

I'm convinced this one is a boy because my skin has reacted completely differently this time. (Huzzah!) And you may be thinking Aimee surely has matured during this year of being a mom and won't care about the gained weight and changing body this time.  You would be quite wrong. I still hate not recognizing my body, especially after working really hard this year to get fitter than I've ever been. It's wild how much sooner I'm showing this time around. I just keep hanging onto the fact that I've still been exercising regularly this time, whereas last time I did nothing. (I almost literally slept through all of my non-working time during the first trimester.)

Bothering me even more is the idea of my heart growing for two babies. I've heard enough to know that you don't share or split your love, that it somehow expands to cover both/all children.

But before you experience it, it seems impossible.

I'm finding myself feeling premature guilt. Our time with newborn Evelyn was kind of great (minus nursing pains and a couple bouts of mastitis). We loved just sitting around with her, snuggling, relaxing, and soaking her up all of the time. I'm afraid that with a toddler running around, demanding attention, J 2.0 and I won't develop the same kind of bond.

On the other hand, I can't imagine not being able to give Evelyn all of the attention. I know it will be good for her to see that our worlds don't revolve around only her, but I feel guilty all the same. Even though a year is really no time at all, it seems like she's been "our girl" (in a very unique, solo kind of way) for forever, and the idea of adding someone else to the mix... I don't know, seems like it will lessen that?  I know those are foolish thoughts and I will be proven wrong when Baby Numero Dos gets here, but they are creeping around my brain in the meantime anyway.

Speaking of the girl needing attention, I can hear her buzzing her lips for me to get her out of bed this very moment, so I'll talk to you later.

Aim