That's my job

If memory serves me correctly the last blog post I published was a little after the birth of my son. Well, I'm a total slacker because we just celebrated his first birthday. Time goes so fast with a little one, too fast in fact. Nevertheless I'm back, with something that has been weighing on my heart, made its way to my head, and now has to get out one way or another.

I am overwhelmed by what the human soul can bear. Catching updates, blog posts, and stories of those who are walking through situations that would comprise my greatest fears, and all the while they maintain such composure and grace. It is this that occupies much of my mind. A lot of my mental energy is spent talking myself off of the "what if" worry ledge. I curl up with the worst case scenario and pray that my family will be protected from my fears. Facing the fear and dwelling with it makes me feel an odd sense of comfort, because I know I can look the devil in the eye.

He had a routine outpatient surgery a few weeks ago and I forced myself to be strong and not to cry (I was a heap of motherly mess when he had his first surgery). Thinking the whole time "That boy deserves a strong Momma, don't you dare let him see you worry or cry". This whole time, though, recognizing that my own situation is a drop in the bucket compared to those I passed in the hospital hallway. This is what makes me mercilessly berate myself for any harsh word, any lapse of temper, because my heart knows that he's not trying to be difficult he just has no other way to communicate. He's healthy, happy, and perfect, what right do I have to not be at my best every moment of every day? It is a lot of self-imposed pressure, and I know I do it to myself but it has a positive side too. It makes you grateful for every snuggle, every dance-butt-shake, every sneeze, and every slobbery kiss.

It is this that makes me want more. Not material possessions, riches, or wealth... but more kindness, time, and faith.

It has become important to me that I am fit and healthy. Not because I have some pipe dream about a perfect bikini body, but because he will look at me and do as I do, and for him, laziness will not do.

I want more strength and more kindness. Because growing up is hard, and kids can be cruel. I want him to know that you can be kind and not accept bullying.

I want to have a solid foundation of faith because I have felt the fear of complete solitude and hopelessness, and you have to have something bigger than yourself to grab onto so you can get out. I need him to know that you can come back to grace no matter how hard or far you fall.

I want more time because I could spend a million years staring at that boy and at the end of the millionth year I would still beg for more time. However, the antithesis of this is that when he wakes up screaming from teething (three at one time thank you very much) although I'm tired, and want to snuggle under the covers, I'm grateful he needs me. Because one day, he won't need me in the same ways.

I want to help others more, because I want him to know that helping others is a blessing. And accepting help does not mean weakness, it builds a bond of friendship and trust and for family there is no higher purpose than to lift each other up.

So yeah, I'm constantly tired, I look forward to get to a point in my day when I can sleep or at least sit and not have to think about anything. I get grumpy, and some days I just need a solid mulligan and a beer. But in between all of that is an experience that has beaten the hell out of me and made me stronger than ever before.

I titled this blog after a song that ALWAYS brings me to tears, because of how special it is to me, and now I know what it means from the other side, so after listening to it I'm a blubbering mess and pretty much spent for the rest of the day... but c'est La vie and here it is:

That's my job
That's what I do
Everything I do is because of you
To keep you safe with me
That's my job you see

❤
As my husband affectionately calls me,
Momma Bear

The power of being absolutely wrong about everything

I have tried (but not always succeeded) in making this a relatively general posting place that avoids getting too personal or close to home. In light of the events that I have lived through over the past few months I'm going to scrap that notion and just share my experience with whoever is reading this.

I am a very very proud new mother. Originally I had thought that my son's arrival in to this world would go one of a couple of ways, a thought that seems laughable to me now. I thought, "Well, I'd like to try and have him naturally, but I won't be a hero if the pain gets to be too much. I'd like to avoid a c-section, but ultimately my Doc is the boss (and that probably won't happen anyways)." I never really focused on possibility that my son or I would be in any real danger or that we wouldn't have the same experience as thousands of other mothers have had before us. I was scared of it, like all mothers are, but I wasn't paralyzed with fear or anything.

12 hours of labor, not too bad right? I was almost halfway there when we checked into the hospital so I thought this was going to be easy peasy! Yeah, it hurt, but I knew it was going to suck, so I wasn't under the delusion that I was going to skip through the experience laughing and spreading flower petals all over the place. After about three hours of trying to climb backwards out of my skin I gave in. I was practically calling the anesthesiologist my best friend by the time he arrived. He administered the epidural and I felt a cold run of happiness go all the way down my spine and finally started to relax.

Until...

About an hour later the pain started to come back. The nurse was like "Are you sure that it's pain and not pressure?" If I could have pulled a Carol Burnette and yanked her bottom lip over her head I would have. Needless to say, I convinced her that I was in genuine pain and the anesthesiologist came back to help remove the feeling of a sixteen wheeler driving through my abdomen. That happened three more times. I would feel okay for about an hour, then the pain would come back. I was almost there though, almost ready to pop this kid out and be done with the pain!! How wrong I was... the doc came in and I had been at a "8-9" for five hours (if you don't know what that means I'm not going to explain it to you :) sorry). So we decided to do an emergency c-section. HOORAY!

I won't go into the gory details, but I will say this, there were some complications on my side (through no fault of my doctor) that turned a c-section into a 3-4 hour ordeal complete with specialists that had to be called in, boy, don't I feel special! The worst part of it was, when my son was born, I expected to hear that robust cry that you see in all the movies. I didn't hear it. What I heard was a whimper every so often and the NICU being paged to the OR. So I proceeded to flip out on a massive scale. All I had seen of him was his little foot as my Doc hoisted him over the screen, and then he was gone.

My son had a congenital diaphragmatic hernia. Which in layman's terms means that his diaphragm had a hole in it. His intestines had gone up through the hole and were taking up space that is usually reserved for his lungs and heart. The only resolution for this is surgery to pull the intestines back down where they should be and close up the hole in his diaphragm.

But we didn't know all that quite yet... After my surgery was over I was wheeled into recovery and then into the NICU where they were watching my son and trying to get him to not work so hard to breathe (at this time they didn't know what was wrong with him either). I was told not to talk to him, sing to him, and only touch him by placing my hand on him and keeping it very still. I had imagined that moment so differently, the first time I would see my boy. I thought I would get to hold him, kiss him, and eat him up. Part of me felt cheated, a very small part, as I was too busy being scared out of my ever-loving mind.

As I hadn't been released from the hospital yet the transport team wheeled him into my room where I held his hand briefly, told him I loved him, and then I watched him, my husband, and my Dad go out the door. That was a Thursday morning. The following Saturday I was released from the hospital. I won't lie, it was heartbreaking and infuriating to hear other babies cry, see other Mom's walking around the hall and knowing they were walking back to where their newborns were. All the while there was no crib in my room, no baby's cry.  When I was released we went straight to the hospital where he was.  He was put into an isolette and we were still advised not to stimulate him too much as it would overtax his lungs and heart.  When he was five days old he was scheduled for surgery as long as he could maintain his vitals in the meantime. The days came and went, and luckily we were able to stay with him in the NICU 24 hours a day. My family surrounded me with love and support, and I just tried to maintain.

The day of surgery came and for the first time I was allowed to kiss him, and I DID, about 30 times, before he was taken into surgery. All I will say about the surgery is this: I could not have made it through that experience without my family, and you should never listen to the estimated procedural times they give you. What was supposed to take 3 hours actually took 5, and to date I have never had two hours that were more difficult than those. The surgeon (who is an angel on earth) came out to tell us he was fine, the surgery was a resounding success, and our son was going to be okay.

When my husband and I were going back to the NICU all I could say was "I'm a Momma" because up until that point I was to afraid to think of myself that way. I wasn't sure if God was going to let us keep him. Finally, it started to look like everything might just be all right.

The road to recovery was long, and difficult at times. He had been on narcotics for so long he was put on methodone for withdrawals, and we had several fun little scares about kidney problems, cystic fibrosis, and g-buttons all of which turned into nothing. We started calling him a "tank" because of how well he had made it through all of his ordeals. I only went home once every three days because leaving him at the NICU was so heartbreaking. Luckily the Nurses would take calls from parents who wanted to check on their kids at any hour of the night, and believe me, I called at all hours of the night.

We spent one month in the NICU, and it was the most gratifying and frustrating experience of my life. Day by day I watched him get stronger, cords and tubes came off one by one, and eventually I was holding him, dressing him, feeding him, and bathing him. 95% of the nurses were amazing. They were on top of every beep, every alert, every feeding, they would answer my questions and give me support if I had a bit of a lapse in composure. The other 5%, lets just say gave me a hell of a lesson in patience and practicing putting my foot down in a polite manner. Its so difficult to watch other people do things for your kid that you can't do (and really want to) but I was grateful to them for helping him get one step closer to home. I sang "Edelweiss" to him every day, because it seemed fitting as I wished the same things for him as the song.

Finally the day came for us to bring him home, he was exactly one month old, and looked as though nothing had ever happened aside from a few tiny scars on his torso and the side of his head being shaved (they had put a PICC line in his scalp - if you don't know what a PICC line is and you're not easily grossed out you should look it up).

Since we've been home things have fallen into a routine, my husband and I are still trying to figure things out (but I don't imagine that will ever change), I've gone back to work - which is hard, but gratifying to know that I can pull all of it off - and things have calmed down so much. He makes me laugh every day, every day. He's just a normal happy baby, he has meltdowns, farts in the bathtub, drinks his bottles like he's starving to death, smiles, and kicks his legs. We have a bedtime routine and I read him a book or sing to him before putting him to bed, and it is everything I ever imagined it would be, heaven on earth.

I used to be so afraid of losing people I love, it was something that would bring me to tears at the mere thought of it. A panicky feeling would come over me and I would keep thinking that I just need more time, I have more to say, more to do with them.  This experience has taught me so many things, but I think one of the most profound things that I have learned is that I could have a million years with the people I love and it still wouldn't be enough, it will always bring sadness when someone leaves us, but if given 1, 10, 100 more days would it make that pain any less? No, it would not. For some reason the fact that the pain will be there no matter when or where it happens comforted me. The fact that it just IS, so therefore I can let it BE. So I have learned to not spend the time I have with my loved ones worrying that they may leave me, but to relish the fact that they are here and I will eat them up for as long as I can until we all meet again on the other side.

I am so proud of my family and the way that we all came together through this experience, and so much good came out of it that I am grateful for being entirely, completely, and absolutely wrong about how I thought it would all go. Would I wish for him to have no problems whatsoever and for us to have gone home together? Of course! However, at the end of it all, we are strengthened, humbled, and focused on what really matters to us in this life.

Sometimes you say "Well..." and sometimes you just don't know

The title of today's installment is brought to you by my Dad, it was always something he says when he feels like (what my generation calls) a "face-palm"... I may be acting a little green but I have discovered something in my fellow human beings that I am astounded by. I kind of want to know if this is prevalent, isolated, or if I've just been the luckiest person on the planet to avoid this type of mongoloid up to this point...

Imagine this...
A friend comes over to help you paint your new house. You say "I'd like you to use this paint in this room, but please only paint this wall." You then go on about your business in another room of the house, listening to your jams, having a great time, the windows are open, gorgeous weather, all is well.

Then you walk in to check on your friend's progress and find that they decided to paint a totally different wall in a neon green and purple zig zag pattern. Naturally, you are slightly angered by this. BUT WAIT... not only did your friend come into your home, change your plan, ruin your room, BUT they then proceed to lecture you about how this way looks so much better than what you had planned originally and you really should be okay with it because hey, it looks awesome. Is our "soon-to-be-throttled" friend finished there? No way! This is just the beginning...

You're obviously mad, so you state how angry you are, how you made the instructions clear, how this is your house, and while you appreciate their help, are completely insulted by their assumption of what will work for you. So what does our cunning little weasel say to that? "I misunderstood, when you said 'paint' I thought you meant 'like a mural,' when you said 'brown' I obviously thought you meant 'purple and green' and when you said 'this wall' I thought you meant 'this other wall,' but you know what? it was an honest mistake, I've got it now"

Then you're all like....

 

 

People really do this!

 

I have experienced this recently and I cannot fathom how someone thinks that they can just get away with it. That's not even the worst part.. They DO get away with it, because no matter how mad you get, no matter who you tell, how long you vent, you still have a purple and green neon wall to stare at in your home. So you can take it, fix it, and move on. Or you can throw a pity party and hope that eventually this crap of an eye sore will eventually come into style.

 

Bill Cosby once told a joke about how Dads are geniuses because they will complete a task so terribly that their wives will get furious and forbid them from ever doing it again in the future. Hence, they are free from responsibility and/or any associated work. Coming from a family with a strong work ethic, I thought it was a joke. It's REAL! People really do this, it's amazing!

 

I'm almost not as mad as I am disgustingly impressed. While grateful that it is never enough to make me want to imitate being a completely useless waste of space, I'm impressed that individuals with such a seemingly low quality of character are able to pull of being manipulative enough to get away with not doing anything.

 

On a completely unrelated topic, I have been working on a few blog entries in the background, I am writing two, one concerning what crazy things people do to pregnant people, and the other about the complete misconceptions people have about growing humans. I realize that these may not suit everyone's taste so I thought I'd give a heads up that they're on the way... along with a new little opinionated kiddo who should be here in less than a week. BAM! Exciting!

 

So what do you guys think? Do you see this behavior a lot in your work, home, friends?

 

 



 

 

Shock to the system

This isn't going to be a side splitter... actually this may be one of the least humorous things I have ever written, because despite the coming holidays so many things seem to be more of a shock to the system than the relief of comfort and joy. This is more of a personal catharsis than anything else. I guess, in short, be warned.

Today I was having a pity party of epic proportions. I was frustrated at work with things I have no control over, I was being snippy with people who don't deserve it and was genuinely being a pain to be around or interact with... The odd thing was, I knew it too. I knew that I was being unreasonable and difficult, but still felt entitled to treat people poorly when I was the one who needed an attitude adjustment. Now, to those of you who know me, you may just write it off due to the fact that I am about 7 months pregnant.  I think this is a poor excuse for bad behavior. So I refuse to dismiss my poor attitude as a "hormonal thing" and expect everyone to just forgive me while I blush and shrug away any genuine responsibility.

I was an all out fuss-atron-amus prime.  My poor husband being the numero uno victim of collateral damage. Within about two hours I had yelled, given the silent treatment, and cried. (to which he just gave me a big hug and kiss on the head - needless to day, if I wasn't me, I'd be jealous of me)

But then, something terrible happened. I read the news..
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424127887323297104578179271453737596.html

Just babies, killed at the hand of a man who will have to face the wrath of God himself to receive true justice. Families who have Christmas presents under the tree that will never be opened by the children who, just this morning, were daydreaming about what could be in that wrapping paper. Children traumatized by horrors they should never have had to see. Parents screaming in panic searching for their babies amidst chaos.

Then I felt a kick in my stomach, the kind that reminded me of my own child that I would be bringing into the world soon. The kind of kick that makes me smile every time I feel it. I know there is an entire range of emotions I could have felt, fear for my unborn child coming into a world like this, anger that the killer was dead and could never be forced to see the truth of what he did, depressed at the senselessness of it all... but ultimately, I was ashamed. Ashamed that it wasn't until the thoughts of such atrocity that I was snapped out of my self pity and wallowing. Ashamed that I had been so negative around my family, the people who care about me most, when there were so many others who would never see the ones they loved alive again.

So in light of this holiday season, I invite you to join me in trying to love past our own perception, to try very hard to change our own point of view to one of acceptance, kindness, and patience. Love and life are fleeting, so treasure them while they surround you. Letting go of anger, as a personal choice, is a luxury, not a missed opportunity to prove a point.

For the families affected by this tragedy, I will pray for you as fervently as I pray for the health and safety of my son. In the hopes that although healing will never be a true option, that peace will find your hearts and allow you to, one day, feel the calmness of quiet. Although I may never know your name, or hold you through your grief I care for you, in the most basic and honest of ways.

Sincerely,
SM

Hey, I forget.. Were you in for this? Or not?

Variety is the spice a life... what an awesome way to say that life can be a neon pink roller coaster of joy, uncertainty, anger, happiness, humility, and pride (and if you're a gal, usually a combination of many within a very short period of time). Some seek their own flavor of variety by attacking life in the face with a full on assault and others choose have the variety of life smack them in the face when they're sitting on the front porch drinking a glass of tea.  I am a card-carrying member of the latter group of life, but I must say that I have been developing a sense of vivacious-non-tolerance-for-bs. It may be due to a number of factors, but recently it has lead me to do something I never thought I would do in my entire life...

I yelled in the face of a police officer (and I can honestly say that I am not sorry about it)

My Mom and I were driving in downtown Dallas because both of our workplaces had volunteer booths at the Pride Parade this past weekend. So I had to stop by one of my company's retail stores to pick up my t-shirt and bracelet to get into the park. Neither my Mom nor I were 100% sure where the store was so as we approached it on the right, we missed the first entrance.. No problem right? We'll just turn the corner and go in through the side. So we make the right turn and see that the side entrance is blocked off...

Oh No! What to do?!?! How will we ever fi... BAM BAM BAM BAM

All of the sudden someone had started banging on the trunk of my Mom's car. Now let me say, that my initial reaction when someone scares me is one of the following:

• Wet my pants
• Scream like a banshee
• Fly into an irreversible fit of insane rage

To the dismay of my Mom, and most likely the police officer as well, this was a rare occasion where the fit of rage came on pretty strong. We realized that there was a police officer who had banged on the back of the car, and before my Mom had a chance to roll down the window this female cop was yelling at us. Apparently we had turned the wrong way on a one way road (which was, by the way the same way that traffic was being directed to line up floats for the parade). Before the window was all the way down and without a second thought "YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE RUDE!" exploded out of my mouth at a decibel I haven't used since I taught colorguard.

This cop and I had a brief exchange of yelling back and forth, words were said, things happened, it's kind of a haze. I just remember snapping.. the thought of someone yelling at my Mom in the face sent me over the edge and I let her have it. All things considered she probably should have asked me to step out of the car. But she didn't. The more I thought about it the more I realized that I wasn't sorry and that she really deserved it. I have a very stong conviction that it doesn't matter if you're the president of the United States or the person standing next to you in line at the convenience store, everyone deserves respect. However, if you decide to be an [expletive eleted] prepare to be met with an equal lack of respect that you came to the table with.

It's pretty liberating to be able to say.. "Hey, guess what, you don't get to talk to me like that" and you know what... it stops..

I suppose its not quite as crazy of a story that I could have told my kid later in my life. "Yeah, when I was pregnant with you I got into a scuffle with a cop and went to jail for the night. Technically you've been to jail already, ain't you proud?!?" but I'll just have to settle for the less impressive "I Stood up for myself, and it worked" maybe not as rough and tumble, but a pretty good lesson all the same.

Just a fun story and some food for thought... Missed y'all :)

A + B = Platypus, Homage to "What the Crap?"

There has been a lot of chat lately about certain very controversial topics. Hitting the mainstream is President Obama's stance on Gay marriage. I have rather strong opinions about the fact, and I have no problem sharing them. However, rather than writing a dissertation on the opinions I have, I want to focus on the "why" of political debate and the inherent fallibility of the source of the opinion.

Case Study #1
A person comments that President Obama is a hypocrite because he supports gay marriage but is married to a woman.

Case Study #2
A person quotes scripture based on a single verse while eliminating the impact of context.
Example:
"Fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. As he has injured the other, so he is to be injured."  Leviticus 24:20

"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth, But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also."  Matthew 5:38-39


So then, with this and countless other examples, what is the point? Is it best to scream to the heavens that all people are idiots, declare ourselves supreme geniuses, and begin to demoralize and crusade against the less educated, the blinded masses, and ultimately improve the world as a whole?

No, that will probably not end well. In an extreme example this mentality could go as far as.... well lets just say Germany latched on to this pretty seriously in World War II.

So is our only alternative then to give up and live in a bubble of happy complacency with no effect on the outside world and follow the following example?

Once upon a time there were four people: Their names were Everybody, Somebody, Nobody, and Anybody. Whenever there was an important job to do Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it. Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it. When Nobody did it, Everybody got angry because it was Everybody’s job. Everybody thought Somebody would do it, but Nobody realized that Nobody would do it. So consequently Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody could have done in the first place.

No, perhaps black and white are not the only options here. Perhaps there is a grey option as well. Here's some food for thought, what about the individual focusing on becoming a master craftsman. A craftsman of the individual.  Rather than trying to mold the masses to what the law should state, try molding the individual to question. Question everything.

Political ideology, personal beliefs, values, ethics... all of these should be able to be rigorously tested and considered so that when the discussion is initiated our principles do not falter at a sound counterargument, or we are not forced to stick our fingers in our ears and say "lalalalalalalalalalalala"

Believe what you believe, and hold on to faith. But ask yourself, are you arguing out of conviction or understanding? Did you question your conviction so that your faith is enhanced by your knowledge?

If you cannot say yes... wouldn't you prefer that you could?

This is the grey. Don't enter into an argument with the person from Case Study #1. You could present them a picture of a circle and they will still call it a square. You will not win that argument. Rather than trying to fix the planet and make them think and feel the same way you do, try to find the rare person who is willing to listen and able to explain.  You may just learn something new. That person could turn your masterpiece painting on it's side and help you realize you were only painting one side of the canvas.

Don't bathe in a teacup, don't swallow the sea, and question everything.

Veritas

There are several phrases revolving around the "truth" that would make great Wheel of Fortune boards:

• The simple truth
• The whole truth
• Nothing but the truth
• Many a true word is spoken in jest
• The truth will out
• Truth is stranger than fiction, etc.

Perhaps one of man's greatest follies is his assumption at how his peers will accept the truth.  If truth is a double edged sword, then many people fear the possibility of getting caught in a lie far less than they fear the possibility of hurting someone or (probably more common) implicating themselves.

At the root of the truth is a broader topic of honesty.  Does honesty make a man/woman? Does dishonesty crumble integrity, justice, and (by default) the truth? Honestly, (pun intended) I think there is a more fundamental issue than honesty and truth combined...

Effort.

Effort is what makes people try to be honest, try to be truthful, and try to maintain integrity. Without effort there is no purpose to anything. Jimmy Stewart put it succinctly in the 1965 production of Shenandoah:

"If we don't try, then we don't do, and if we don't do, then why are we here on this earth."

If you haven't seen the movie, you really should. They just don't make movies like that anymore. I digress, the point I'm trying to make is that even though the individual may never achieve perfection, it doesn't mean it is pointless to try. Let me illustrate this in a way that most people will probably be able to relate to..

So this is you...
You wake up early, do your hair, pick out a nice outfit.  Take care of children/spouse/animals. Drive to work. Attend meetings. Meet deadlines. Schedule more meetings to make more deadlines. Deliver a polished and accurate finished product. Drive home. Be a loving and responsive member of your household. Take care of children/spouse/animals. Maintain a clean healthy home. Crash into bed exhausted, but ready to do it again tomorrow.. Oh, and still don't think you rock the socks off of life...
In other words you're this...

This is effort in it's finest form. Did you notice the word perfect wasn't in there once? It was all about verbs, not adjectives.  That sort of life, which is honesty, integrity, hard work, and truth all derive from effort. This life may leave you tired, cranky, and wishing for a few more days on the weekend to enjoy some time on the couch, but by performing these exhausting actions day in and day out you are proving that you are accountable, responsible, and trustworthy.

but, this is them...
They cut you off so short that you almost wreck because they are late to work and only care if they get there safely. They tell you that something is due as soon as possible, so you get it ready, schedule a meeting, which they proceed to reschedule 5 times (I thought this was asap?!), they hit their children rather than take the time to discipline them. Oh, and they think they have everything figured out and are above any useless advice someone like you can provide. Basically they are like this...

Which turns you into this..

So in light of the fact that you cannot go from person to person and b-slap them into wonderful people who give a flip about others, I offer this food for thought:

If your adversaries are so incredibly dumb, so feeble of mind, that they cannot manage to follow through on most if not all of their promises or duties, let them go.

It is a common struggle to fight to keep things afloat. Often times the do-ers end up carrying the weight of the others and status quo is met, so there is no retribution or consequence. Everyone has roles to fulfill in this life, the hardest part is defining which ones you can commit to, which ones you can let go of, and which ones were never yours to begin with. Once you have that figured out, you're one step closer to having your efforts become your joy.

Or, if you prefer a less holistic approach to finding balance in this life, if you have a rock in your pile of diamonds, consider this..

It's a rock... encourage it to cut glass and vanity may force the rock to try... the rock may then learn a pretty good lesson when it tries... and fails

:)

Good luck in all of your endeavors my friends.