Standing on the Cusp

I had my maternity photos taken by the lovely and talented Kristin Pottmeyer on Saturday and have just received the above "sneak peek." It was a bit cold and a lot of fun, and I can't wait to see the rest.

I'm on the cusp of giving birth to my final child, and all is well. I'm peaceful and happy. I'm feeling pretty good.

Today is another day home with the kids. I've got some laundry and dishes to do, as always, but I think I'm just crazy enough to get out my scrapbooking mess and make one last attempt to catch up before the baby arrives. I won't actually catch up, but it's a good thing to get closer to the goal.

And for today, that sounds like a good plan: get closer to the goal. Contract and release and continue to send up prayers for a healthy baby and a blessed birth experience.

And, also, to tell the kids about MLK, Jr. and his beautiful dream.

I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.
- Martin Luther King, Jr.

Losing and Finding My Mind

Ava and her beautiful momma....

So I told my mom tonight during my day-end report that every day I lose and find my mind several times. It's true. I couldn't seem to get Max out of the house today. While he's getting better, it's baby steps, baby steps. Oh, unless you're a baby I know named Colby, and then it's leaps and bounds into your big brother...

But I thought a lot today about our good friends who have a five-year-old battling a cancerous brain stem tumor. They were at St. Jude's today for yet another follow-up MRI to see what's happening. And early reports look good. Now they can enjoy the holidays and keep pressing on with treatment and living life out loud with their beautiful girl, Ava Cole.

And I thought about how they've lived with this diagnosis for more than seven months, and how their minds have had to wrap around it. How they have had to strive for balance among statistics, hope and parenthood. How they surely have lost and found their minds many times.

And my road is so easy in comparison.

So I send my continued prayers, love and affection out to them tonight and to our angel, Ava Cole, who brought together a community in such an amazing way, who has proven to all of us that you can affect change just by being what God made you.

If you're a parent, be sure to give some extra kisses to your own blessings tonight. In the hustle and bustle of this day and the holidays to come, let us strive to keep it all in perspective.

To read more about Ava, check out an article I wrote back in March while we waited for a clear diagnosis or www.avanichols.org.

On a Prayer

My big boy giving thumbs-up pre-surgery.

My little man Max had his tonsils and adenoids taken out yesterday. I wanted, selfishly, for the doctor to confirm it was the right decision after the surgery, and he did. He said Max's tonsils were, indeed, very large. In fact, they were larger than those of the nine-year-old he worked on after Max. And his adenoids were blocking 50 to 60 percent of his nose, so we should see improvement on many fronts. He may even spike a growth spurt!

So, that's the good news. The bad news is that he's having a very rough time. He is in a lot of pain, and he doesn't want to drink much. Couple that with a fever and Momma Warrior is battling his dehydration big-time.

Trying to sleep off the anesthesia after surgery

Just to mix things up even more, Lily started puking with the stomach virus about 20 minutes after we finally arrived home from the hospital with Max. And then, Colby's diaper exploded. Oh, Universe, you are so funny...

Shrek and I shipped Colby off to mammaw's, took turns comforting our other babies and held on tight to the knot at the end of the rope. Last night was extremely difficult. Luckily, Lily's vomiting had subsided by then, but Max was not well at all. Dave took the first shift with him, and I relieved him around 1:45 in the morning. Around 2 a.m., I felt a sense of panic. Max was crying incessantly, drooling everywhere, and his fever was rising fast. There was no one to call, and I was on my own.

It brought to mind a Sugarland song. I wanna be the one you run to first. Well, I've certainly been the one Max runs to first his whole life and especially in the last 24 hours. And that's a big job. Especially at 2 a.m. when you're the only one around with a very sick kid who dehydrates easily and hallucinates with fevers and also has a history of febrile seizures. (Oh, and he does, in fact, have a fever, won't drink, and won't stop crying.)

But I prayed, I soothed, I cajoled. I forced the medicine down, turned on James Taylor, and actually got to sleep with Max for about an hour and a half before the crying started again. We watched the sun rise, and I had faith things would get better. They have gotten better. Not much, but a little.



And I don't know how, but several people have told me they have fond memories of having their tonsils out. It has not been easy for either of my kids who have gone through it so far and many of the kids I know. I hope Max does NOT have memories of this, at least not the parts where we force the meds down his throat every four hours and how, already, we have gotten Tylenol with codeine in his eyes not once, not twice, but three times.

I pray, if he remembers anything at all, that he remembers my touch and how he didn't feel alone because his momma, seven months pregnant, was a warrior who helped the yuckies go away.

Please get better, little man. I am so proud of you!

About 128 Pounds of Heart

It occurred to me today that about 128 pounds of my heart live outside of my body. No wonder I have been heavy-hearted this week!

With Lily around 56 pounds, Max at 46 and Colby at nearly 26, I live my life, truly, with 128 pounds of vulnerability outside my body. As vital to me as my own beating heart, my kids are subjected to a world that doesn't always love them, protect them or care about them. I leave them in the care of others, in the uncertainty of a school day and under the expertise of medical professionals when they are sick and at their weakest. As a mother, I have to trust that all will be well, that no major catastrophe will ever strike these precious, irreplaceable little people whom I love and adore so much that it hurts.

It's tough!

It's almost too much to ask of a parent! But it's reality. So we watch them grow. We take the baby steps with them, hold their hands to the bus stop, we let them form their own friendships, opinions and views of the world. And I know it will get harder as parents of older children have told me: the problems get bigger and involve more people. You watch them miss the most important basket of the game, you see them snubbed by the popular kids, feel their hearts break with the loss of first loves. You hand them the car keys when your heart screams "No!" You watch them marry mates you wouldn't have chosen for them, see them deal with bigger problems than you ever dreamed they would have to face.

I really don't know how we mothers do it, but we do. We strive to give our children the strong base of a good beginning, moral beliefs and unconditional love. And through it, they grow their wings. We learn our boundaries and our limits, the ways in which we might influence them and the ways in which we have to accept their actions and feelings.

Motherhood is not for the faint of heart.

And so, I put one foot in front of the other. I stir the chocolate milk, soothe the crying baby, wipe the running nose. I pray and trust and dream and hope that I can make these years count in the ways they will need to count for the rest of my children's lives. I remember this isn't about me; this isn't my show, it's theirs. While I will recognize and feed the need to make time for myself and to recharge in the ways that I must, I refuse to be a product of the me, myself and I mentality that dominates so much of what I hear these days.

Because these days are precious. They are good and true and all that is right in the world. As my heart continues to grow and dream and spread into the world, I accept the reality of the lows and the highs, the hows and the whys.

This is motherhood, and it's a privilege.