Monday, March 10, 2014
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Dr. Seuss Week
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| The Lorax story web |
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| And coloring the Lorax |
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| Who Day |
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| Who Day |
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| Who Day |
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| E-books on YouTube! |
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| Green eggs & "ham" (okay, bacon) for breakfast |
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| Green eggs addition for Maddie Blue |
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| And green eggs flashcard review for Rae |
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
One year later...
On what should be a day of joy and happiness and celebration, I find myself battling through a myriad of emotions that are not all joyous and happy and celebratory. Our precious miracle baby is one year old today. She has survived and fought and conquered and amazed and thrived. She has overcome the odds that were stacked against her, and become an amazing testimony of the love and healing power of an awesome, omnipotent God. What a reason to shout and sing and dance!
But despite the joy in this day, for me it isn't just about cake and presents and parties. There is guilt with admitting this, but today marks the anniversary of the most difficult day of my life. It was not a beautiful, happy birth story. It was scary, it was emotional, it was uncertain. Nothing went as planned. I awoke in the wee hours of the morning on February 18 to discover something was terribly wrong. It was a morning of panic as we rushed to the hospital in shock, afraid of what was to come. There was no calm preparation, waiting for labor to progress- it was a swarm of doctors and nurses all over me, whispering to each other as they hurried me into the operating room. All of my birth plans were thrown out the window as my baby girl entered the world within an hour.
Fear engulfed me as I waited on the other side of that curtain, my mind somehow separated from the rest of my body as surgery progressed. The anxiety and anticipation were more than I could bear- we knew Harper had brain issues, but didn't know what to expect to see or hear when she arrived. Would she breathe on her own? Would she cry at all? Would her head be grossly enlarged due to her hydrocephalus? How small would she be? So many questions and fears, and all we could do was wait, pray, and trust the One who created her.
And in an instant hope flooded over me... the tension in the room was cut by a loud, strong cry, the cry of a fighter. I cried in my confusion- could that be her? Could she be healthy enough to sound so normal? I asked if that was my baby making that noise, and they laughed and said, "Yes!" My joy overflowed at the hope my God had provided. She was strong and healthy despite her brain concerns, a whopping 8 lbs 3 oz, scoring 9/9 on her initial Apgar scores. And she was beautiful- perfectly proportioned with a head full of black hair, gorgeous skin, and dark eyes.
Despite those hopes, the joy was stolen away as she had to be quickly removed from the room for testing. I didn't see her again for hours, and then only briefly as we prepared to turn her over to the Duke Life Flight team. I handed my newborn over to strangers, who placed her in a box on a stretcher, wheeled her onto a helicopter, and flew her away to an unknown future, hours away from her mommy.
I heard the helicopter take off, carrying my precious cargo away... to this day, the sound of a helicopter stops my heart. I had to let her go, not knowing if I would get to see her alive and well again. I had no idea what awaited her, or how long it would be until we were together again. Nothing I have ever faced in my life has been as difficult as that moment. There is something very unnatural about being separated from your child at birth, and it was a very dark place to settle in. They wheeled me back to my room in the women's unit, not even in the mother-baby unit. I felt different and alone. My baby was not with me, and I was more or less recovering from surgery rather than childbirth. I was blessed by friends and family and an incredible healthcare staff, and of course knowing that God would work good, but it was an excruciating experience that haunts me still. It was just the first day of many hard, wearisome days.
God had great plans through the whole experience, and He carried us on an unbelievable journey in the months that followed. It was a painful, faith-testing, heart-wrenching, not-fun-at-all journey, but one in which He showed Himself in great and mighty ways. The emotions of it all are still overwhelming, and today as we celebrate the miracle of Harper's first birthday, it will be a day of reflecting and processing not just the joyful emotions, but also those painful ones. We have already had our big celebration with the world, so today will be a day for this mommy to cherish her baby, to love on her and hold her and thank God for her... to savor those moments that I didn't get to have one year ago, but that God has so graciously allowed me to have now.
But despite the joy in this day, for me it isn't just about cake and presents and parties. There is guilt with admitting this, but today marks the anniversary of the most difficult day of my life. It was not a beautiful, happy birth story. It was scary, it was emotional, it was uncertain. Nothing went as planned. I awoke in the wee hours of the morning on February 18 to discover something was terribly wrong. It was a morning of panic as we rushed to the hospital in shock, afraid of what was to come. There was no calm preparation, waiting for labor to progress- it was a swarm of doctors and nurses all over me, whispering to each other as they hurried me into the operating room. All of my birth plans were thrown out the window as my baby girl entered the world within an hour.
Fear engulfed me as I waited on the other side of that curtain, my mind somehow separated from the rest of my body as surgery progressed. The anxiety and anticipation were more than I could bear- we knew Harper had brain issues, but didn't know what to expect to see or hear when she arrived. Would she breathe on her own? Would she cry at all? Would her head be grossly enlarged due to her hydrocephalus? How small would she be? So many questions and fears, and all we could do was wait, pray, and trust the One who created her.
And in an instant hope flooded over me... the tension in the room was cut by a loud, strong cry, the cry of a fighter. I cried in my confusion- could that be her? Could she be healthy enough to sound so normal? I asked if that was my baby making that noise, and they laughed and said, "Yes!" My joy overflowed at the hope my God had provided. She was strong and healthy despite her brain concerns, a whopping 8 lbs 3 oz, scoring 9/9 on her initial Apgar scores. And she was beautiful- perfectly proportioned with a head full of black hair, gorgeous skin, and dark eyes.
Despite those hopes, the joy was stolen away as she had to be quickly removed from the room for testing. I didn't see her again for hours, and then only briefly as we prepared to turn her over to the Duke Life Flight team. I handed my newborn over to strangers, who placed her in a box on a stretcher, wheeled her onto a helicopter, and flew her away to an unknown future, hours away from her mommy.
I heard the helicopter take off, carrying my precious cargo away... to this day, the sound of a helicopter stops my heart. I had to let her go, not knowing if I would get to see her alive and well again. I had no idea what awaited her, or how long it would be until we were together again. Nothing I have ever faced in my life has been as difficult as that moment. There is something very unnatural about being separated from your child at birth, and it was a very dark place to settle in. They wheeled me back to my room in the women's unit, not even in the mother-baby unit. I felt different and alone. My baby was not with me, and I was more or less recovering from surgery rather than childbirth. I was blessed by friends and family and an incredible healthcare staff, and of course knowing that God would work good, but it was an excruciating experience that haunts me still. It was just the first day of many hard, wearisome days.
God had great plans through the whole experience, and He carried us on an unbelievable journey in the months that followed. It was a painful, faith-testing, heart-wrenching, not-fun-at-all journey, but one in which He showed Himself in great and mighty ways. The emotions of it all are still overwhelming, and today as we celebrate the miracle of Harper's first birthday, it will be a day of reflecting and processing not just the joyful emotions, but also those painful ones. We have already had our big celebration with the world, so today will be a day for this mommy to cherish her baby, to love on her and hold her and thank God for her... to savor those moments that I didn't get to have one year ago, but that God has so graciously allowed me to have now.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Why me?
The year isn't over yet, but so far 2013 has been full of heartache for so many. I know every year is full of heartache for so many, but for reasons I don't yet understand God has opened my eyes to so many tragedies this year. As we spent our fair share of time in the ICN at Duke and the NICU at New Hanover, we saw so many moms and dads having to say goodbye to their newborns. We sat and cried and prayed at the bedside of our baby, surrounded by other families doing the same thing. My heart dropped with every alarm, knowing that it could be my child next time. We listened with tears as the doctors told us time and time again they just didn't know what the future would hold, and we watched them walk to the next family to share the same news.
We spent six weeks living in the Ronald McDonald House with older children who were fighting for their lives, who came to dinner with us in wheelchairs and wearing masks. We walked the halls lined with tiles in memory of those children who lost the battle, slept in rooms dedicated to those angels. We dined with parents who had been there for months, praying for miracles. We all existed in this strange world of trying to hang on to hope and faith, of celebrating milestones and mourning set backs... a world in which the rest of the world no longer existed as we devoted all of our time and energy to a child held captive by tubes and machines, needles and medications.
And in the past six months, I've heard and read stories of so many friends and friends of friends who have lost children for various unexplainable reasons.... miscarriages, stillbirths, complications and disease, SIDs. I hear these stories and pray for these families every day and weep with every loss, and I know that I should rejoice in the blessing of my miracle... but I catch myself guiltily wondering, "Why?" Why did our baby make it while so many others did not? Why did we get a miracle when so many others needed one? Why us and not them? Why them and not us? I count my blessings with a guilt-ridden heart because I know that I can never be appreciative enough for the gift I've been given. I know there are too many moments that I take for granted. I know that I did not deserve such a miracle. Yet He gave it to me anyway, and I cannot understand why.
And I'm reminded once again, that's how God works. Not one of us deserves His grace and mercy, His gift of eternal life, but He gives it freely anyway. That's the beauty of grace... we cannot earn it. He has bigger plans, and His plans are for our good, not for our understanding. He gives, He takes away, He gives more, He loves... and we just have to trust. We trust because we serve a God so much greater than this world, so much greater than the troubles and sorrows and heartaches that we face, even when they engulf us in an ocean of grief. We trust because of the hope He gives, even in the most dismal circumstances, that hope that does not disappoint (Romans 3:3-5). I may never understand why some of us get amazing miracles while others suffer painful loss, but I trust the One who does, and I trust that His plans are always, always, for good.
We spent six weeks living in the Ronald McDonald House with older children who were fighting for their lives, who came to dinner with us in wheelchairs and wearing masks. We walked the halls lined with tiles in memory of those children who lost the battle, slept in rooms dedicated to those angels. We dined with parents who had been there for months, praying for miracles. We all existed in this strange world of trying to hang on to hope and faith, of celebrating milestones and mourning set backs... a world in which the rest of the world no longer existed as we devoted all of our time and energy to a child held captive by tubes and machines, needles and medications.
And in the past six months, I've heard and read stories of so many friends and friends of friends who have lost children for various unexplainable reasons.... miscarriages, stillbirths, complications and disease, SIDs. I hear these stories and pray for these families every day and weep with every loss, and I know that I should rejoice in the blessing of my miracle... but I catch myself guiltily wondering, "Why?" Why did our baby make it while so many others did not? Why did we get a miracle when so many others needed one? Why us and not them? Why them and not us? I count my blessings with a guilt-ridden heart because I know that I can never be appreciative enough for the gift I've been given. I know there are too many moments that I take for granted. I know that I did not deserve such a miracle. Yet He gave it to me anyway, and I cannot understand why.
And I'm reminded once again, that's how God works. Not one of us deserves His grace and mercy, His gift of eternal life, but He gives it freely anyway. That's the beauty of grace... we cannot earn it. He has bigger plans, and His plans are for our good, not for our understanding. He gives, He takes away, He gives more, He loves... and we just have to trust. We trust because we serve a God so much greater than this world, so much greater than the troubles and sorrows and heartaches that we face, even when they engulf us in an ocean of grief. We trust because of the hope He gives, even in the most dismal circumstances, that hope that does not disappoint (Romans 3:3-5). I may never understand why some of us get amazing miracles while others suffer painful loss, but I trust the One who does, and I trust that His plans are always, always, for good.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Happy 5th birthday, Bluebird!
Oh, my, where has five years gone?! I still remember crawling into the doctor's office, sick as a dog, eager for some relief of some sort, only to stumble out later in a daze after being told I was pregnant with my second baby (and no relief for the next 8 months, haha!). She decided to have her own style from the very start, showing herself off full-breech and refusing to move and sending mommy off for her first cesarean. She came out weighing 6 lbs. 15 oz., 19 inches long, head full of dark hair. We named her Madison Blue (Blue after her great-grandma), not knowing how perfectly that name would fit our blue-eyed beauty.
She turned our worlds upside-down, making our family fuller, our days busier, and her sister a big sister! She keeps us laughing with her nutty sense of humor, and has made me realize that children come out with a personality all of their own and it's best to accept it and embrace it and try to channel it in the right direction if at all possible. I get lost in her blue eyes, amazed by her sweet and giving nature, and my days are filled with joy as I listen to that infectious giggle and watch her dance and twirl and create... she is my free-spirit with the biggest heart, and I'm blessed to be her mommy.
In the past year I've watched my bluebird grow and mature from a preschooler into a little girl. She went from the baby to being a big sister in a big way, and has embraced that role with full enthusiasm. She's eager to help, eager to please, eager to pray, eager to praise God, and makes me so proud every day.
She turned our worlds upside-down, making our family fuller, our days busier, and her sister a big sister! She keeps us laughing with her nutty sense of humor, and has made me realize that children come out with a personality all of their own and it's best to accept it and embrace it and try to channel it in the right direction if at all possible. I get lost in her blue eyes, amazed by her sweet and giving nature, and my days are filled with joy as I listen to that infectious giggle and watch her dance and twirl and create... she is my free-spirit with the biggest heart, and I'm blessed to be her mommy.
In the past year I've watched my bluebird grow and mature from a preschooler into a little girl. She went from the baby to being a big sister in a big way, and has embraced that role with full enthusiasm. She's eager to help, eager to please, eager to pray, eager to praise God, and makes me so proud every day.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Maze Craze
Hooray for last minute surprise field trips! We were blessed to tag along with LCA to Maze Craze in Hallsboro today... the girls (and mommy) and a blast!
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| Racing duckies with the hand water pumps |
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| Excited girls! |
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| Raegan |
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| So determined! |
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| Riding the barrel train! |
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| Maddie in the maze |
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| Hayride! |
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| Harper and Mommy on the barrel train |
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| Pedal car racing |
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| Rae in the maze |
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| Maddie's favorite- the bouncy balls! |
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| Climbing the hay bales |
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| My loves |
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