I'm So Pretty

I recently got some new make up, courtesy of an Ulta gift card and a mom who loves to help me spend my Ulta gift cards. If you're not familiar with Ulta, it's a beauty/make up store that has a ton of different brands of make up, shampoo, hair accessories - basically it's a one-stop-shop for all your beauty needs. I love it there. And, no, this post is not paid for by Ulta (but if anyone from Ulta is reading this, you're welcome and also I need some free eyeshadow).

Last night, I was getting ready in the bathroom while Daniel played with the kids. I began to put my make up on, and, like always, I began criticizing the way I looked. At first I kept it to myself, just noticing my dry skin, my round face, the way my nose looked. I eventually became so frustrated that I said out loud, "I cannot beLIEVE how ugly I am right now. I hate how awful I look." Daniel, who is a saint, told me that I was wrong and that I looked lovely.

As much as I appreciated his words, that wasn't what made me stop complaining. It was the sound of Josh laughing as Daniel tossed him the air that stopped my next words from coming out of my mouth. I looked into the living room, and there was the rest of my family, playing together and smiling. And both of my kids had just heard me say that I was ugly, and that I hated the way I looked. I mean, they probably didn't hear me say those actual words. Josh was very busy being wrestled with and Jenna was trying to fit her whole hand into her mouth, so odds are good that they never even knew that I was there. But my words still horrified me.

I know that seems like an over-the-top response to something that wasn't a big deal. But in that moment, I realized how much I complain about my looks, my skills, my life. And maybe my kids don't understand that right now, but they will. They will hear me say that and understand my words sooner than I realize. And I don't want that.

Recently I was watching Jenna play with one of her favorite toys, a stuffed monkey from Aunt ShonShon. As I sat next to her, watching her laugh and giggle over something that really was not that funny, I found my mind wandering to the future. What would Jenna be like as a teenager? Would she still be my smiling, happy girl? Would she be feeling the pressure of friends, classmates, and commercials to look and act a certain way? Would she like the way she looked? The thought of my beautiful little girl thinking that she was ugly broke my heart. I don't want that for her. I don't want it for Joshua, either.

I want both of my kids to know that their beauty has little to do with their appearance. I want them to know that to be a truly beautiful person, you have to start from the inside and work your way out. That they do not have to prove anything to anyone in order to obtain self-worth. That they may not always feel their best, but that as long as they are trying their best, everything will be okay. I want them to know that bad haircuts are a rite of passage, and instead of focusing on their bangs, they should focus on the friends they have made and the blessings that they have. I want them to realize that they are fearfully and wonderfully made, and that no matter what their eye color is or how much they weigh, they are loved and valued.

But how I can teach my kids how important it is to value themselves if I don't value myself? If Josh and Jenna hear me tell them that it's what's on the inside the counts, and then turn around and call myself ugly, what kind of message am I sending them?

So I have decided to stop saying things like that. More importantly, I am going to try to stop thinking things like that. Don't get me wrong - make up isn't evil. I still love Ulta (and am still waiting for my eyeshadow, AHEM), and I will continue to wear make up like I normally do. I know it is equally important for my kids to know that eating well and living a healthy life is something that will benefit them, and I will continue to encourage them to do that. But in this house, there will be no more complaints of being ugly, of being fat, of being unworthy of other people.

Nothing I can do or say will totally stop my kids from feeling down about themselves at some point. I know that. But I also know that the most important lessons in life start at home, and if I want to teach my children anything, first I have to believe it for myself.

Good Idea, Bad Idea

I get asked a lot of questions about what our NICU experience was like and what another family with a baby in the NICU can expect. A lot of times I can't really give an answer, because so many things just depend on your child and your NICU and how much Diet Coke you have available to you.

But there are plenty of questions I can answer, and most of those revolve around the theme of "What can I do/say/bring/sacrifice to help?" I have gotten asked that quite a few times recently, so I thought I would post some answers here, Animaniacs style. So - prepare yourself for the good ideas and bad ideas of supporting a friend or family member in their NICU life.*

*These are meant to be helpful but also fun. If you have said/done any of the bad ideas, no worries.

Good idea: Telling your friend you are praying for her.
Bad idea: Telling your friend you are praying for her because she looks fat after just having had a baby.

Good idea: Asking what you can bring to the family during this stressful time.
Bad idea: Showing up unannounced with a mariachi band.

Good idea: Letting your friend vent to you, cry to you, hug you.
Bad idea: Letting your friend do all these things while you secretly try to get to the next level on Candy Crush.

Which reminds me - if you are thinking of inviting me to play Candy Crush, don't. Every time you send me a Candy Crush request, a tiny kitten gets carried away and eaten by a hawk. Think about that the next time you want to get more lives or whatever it is you people do. Think of the kittens.

Good idea: Sending a card to your friend or family member to let them know you are thinking of them.
Bad idea: Sending a card to your friend or family member that you filled with glitter. Glitter is the WORST, do you understand? The. Worst.

Good idea: Asking your friend how her baby is doing, what the doctors are saying, etc.
Bad idea: Asking your friend how her baby is doing while making horrified faces at the responses.

"What do you mean, his oxygen saturation is only 82 percent?!"

Good idea: Telling your friend how cute her baby is.

Bad idea: Telling your friend how cute her baby is while using air quotes around the words "cute" or "baby."

Good idea: Asking if you can visit your friend and the baby.
Bad idea: Visiting your friend and baby for three hours while showing them a ton of hilarious YouTube videos about cats dressed like people.

So I hope that clears things up for you.
















Okay, okay. I will give you a real list. The things we found most useful during our NICU stay were:

- Phone chargers (make sure you know what kind of phone/charger they use!)
- Gift cards - gas stations or nearby restaurants are really helpful! Our hospital had a restaurant in the cafeteria and we got a lot of gift cards for that, which was fabulous.
- Gum. I went through so much gum while Josh was in the hospital that I could have wallpapered our house with the wrappers. Ooh! DIY Pinterest idea!
- Scented hand sanitizer. Hospitals are big on cleanliness (especially in the NICU!) but that hand sanitizer smell really gets old after a while. Fun scents are always exciting.
- Books or book/Kindle recommendations. I read approximately 4730282 books while Josh was in the hospital.
- Water bottles. My friend Hayley brought me a reusable water bottle that was amazing and I still use it. She also brought me a delicious dessert. Bring those, too.
- Change for vending machines or small snacks that can be eaten quickly. Our NICU did not allow eating in the actual rooms so all snacks had to be eaten in the lobby. I'm guessing that's a pretty common rule.
- Cards, texts, emails, Facebook messages - I got cards from family, friends, and total strangers. People emailed me, commented here, and wrote us letters. My aunt Shonda sent a card to Josh several times each month for his entire hospital stay. Those were so awesome. It's wonderful and encouraging to know you're being thought of and prayed for.
- One thing that is helpful to remember: It isn't about you. I don't say that to be harsh, but to help you understand that some days, your friend or family member might not want you to visit. Some days it's literally all they can do to find the will to come sit in that hospital room for yet another day, and returning a text is too exhausting. Sometimes they will want to chat nonstop about their child. I'm not saying you have to let them walk all over you or anything; just realize that it is one heck of a roller coaster and 99% of the time, their responses (or lack thereof) have little to do with you or their opinion of you. It's just exhausting.
- Celebrate the little victories with your friend! My mother-in-law set up an update page on Facebook so we could let people know how Josh was doing, and it filled my dorky little heart with so much joy when people got excited with us because he finally pooped. Their joy encouraged me and I will be forever grateful for it.

Okay, that is really it. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask! But I reserve the right to answer in titles of Britney Spears songs. And to tell you about my Baby One More Time.

I'm hilarious.

The Pain Olympics

We are all Olympians. We can't all swim fast or ski over those bump things or remember the words to our national anthem, but there is an Olympian in all of us. The kind of Olympics we participate in are not the kind that you see every four years, though. These are the kind of Olympics that we participate in on a regular basis, daily or at least weekly for most of us. I am talking about the Pain Olympics.

I've written here before about my disdain for the One-Upper - that person in your life who just has to go one better when it comes to crazy stories or bad experiences. We all hate that person. But when it comes to the Pain Olympics, we all are that person.

You have probably listened to a friend talk to you about some problem and while you feel bad for them and listen attentively, a small part of you is thinking that you would kill for the "problems" this other person is telling you about. You don't wish them any ill will but you secretly wish you could tell them what you've gone through, to show them what true problems look like. You might not speak up but you think it and it starts to lead to some resentment.

But some people do speak up. Some people wait for your sentence to end just so they can one-up you with their life experiences. They tell you that you should thank your lucky stars that your only issues are the ones you just described because that sounds like a cakewalk compared to their own lives.

If you are one of those people, stop it. That's enough out of you. I will pinch you. If you are not one of those people, play on. 

It goes the other way, too. I meet a lot of other parents who have had kids in the NICU or who have medical/development issues. Sometimes we have a lot in common, but when they find out how early Josh was, or how much he is working to overcome his delay, they get quiet and start to explain that they know what they have gone through can never compare to what we went through.

Honestly, I hate that just as much. Not because it bugs me, but because it isn't fair. It isn't fair that because their child wasn't quite as premature that they have to feel like they can't complain. It isn't fair that some people feel like someone else's experience was somehow better than their own because it isn't identical to what they went through.

When my mom found out she had breast cancer, I cried to Daniel that I was upset, and also guilty for being upset because all signs pointed to my mom being totally fine and there were people in the world who were in war zones and being kidnapped. I don't know why my mind went there; I'm sort of a weirdo. But Daniel told me something that has stuck with me ever since:

Pain is not relative.

I love that because it's just so true. You can't compare pain. There is just no way. When Josh was born at 26 weeks and we spent 115 days in the NICU, that was the worst thing that ever happened. When my friend's son was born at 37 weeks and he unexpectedly spent two weeks in the NICU, that was the worst thing that ever happened. When my dad got laid off from his job, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, when my best friend broke her leg in a car accident - they were all the worst. Not because they were all horrible things that no one will ever recover from, but because in those moments, it mattered the most to them and the people who love them.

You can look at our situation: Josh was really early. But he never had to have surgery like my friend's son did. But he has a more significant developmental delay than a lot of kids. But I know another woman whose child will never overcome his delays. But Josh has so many doctors and so many health issues and it isn't fair. But at least we live in a country where he can get the help he needs, unlike many other children around the world. I could do this for hours. Sure, someone could "outdo" me when it comes to life, but does that make my experiences any less painful or any less meaningful? No. Not even a little. 

Should you still look for the silver lining in tragedy? Sure. Should you leave this post all depressed because I just told you your life was the worst? Well...I would hate that, but do what you will. But just remember that in the Pain Olympics, there are no winners. Because that isn't the point. If you are only listening to someone else talk about their problems so you can one-up them, you need to re-evaluate your friendship skills. But also don't feel like your problems are no longer worthy of being complained about because you think someone has it worse. It isn't a competition. It's just life. Life is complicated and fun and exciting and scary and painful and great and everyone learns that in their own way. No one wins. No one loses. Just listen and be a friend and know you're not alone.

I promised you a happy post after my last one. And you believed me. You fools.

Butseriously, the next one will be soooooo happy. I promise.

The Space-Toddler Continuum

Let's get one thing straight: This post is not about science. I don't do science. Tried it once; didn't like it. So if you came here for science, please talk to my husband instead. That guy knows science.

If you came here for cute pictures of my kids, here you go:

Don't be ashamed if that's the only reason you're here. They are pretty adorable.

But if you did, indeed, come here for a blog post, please keep reading. However, I feel obligated to warn you that this isn't one of my funnier posts. I will post a funny one later to make up for it. Just for you. Kisses!

**Disclaimer: I am super proud of Joshua. Like, super proud. He does amazing things. He works harder than anyone I know. I know his delays are only temporary and that he will catch up. He has come a really long way in his short little life and I admire him for his tenacity. Even on days when he is giving me toddler 'tude, I am reminded that it was this same stubborn personality that got him through the toughest days at the NICU.**

I put that disclaimer up because this post is, more or less, a big, long whine and I just want people to know that I know those things.  So - on to the show.

I wrote before that recently I had found myself starting to resent Josh for all of his issues. I knew (and know) that none of this was his fault, that it wasn't anyone's fault, but I was angry and I wanted someone to blame. So I picked my toddler. Classy. But, honestly, I don't resent him anymore. Once I realized that was happening, I started to figure out why I was angry, why I was looking for something to blame, why our situation suddenly frustrated me when it's nothing we haven't dealt with for (almost) the last two years.

And as I've watched Jenna grow and change, I think I've solved the mystery: I am stuck. I am stuck in a time warp of sorts, where things and people and circumstances progress at a regular rate, all except for Joshua.

It's kind of like taking a trip to Narnia. You guys know I love me some Narnia and look for pretty much any excuse to work it into this blog, but in this case it really, actually applies. In case you haven't read the books/seen the movies/have done both and still think I'm reaching, let me explain: In the story, four kids travel to a magical land called Narnia by means of a closet in a stranger's house. Yet another reason you shouldn't go through strangers' closets, but anyway... The kids stay in the magical land for years and years. They start out very young when they arrive and by the end of the book, they are adults. When they decide to go back home, they are surprised to realize that almost no time has passed at all in the real world. Maybe a few minutes at the most. They have become children again and no one is the wiser.

That is what I think of when I think of our lives with Josh. Daniel and Jenna and me, we're all living in Narnia, living our lives and progressing at the "normal" pace. But Josh is still in the real world, and every time we go back to check on him, not much has changed.

If you have kids or nieces or nephews or ever saw a kid once at the mall, you're probably familiar with the most common piece of parenting wisdom in the entire world: "Enjoy it; it goes by fast." This makes mothers everywhere roll their eyes, even the ones who say it to others, because, really, is there any statement that's more obvious?

But lately I find myself discovering that it doesn't go by fast for everyone. With Josh, for instance, it hasn't gone by fast. I mean, yes, the days and weeks have passed so quickly it's hard to believe that he will be two soon. But looking at his development, where he is in therapy, well...it's hard to believe he will be two soon.

Recently Josh was evaluated by a team of therapists and tested at about a 12-month level for development and skills. This was progress from his last eval, which was great news! But I think my frustration comes from the fact that it took him nearly two years to get to this level. Two years of hard work for him to still be behind. And that is just difficult to deal with a lot of the time. Because it doesn't mean that in another month, he will test at a 13-month level. He just doesn't follow a timeline like that.

Does that make any sense at all? I don't want to sound like I'm disappointed in Josh or that he is doing something wrong. Neither of those things is true. But one of the perks of being a parent is the joy you get from your kids and the way they grow up. Joshua will be two in February. He doesn't walk yet, he doesn't really say much, and, honestly, I don't get as much interaction out of him as I would a "typical" two-year-old. Do I enjoy him and love and cherish the interaction we do have? Absolutely. I freakin' love that kid. But because of the way he progresses, it's like he's growing up at half the regular pace, and that gets hard sometimes.

For babies born prematurely, doctors and specialists and parents adjust their age for milestones and expectations. This means that since Josh was born a little over three months early, he isn't expected to meet the milestones of his actual age, but those of the age he would be if he had been born on his due date. So right now he is 21 months and gets evaluated as an 18-month-old. However, that all stops when he turns two. In theory, preemies catch up by then and there is no longer any need to adjust their age. Obviously, Josh won't be caught up, but they will still stop adjusting his age.

I have been looking forward to Josh's second birthday ever since they told us that he would probably catch up by then, way back when he was still in the NICU. I didn't wish my time away but I was excited about being able to give a simple answer for his age and to be able to pretend that he was just like every other kid. That won't happen, and while that isn't the end of the world, it still bums me out. His therapists say that when he turns three, he should be much closer to being caught up. So now I guess we wait for three. Unless it's four. Or five. Or never.

Toddlers are supposed to toddle. They are supposed to run around and climb up things and push over the baby gates and flush things down the toilet. Those things are frustrating and I don't think other parents have it easier, but I really want Josh to flush something down our toilet. Not because I relish the idea of either going after or missing whatever he flushes, but because it means he will have walked in there by himself. He will have figured out how the toilet works. He will have had the wherewithal to sneak around, find Daniel's watch (I'm just assuming...), and use his planning skills for evil to create a mini-disaster. All things that he should be able to do right now. It's weird to want that, but I do. I want him to yell "NO" at me and say "uh-oh" when he drops something. He has a few words but he rarely ever says Mama or Mommy. And I know he loves me, but I just wish he could tell me. He's almost two. That is how it should be.

And please hear me - er, read me - when I say that Joshua "should" be doing something, I don't think he's doing anything wrong. I know he is really trying hard to learn and grow. I know that all kids develop at different rates and that Jenna could struggle just as much in spite of being born on time. I know that this will pass, and it won't be our lives forever. I know that I will look back on this post and laugh about how dramatic I am and how much of a Debbie Downer I can be. But right now, I am here, stuck in some kind of space-time continuum where everything changes but it doesn't change. And the more I see other kids his age or younger progress and then pass him up, the harder it is to keep up with our little time warp.

I almost didn't write this post. I didn't want to bum people out, I didn't want people to think I am super depressed or upset, and I didn't want to have to justify my feelings to anyone. But one of my greatest comforts since Joshua was born has been reading blogs or articles by people in the same situation and knowing that I'm not the worst mom in the world for feeling like this. So I am going to post it, and tell people about it, and hope that maybe it will help someone else who is dealing with this. Maybe not exactly this, but something close enough that you can relate and know you're not the only one.

And since this was a bummer post, I'll end with something hilarious: A joke!

- Knock, knock!
- Who's there?
- Interrupting cow!
- Interrupting cow wh--
- MOOOOOOOOO.

Huh. I guess that one doesn't really translate in print. Oh, well.

MOPS

This weekend, I had the honor of speaking at a meeting for MOPS, an organization for moms with kids ages birth to kindergarten. It was such an amazing experience! I had a great time there and everyone was so welcoming. Special thanks to Hannah for asking me to come! A few people asked me to share what I spoke about here, so this is me, doing what you want. Enjoy.

And if you thought this post was going to be about cleaning...No. I don't clean.

Let me ask you a question: What do a dictionary, my favorite pair of boots, and a box of baby wipes have in common? They are all heavier than my son was when he was born.

On February 22, 2013, I woke up to what I expected to be an ordinary day. The first thing I did was shower and shave my legs, which should have been a sign that this day was going to be a weird one, but I didn't think much of it at the time. I was 26 weeks pregnant with my first child and was heading to my monthly check-up at the OB's office. We knew were having a boy, and we knew we were naming him Joshua Michael. Michael, after both our dads and my husband, and Joshua, because that is one Biblical dude you don't want to mess with.

I drove to my appointment, hoping it wouldn't take too long so I wouldn't miss too much work. I was saving up my vacation days for maternity leave that I was supposed to start in June and didn't want to waste any time. Plus I had leftover chicken fingers in the car that I was planning to eat on the way to work because that's how I roll. However, Joshua had other plans. After I arrived at my appointment and had been examined, the nurse realized that I was developing pre-eclampsia, a condition that is dangerous for both pregnant mothers and unborn babies. She sent me to the local hospital. I called my husband on the way there, trying to act like it was no big deal and that he should only come if he reeeaaally wanted to. He really did, so he and my mom met me there.

When I got there I was more annoyed than anything. I knew everything would be fine and I just wanted to get to work. And my chicken fingers. But everything wasn't fine. They checked on Josh and realized he was barely moving, he was too small, and he wouldn't respond to anything. So I was sent to another hospital, one that specialized in helping premature babies. At this hospital, they found that not only was Josh small and unresponsive, he was rapidly growing worse. A doctor came in and did an ultrasound and explained to us that it seemed like the umbilical cord was not giving Josh the nutrition he needed - basically, it was only working about half the time. They said I would have to stay in the hospital and they would need to check on him every day for a while. I didn't understand part of the scan and asked the doctor to show me again. And while he was explaining it to me, he noticed that now the umbilical cord had stopped working altogether. Unless Josh was born that night, he would not survive more than a few hours.

Have you ever gone down the steps and missed the very last stair? It's so surprising, so unpredictable, and a jolt of fear goes through you that is so deep and sudden that it takes you a minute to recover, even though you are okay. That's what I felt like. When they told me Joshua would be born that night, it felt like I was missing stair after stair and no one could catch me.

I was rushed to the operating room for an emergency c-section. It was so surreal. I felt like I was watching my life on a movie screen, like I wasn't really even part of it. At 7:08 in the evening, my son Joshua was born. He weighed one pound, seven ounces, and was 12.5 inches long. He was smaller than this Beanie Baby. I could have fit him in my shoe. But the doctors advised against that. The doctor brought him to me, told me I could give him a kiss, and then took him away to the NICU, where they would work for hours to save him.

My son was in the hospital for 115 days. He had dozens of blood transfusions, was on a ventilator for several weeks, and had a level two brain bleed. During his time in the NICU, he developed a blood infection, had both of his lungs collapse multiple times, and stopped breathing on several occasions. I didn’t get to hold him until he was two weeks old. It was a terrible, difficult time in our lives. But God is good, and on June 17, when he was four months old, we finally brought our boy home. Today he weighs eighteen pounds, is trying to walk, and has the biggest ears I have ever seen.

The first few months with Joshua at home are still sort of a blur. He needed to see a pulmonologist, a cardiologist, a physical therapist, an audiologist, an optometrist, and basically any other doctor that ends in “ist.” He was on oxygen at all times and we had to cart his tank and monitors with us wherever we went. And let me tell you, there is no graceful way to unload an oxygen tank from a minivan. None. Don’t even try it. Just accept that you will look ridiculous and move on.

At night, Josh had to be hooked up to a machine that monitored his heart rate and oxygen levels. My husband and I were regularly heard asking each other if we had remembered to plug the baby in. It was stressful, but we didn’t know any other way. We just did what we needed to so Josh would be happy and healthy. And after a while we fell into a routine that, while not exactly easy, was at least doable.

When Josh first came home, my husband and I decided we would wait for several years before discussing any more children, if we even decided to have another one at all. That was the plan that we thought we best for our family. But have you ever heard the saying "We plan and God laughs"? Well, God is still laughing over what happened next. When Joshua was barely seven months old, we found out that we were expecting our second child. We were floored. I took about twenty tests just to make sure I hadn't gotten it wrong. It turns out it's pretty difficult to mess up peeing on a stick and we determined I was indeed pregnant.

I was not excited. This was not our plan. At this point, Josh was still on supplemental oxygen and monitors and saw a specialist of some kind about once a week. I had been laid off from my job just before Josh came home and we had moved in with my parents. We were barely keeping our heads above water. Long story short, another child was not ideal for us at the time.

I know I sound cold. I promise I'm nicer to my kids when I talk to them. Most of the time. But I was panicked. With Joshua, everything had gone wrong. What if the same thing happened again? What if this baby was born even earlier? What if she needed oxygen and specialists and was sick? I didn't think I had it in me to do all of that again. Everyone around me told me God had it under control, and I knew that He did, but I still worried about what that meant for my family.

We found out we were having a girl this time. After a fairly uneventful pregnancy, our daughter Jenna was born on May 29 of this year. She was perfectly healthy and we were able to come home after only a few days in the hospital. Just like with Joshua, I fell in love with her the moment I saw her.

But Jenna also kind of scared me. Not like she was scary-looking or hid in my closet at night with a Freddie Kruger mask; just that she was so totally, completely…normal. There was no monitor attached to her so I could check her heart rate. She didn't need to see any specialists and had no breathing problems. My entire experience with babies until Jenna was born had consisted of hospitals and cardiologists and oxygen tanks and physical therapists. To be able to take her with me to the grocery store, to not have to worry if someone got too close to her at church, to put her to bed without taping a little monitor to her foot - this was all brand new territory for us.

And then the comparisons began. I want to state first that I love my kids equally. I am so proud of both of them. Josh has a pretty significant developmental delay but he works really hard to catch up. And Jenna smells like strawberries, which I appreciate. But it was hard not to separate my children into a "failure" and "success" category. I never realized how behind Joshua was until I saw what Jenna could do. When she grabbed for a toy at two months - something Josh hadn't done until he was almost a year old - I called my husband and told him our daughter was a genius. I tried not to compare, but with every milestone that Jenna met, I would mentally put her in the "success" column and then wait for Josh to do something so I could put him the success column, too.

And after a while, I started to resent Joshua. I know. I am the mother of the year. I was just so tired of dealing with everything. I was tired of explaining our lives to people. I was tired of smiling politely while people informed me that my son was a little small for his age, and they wondered if I was concerned about it. I was tired of working so hard for the tiniest victories that other people got to take for granted.

Are you familiar with Debbie Downer from Saturday Night Live? She was a character that always brought down the mood of whatever room she was in. Any time someone would say something happy or encouraging, Debbie would counter it with something incredibly depressing and ridiculous. Her statements were accompanied by a sound effect that went something like wahhhh, wahhhhhhhh.

I always loved the Debbie Downer skits. But even though the skits were funny and not meant to be taken seriously, it felt like Debbie Downer was following my family, waiting for something good to happen so she could bring us all down again. With every issue Joshua faced, I heard the wahhhh, wahhhh in the back of my mind. He finally started babbling! Yay! Except he should be saying at least ten words by now so we should focus on that. Wahhh, wahhh. He finally learned to hold his own bottle! Wow! Except by now he is supposed to be using sippy cups and we need to take the bottles away. Wahhhh, wahhh. You get the picture. I was so frustrated that he was still behind after all of his hard work, and I started to be angry with him for not catching up faster. And then I compared him and Jenna more and more, to the point where I would write down when Jenna reached milestones just so I could compare to when Josh met the same milestones. It was like a I was keeping a scorecard of my children’s accomplishments.

It took me a while to realize that I was even doing it. And then it took me even longer to realize why I was doing it. Why did I feel the need to compare my children? They are so different in so many ways it would be like comparing an ostrich to an alligator.  I knew that comparing was pointless and would ultimately only hurt me and my kids, but I still felt the need to keep score. I think a lot of us are familiar with that feeling. As moms, we are constantly surrounded by people who are judging our choices and making us feel like we can't even blink without causing permanent damage to our child's psyche. Just look at the arguments between mothers, more fondly known as the mommy wars. We argue about eeeeeeverything. Whether it's where our babies sleep or what kind of surface they will poop on, we find a way to make sure that everyone knows how wrong their choices are. And when we run out of things to argue about, we rehash the original arguments over and over again.

Isn’t that crazy? Just look at how angry we get with people we barely know. Half the time it’s people we have only talked to on the internet. And I am as guilty as the next person of getting sucked into a good cloth versus disposable diaper debate. It’s funny because before I became a mother, I swore to myself I wouldn’t get worked up about stuff like this. I only had a vague idea of what parents did. Feed child, clothe child, try to keep child from beating up other children. But I was sure I could rise above such petty and insignificant arguments.

And then I crossed over to the Other Side. No, not Narnia. The Other Side of the gap that separates parents from non-parents. The side filled with tiny onesies and 800 sets of plastic keys and dogs that whisper "Hug meeee" at four in the morning when you're walking to the bathroom. You can look behind you and see the non-parent side for a little while. Then Dora the Explorer asks you to help her find her map and before you know it the non-parent side is nothing more than a distant memory. And the next thing you know, you’re typing in all capital letters on Facebook to some idiot who thinks that people who use strollers are turning their kids into serial killers while your husband begs you to just walk away from the computer because you’re starting to turn red and the children are scared.

Don’t pretend it hasn’t happened to you. None of us are immune to the mommy wars. It sneaks up on you suddenly, usually over something you didn’t even realize you cared that much about. I remember one time I was in a debate on Facebook over the cry it out method of sleep training. I was halfway through typing a really long paragraph when I suddenly wondered why in the world I gave two flips about which sleep training method a stranger from Canada was using. I couldn’t think of a good answer, and it dawned on me that maybe I was arguing just for the heck it.

Which brings me back to my original question: Why? Why do we do this? Why do I compare myself to other mothers? Why do I worry about what my friends think of the way I raise my children? Why am I online at three in the morning making some poor girl cry because we disagree on which brand of formula is best?

I thought about this for a long time. I felt like the answer was right under my nose but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. And then it came to me: Guilt.

I don’t know about you, but I have never been less confident in any decision I’ve made than I am in the decisions I make as a parent. Every little choice causes me to worry. For example, my son has recently gotten into the charming habit of throwing his sippy cup off his tray, a past time I’m sure many of you are familiar with. Every time he does this, I wonder what I should do next. It’s like my brain suddenly kicks into overdrive with all the possible responses I can give and the possible consequences they can have. If I get angry at him for throwing his cup, he’ll know it’s bad and he will stop. And then he will resent me for yelling at him and never be able to make friends and he won’t do well in school and won’t get into a good college and he will have to live on the street in a refrigerator box.

Or I could ignore him when he throws his cup and he will see that misbehaving does not get him attention. And then he might try even harder to get my attention because he feels so ignored and he will start lighting dog poo on fire and leaving it on people’s doorsteps and then he will vandalize the school gym and won’t get into a good college and have to live on the street in a refrigerator box.

Or I could pick the cup up and give it back to him, showing him that he has a second chance to do the right thing. And then he will probably learn that none of his actions have consequences and he will never learn manners and will disrespect his teachers in school and won’t get into a good college and he will have to live on the street in a refrigerator box.

See what I mean? I know this struggle is something we all deal with. It’s silly but it’s also serious. My kids are so young that right now I have ultimate control over their lives. I decide what they wear, what they eat, where they go, who they see. And while the control freak part of me likes having that security, the worrying part of me finds it overwhelming and terrifying. I am far from perfect. And honestly I find myself wondering why in the world God would give me two children, one of whom requires a lot of special attention.

And because I feel so unworthy and unable to make these decisions, I look to other mothers to see how they are handling it. That’s how the comparisons begin. I see that Sally Smith is using cloth diapers and I read about how they’re better for the environment and better for babies’ skin and I start to feel really guilty because my own poor kids are in disposable diapers and if I am going to use those I may as well just dress my kids in garbage bags because it’s basically the same thing. And then I start to resent Sally because who is she to tell me how to diaper my kids? My kids are very happy in their disposable diapers and they have pictures of Mickey Mouse and Big Bird on them and those guys have educational shows so I am educating my kids by putting them in disposable diapers. And before I know it I hate Sally Smith for her judgmental ways and for making me doubt myself and for her stupid opinions on her stupid diapers.

That might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said. In the scenario I just described, no one judged me. No one tried to make me feel guilty. It was my own guilt, my own insecurity, that turned a simple observation into an argument.

And please hear me - I am not trying to shame you or blame you for feeling bad when someone judges you. I know that some people are just itching for a fight and go to great lengths to make others feel bad. I know there are bullies in the world who just want to hurt other people and more likely than not, we’ve all run across at least one.

I just think that mothers are easy targets because we are already constantly second-guessing ourselves. And that’s truly where I think the mommy wars come from. The worry that we are not enough for our children, and the guilt over not giving them our best. Even the bullies that have hurt you or told you you’re a terrible mother because of a choice you made - I would bet that they are feeling pretty lost and insecure themselves and just want reassurance that they are doing okay with their own kids.

But I’ve got some good news. It won’t sound like good news at first, but trust me; it’s good news.

We are not enough. And sometimes we won’t be our best. But we serve someone who is always enough and who only gives His best. It isn’t up to us to be perfect. God has promised us that though we will mess up, He will be there to guide us back on the right path.

That can be a scary thought. But it can also be a relieving one. It isn’t up to me to be the best mom on the planet. I don’t have to worry that because I made the wrong decision my child will be permanently unhappy. Isn’t that wonderful? Isn’t it so amazing to know that the very creator of the universe is investing His time into our children, and that he is allowing us to be part of that?

Don’t get me wrong - I am not giving you permission to stop raising your kids. When little Timmy asks you for some breakfast, I am not suggesting that you stay in bed and tell him that God will be along to butter his toast in a few minutes. God has placed with us the task of raising our children and teaching them and loving them. But he didn’t just drop these kids off on our porches and run away. He is there with us, protecting us, redirecting us, showing us that though we are still sinners He still desires us.

When Hannah asked me to speak today, at first I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t think I had much of a story to tell. But over the last few weeks God has shown me so much truth that has set me free. I still struggle. I am still tempted to keep a scorecard for my kids. But now that I know the reasons behind it, it’s not so scary to deal with. I am able to enjoy my family more and rest in God’s promise of redemption for me as a mother, daughter, sister, and so much more.

And now I can compare my kids in a much more wonderful way: I can look at their different personalities and gifts, not as a way to decide who is doing better, but as a way to celebrate their unique identities. My son Josh is a thinker, like his father. He never does anything without deliberate consideration and planning. But he likes to giggle. And he loves people. He would sell me online in a heartbeat if someone gave him a hug and a pop tart. He likes to pretend but he is too excited to keep it up for very long so any games of pretend usually dissolve into giggles pretty fast. He is my strong boy, a living example of the way God works all things together for good. My daughter Jenna, though only five months old, is already much more of a drama queen. She feels every emotion with all of the power her little body can muster. She is impulsive and moves from toy to toy, trying to gather all of them in her hand at once. She is slower to give a smile but once she does, it’s always worth the wait. She is my passionate girl, a living example of God’s faithfulness to His people.

Those are the comparisons I want to focus on. Those are the things I want to remember in twenty years when my kids are in school (or living in a refrigerator box) and I am reflecting on their lives. Those are the things I want them to remember when they have their own kids and struggle with wondering if they are doing a good job raising them.

I will make mistakes. You will make mistakes. It’s inevitable. But I can sleep easier tonight knowing that our Heavenly Father makes no mistakes, and that He loves my kids even more than I do.

On Your First Birthday

Joshua, today is your first birthday. How is that possible? It seems like there is no way a year could have passed since I first laid eyes on you, but I have checked and rechecked and re-rechecked the calendar and apparently it's true. I still have trouble believing it but I guess the calendar wouldn't lie... it is from Chick-Fil-A, after all.

As this day has been approaching, I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say to you. I thought of telling you the story of everything that happened, but you already know it - you lived it. I thought about imparting some deep wisdom to you, telling you the secrets of life that would help you as you grow. But it turns out I don't know that many life secrets and some things you just have to find out for yourself. So I thought for a while longer and decided I would tell you some things that I learned over this year, things that only you could have taught me. 

See, I am not what you call a "researcher" or a "planner" or "someone who is ever ready for anything more than five minutes ahead of time." I leave that to the more sophisticated people around me (who are constantly texting me to ask if I am running late yet again). And I wasn't worried about being prepared for parenthood. I might be a last-minute person but I do good work in that last minute and I knew everything would work out fine if I stuck to my tried-and-true method. 

Imagine my surprise when I found out that the last minute to plan had arrived much faster than I expected. I think that was the hardest part of finding out you would be early - I was just starting to wrap my mind around the fact that I would be a parent. It still seemed surreal. And then suddenly I was going to be a parent in a matter of hours. I remember from the moment the doctor told me you would be born it was as if I was watching my life unfold on a giant screen, like I was aware of what was happening but so sure it couldn't be real. I even told your dad that, moments before you were born - "Maybe this is just a dream," I said. He assured me it wasn't and offered to pinch me to prove it but I declined. Don't let him pinch you, either. 

And then you were there. Less than two hours had passed since we had found out how sick you were and how much you were struggling, and there you were. You didn't cry, because your little lungs didn't work very well yet. The doctors had told me not to expect you to cry because of how early you were but that was the only thing I knew about babies - they cried when they were born. I was sure you would cry. I kept asking your dad why you weren't, and finally concluded that the doctors had done something to prevent you from crying so you wouldn't be upset. What can I say; I was on a lotttt of drugs, man. But I remember every moment after that with vivid detail. Dad got permission to snap a picture of you and show it to me. He watched them work on you and Dr. Manar took a minute to explain what was happening, and then he came over to explain it to me. I heard the words but they still didn't seem real. Dr. Manar brought you to me and said I could give you a kiss. I did, right on your little nose. And then they took you to the 2nd floor, where we would spend the majority of the next four months. 

So my plan not to plan didn't exactly work out, but, really, no amount of planning could have prepared me for this. And I think that is the biggest thing I have learned through this last year: Plans fall apart. Nothing is perfect. God's plan is different from my plan and His plan is the one you want, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. For all of my lack of preparation, I still like to be in control. I like to know what's going to happen and what my role will be. When you arrived, I didn't have any training. I never took a class. I didn't know how often to change your diaper. I had to learn on the job. But even if you had been born two weeks late, that would have still been true (although the diapers might have been easier to use - yours were reaaaaally small). That's what parenting is: swearing your kid will never watch television and then five years down the road having the Disney Channel schedule memorized and sighing in relief when it's time for Mickey Mouse. 

I discovered that no matter how hectic things got, I could handle it. Some days were a lot harder and some days were pretty easy. But for you I could do anything. I could learn medical terms and ask questions even when I was afraid and accept help from people that I had never met before. You were a pretty solid motivation for putting my own doubts aside and working hard for you, to make sure you had everything. 

I learned just because something isn't the best, that doesn't make it the worst, either. There is a whole world of in-between where things can just be okay. I tend to work in areas of black or white, never grey, but you showed me that when it comes to parenting, especially parenting a NICU kid, grey is pretty much your life. 

You taught me that it's okay to question God. That it doesn't make me less of a Christian, mother, or person. That God not only understands our pain but feels it right along with us. There were days when I opened my mouth to pray and nothing would come out. I was too mad, sad, plaid, whatever, to form any words. And I wondered if that meant I wasn't as much of a Christian as I thought it was. But that's not how it works. God knows my fears and doubts before I do and asking Him questions is okay. 

I found out that there really is a silver lining to every bad situation. You made for a pretty spectacular silver lining. I could (and still can) sit and just watch you for hours, silently cheering every time you moved your little hand or peered up at me with one eye. It was those moments, the tiniest victories, that filled my heart with joy and love for you. You helped me make friends with other parents who had kids just like you, kids who struggled and lived in a world of doctors and specialists and medicine, kids who I now get to see grow and play and who I am so excited for when they accomplish something. The parents became a part of our family as we grew together and rooted for each others' children, taking genuine delight in every good update. These are the people who are in the "club," who know the frustration and anxiety of being a NICU parent. 

You showed me that a total stranger can show the biggest kindness. You helped me see that I was surrounded by friends and family who love me and would do anything to help. You revealed the amazing skills of the NICU nurses, whose kindness and patience with both of us made all the difference in the world to me. I learned that no matter how bad things got, I was never alone. Someone was always praying for you, even someone who had never met you and never will. It is the people who prayed on your behalf, who dropped off gift cards and hugs, who sat in the waiting room for hours and hours - these are the ones who I will never forget, because they made it possible for me to find the strength to continue even when things seemed too tough. When I think of how your grandparents drove overnight in a storm to see you, how your other grandparents stopped by nearly every day to check on you, how your aunts stayed up late to talk to me all night and how your uncles volunteered to help us move and prepare for you to come home, I know without a doubt that our little family is loved so, so much. 

Joshua, you made me a mother. You changed me from someone who thought she understood what unconditional love meant to someone who knows exactly what it is. You have filled the last year with love and laughter and joy and smiles. Yes, there were sad moments, but I wouldn't trade a single one of them. You have taught me so much in only a year and I hope that I can teach you something during your lifetime to repay the favor. Daddy and I love you so much and we are so grateful to know you. Here's to the next year of life lessons from our favorite micro-preemie. 

The Blame Game

What is the first question you ask when someone tells you they were in a car accident?

Fine, you probably ask if they're okay. That's the polite thing to do.

But the first thing you think, and probably the second thing you ask, is whose fault it was. It's okay. I do it, too. I mean, if you're texting me about your accident I assume you're fine. I need details, people.

Seriously, though, why is that? Why is it so important to know who's to blame? We always want to know whose fault it was and we want to know how the person at fault will pay for their crime. It doesn't just apply to car accidents.

Like farting. Or princess air, if you like. No one made it through elementary school without hearing "He who denied it supplied it" or "He who smelt it dealt it" at least once. Is smelt a word? I feel like it was just made up for a hilarious farting rhyme. At any rate, we as a society are determined to place blame - or in some cases, blame the dog - for any and every bad thing that happens.

I think I know why. I'm no psychologist. But I think we immediately find out who's to blame because it makes us feel better. If we can assign fault to someone or something, it helps us take control over the bad thing that has happened. We can take steps to make sure it never happens again. If someone gets hit by a drunk driver, the answer is easy - make drunk driving illegal. Done. If someone takes the life of his coworker, lock him in jail. Simple enough.

When I found out Joshua would be born 14 weeks early, I wanted something to blame. The doctors for not catching it earlier. Daniel for not helping me see it sooner. The nurse-midwife for not fixing it right away. Myself for not realizing something was wrong with my baby. God for letting it happen at all.

At first I thought it was because I was so angry about what happened. I thought I could take all my anger out on someone and it would make everything better. I tried it. I didn't feel better. Joshua was still in the NICU. Nothing had changed except I just felt worse. But I still looked for someone, something, anything to blame. It was irrational and illogical and I knew that but I kept searching.

And after a while I had an epiphany. Not the cool kind. I didn't suddenly figure out how to make millions of dollars from home or how to really win the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes. No, this epiphany was kind of depressing, actually.

I wanted it to be my fault.

I wanted to be responsible for Joshua coming so early. I wanted the doctor to open his chart, point at a number, and tell me I should have kept it lower or higher or anything. I wanted the nurse to say that I shouldn't have eaten peanut butter or go hiking that one time or stay up so late at night. I wanted them to tell me that the next time I have a child, I need to make sure I avoid certain chemicals and places and habits, because those things were responsible for his early arrival.

I wanted it to be my fault because I'm scared.

People have asked us how many kids we're going to have after this. On February 21st, I would have answered at least two, but who knows? Maybe more! Now, though, that question terrifies me. How can I do this again? How can we knowingly set ourselves up for this horrible, draining, ridiculous experience even one more time?

See, if I had something to blame, I could fix it. If they said caffeine caused this I would never drink a drop of caffeine again. If they said I could take a pill or eat special food or take a class, I would do it. I would do it all.

But nothing caused it. It was no one's fault. Pre-eclampsia just happens. Sometimes it causes the blood flow to the baby to reverse. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes women with pre-e are fine and don't even need bedrest. Sometimes they do.

It just happens.

I wish it wasn't true. But it is. There are laws against drunk driving but it still kills people. Murderers are put in jail but people still kill. I'm not saying there's no hope or that we're all doomed. But as much as we want to place blame and point fingers so that we can reassure ourselves we're safe from ever having to go through a terrible experience again, it won't help. Blame won't make us feel better. We think it will but at the end of the day it only fuels our anger and makes us sadder. Because as much as we think laying blame will fix the problem, it won't. It can't. Only God can.

And sometimes things just happen.

5 weeks, 1 day

Yes, I have resorted to naming my posts based on how much time we've spent in the NICU. I'm sleepy and have no creativity left. But my socks are neon pink and orange with stripes so think about those if you need any excitement in your life.

My last update was kind of a bummer. Joshua had had a really rough week. This week he is doing much better - he even got off the vent! He is now on a fancy new machine, the NIPPV. We call it the Nip-Vee because it sounds funnier that way but you're supposed to say each of the letters. Anyway, the Nip-Vee is the step between the CPAP and ventilator - the Switzerland of the group, if you will. It gives Joshua a specific number of breaths but he has to do most of the work on his own if he wants candy. He's tolerating it very well and looks like a stormtrooper again with his mask over his face.

But, Kristen, you're probably thinking, What about you?

Oh, thank you for asking. You're too kind.

I'm doing okay. When I last wrote, I told you how I was feeling numb to everything and how it was kind of a relief. I've stopped doing that now. Well, it kind of comes and goes. Some days I feel numb. Some days I feel like I could win an Oscar for the amount of emotion I display. It's very weird. I never know what will make me cry. The other day I cried over the color yellow. Yellow, people. It's an emotionally abusive color.

So I guess it's kind of a lateral move, but it's a move at any rate. And speaking of moving, we did that this weekend, too. I am listening to a bunch of guys make construction jokes as they hang up cabinets in our new kitchen.

I think that is what has been hardest this week. 6 weeks ago we had just celebrated Valentine's Day. I was worrying about where to put the crib in the baby's room but I knew I had plenty of time to figure it out. I was planning a weekend trip to celebrate our anniversary and figuring out if I needed to get just one or two more maternity tops for the hotter months.

And in an hour, that all changed. Every single bit of it. Our lives did a complete 180 the moment I was sent to the hospital Friday morning.

We keep hearing how lucky we are to meet our son so early and how wonderful it is that he's doing so well. People encourage us to look at the silver lining. I want to see the silver lining. I really do. And there have been a lot of blessings through this and everyone has been so supportive. But I feel abandoned by God.

I hate that because it feels so incredibly selfish, especially on Easter weekend when we're celebrating Jesus' ultimate sacrifice for us. I know everything belongs to God and that He is good no matter what the circumstances are. But these days I feel so far from Him. I have been praying for other people but God and I both know I'm keeping everything at the least personal level I can. I want to stop that because I know it isn't right. Life isn't fair and that has always been true.

I just want things to be the way they were, when our baby was healthy and our lives made more sense. I want to go back to worrying about whether the doctors on Grey's Anatomy are really going to buy the hospital and how many newborn outfits Josh will really need because he might grow out of them too fast. This just wasn't the plan.

I know I can't go back. Only forward. My sister-in-law wisely pointed out that looking back only turns you into a pillar of salt. Soon this plan will make sense. Someday I will understand. And until then I'll just keep a lot of tissues nearby and eat Easter candy.

By the way, the doctors on Grey's Anatomy DID buy the hospital. I didn't want to leave you hanging.

Moving On Up!

Fine, we're moving down the hall a little. But it's still cool. They're moving Josh to a new pod (like a bunch of whales. That made me laugh way too much just now.) where he'll have his own room!! Finally, I can gossip and judge people in peace again. It's really awkward to talk about the other moms when they're sitting five feet away and glaring at you.

I'll miss Pod E. It's been good to us. We met Nurse Jennifer there. Memorieeeees. But I also like the idea of moving. It breaks up the time a little. Don't worry; we'll still see Jennifer sometimes.

Thank you for your encouragement yesterday. I was very grumpy. I didn't have any Diet Coke. I know. A baby in the NICU is bad enough, but then to be Diet Coke-less... it's almost too much to bear. I found some today, though.

I really do feel better today. I know tomorrow could be totally different. It comes with the territory. That's a big adjustment but we'll figure it out. Or lose our minds. I'm actually okay with either of those options. I wonder if they have Diet Coke in insane asylums.

All right, I know what you're all really here for. Enjoy these pictures of my super-cute baby!

Tired

I am tired. Truly, completely, utterly tired. I feel like I'm whining when I say that. But today is a whiny day.

Last night Daniel and I went to the preemie parent support group. All the parents with babies in the NICU can come for dinner and discussion about how much it sucks to have a baby in the NICU. I thought it would be helpful. But I was wrong.

The other parents there were taking their babies home after being at Northside for 5, 6, 7 weeks. Don't get me wrong; I don't wish any ill will on them. But it's hard to get reminders over and over again on how much worse Josh is than so many babies here. I know he's so much better off than many of them. I know we're blessed to have him with us at all. But we've been here for three weeks and we'll be here eleven more.

I'm already so tired of being here. The nurses are great; Josh is getting the best care possible and he's doing pretty well. It's just exhausting. We come in here, we read to him, we change him, and then we just watch the nurses take care of him.

I think that is what's hardest to deal with. Josh doesn't need me. I'm sure he likes it when I hold him and read to him but at the end of the day I can't do anything but sit and watch other people help him. Last night he was having trouble with his oxygen and heart rate and I just had to sit and listen to his alarms go off. I couldn't do anything to help him.

People keep telling me I'm strong. I started to believe them because until last night this week was easy. We got nothing but good reports. It's easy to be strong and courageous when everything is going well. And then as soon as something went wrong, something that wasn't even that big of a deal, I lost it. I cried and despaired and that was it. I didn't even think to pray.

I'm not strong. I wish I was. I wish I was more faithful and hopeful and the kind of person who showed others what a walk with Jesus looks like. But I'm not. I'm just tired.

I'm so, so tired.