Updates and Ramblings

There are so many things I want to write about, and of course, not enough time to write them. Somehow 3 months went by since I last wrote a blog post, and I realize I probably left you all wondering what is going on with my health. This wasn't the original intent of this post, but I'll give you a summary anyway.

Long story short, they haven't found anything obviously abnormal. I have had about a dozen doctor's appointments in the past few months, which doesn't sound like much, but it feels like every day I'm not working I'm seeing a different doctor. It's exhausting to even think about where to begin, I'm exhausted all the time anyway. (Symptom of being a mom, or another health issue, I don't know.) After getting nowhere with the Urologist, I scheduled an appointment with a Rheumatologist for the end of September to see if the bladder pain was somehow autoimmune related. A few weeks before my appointment, I started to experience extremely dry mouth and dry eyes. By the time I saw the Rheumatologist, the dryness was unbearable. He took about 6 vials of blood to check for any kind of infection or autoimmune disease including Lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, and Sjogren's disease. Sjogren's was my main concern since it's an autoimmune disease in which your body attacks your moisture-producing glands, and the most common symptoms are dry mouth and dry eyes. There is no known cause and no known cure. He was also concerned with a swollen lymph node on the right side of my neck, and wanted me to follow up with my family doctor for an ultrasound.

A few days later I got the call that all of my labs came back normal except for one marker for Sjogren's disease. It almost didn't phase me or come as a surprise since I was experiencing all the textbook symptoms. We scheduled another appointment to see the Rheumatologist, and made the drive to Creighton in Omaha about a week later. When the Doctor walked in the room he informed us that they sent my blood to Mayo for retesting, and everything came back negative, so the Sjogren's marker was a false positive.

What?

We drove all the way to Omaha for him to tell us it was a false positive and there's really nothing wrong with me even though I'm having all these symptoms? I made asked him to repeat the test for peace of mind and he sent us on our way with another reminder to get an ultrasound for my swollen lymph node. A few days later he called to tell us that my labs came back normal again, and he doesn't know what is causing the dry mouth and dry eyes. (I've since researched that only 60% of people with Sjogren's disease have positive test results, so I'm still not totally convinced.) Since my last appointment the dry mouth has been so bad I have to chew gum constantly and get up in the night to drink water, and my eye has developed a cyst from the irritation of not enough moisture (which was another appointment with an Ophthalmologist and a new prescription for expensive eye drops.) I have to sleep with a humidifier every night and still wake up feeling like I fell asleep in a desert. I will be unable to wear my contacts for a few weeks in hopes that the cyst on my eye will heal.

Meanwhile, I made an appointment with my family doctor to check my lymph node and we scheduled an ultrasound to get a better look. I waited nervously over the weekend to hear back about the results, and finally got the call that my lymph nodes were prominent, but didn't look pathological, whatever that meant. I had 3 options: Wait and watch, schedule at CT scan, or get referred to a surgeon for a second opinion and possible biopsy. I chose to follow up with a CT scan. A few days after the CT the doctor called and said pretty much the same thing. I had a small enlarged node, but it looked benign, so we decided to just wait and keep an eye on it.

So that's what the past few months have looked like for me. Work, photography, and doctor appointments with no definitive answers. I have lost about 20 pounds, and am under my pre-pregnancy weight. I'm not complaining, but I just want to make sure it's healthy weight loss and not a symptom of an underlying problem.

Anywayyyyy....what I really wanted to talk about was friends. Relationships. Grace. Bitterness.

Motherhood in itself is lonely and feels isolating at times, add to that some chronic health problems and you feel like you live in a cave. How do you tell someone what you're going through when they don't even know to ask? A few people have checked in with me, or asked if there is anything new, and I appreciate that more than you even know. It means you're thinking of me. It means you care about me. I know it's probably uncomfortable, and maybe you think I don't want to talk about it, but a quick, "How have you been?" can go a long way.

I have found myself getting bitter about a lot of things lately. It all stems from my pride and selfishness, I know, but I find myself quick to judge other's intentions. I have been screaming inside to all the "good Christian people" WHERE ARE YOU?? I need you right now. I need to cut through the small talk and get deep for two seconds. I need to exchange war stories and show off battle wounds. I need love. And maybe it's my fault, maybe I'm not good about asking for it, or people assume I don't need it, but I do. I'm at a point in my life that I just don't have the energy for casual relationships anymore, and that's ok, right?

Revelation 3:15-16

I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! 16So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. 

There are people that make me want to spit them out of my mouth, we all know them. The "Josh Duggars" of the world who proclaim the sanctity of marriage from their soapbox, then meet a hooker at a hotel later that night. Hypocrites. Legalists. Self-righteous people.

I know I am not perfect, far from it, but the one thing I always strive to be is genuine. How can I lay my brokenness in front of a handful of people and get nothing in return but empty stares? Bleed with me when I'm hurt, cry with me when I'm sad, rejoice with me when I'm happy.

It's so much easier to be nice and generous and caring to people we don't know. It makes us feel good when we sponsor that little boy from Africa, we like when someone sees us help a little old lady with her groceries. Then we turn around and ignore the pain in the people who we are supposed to love the most; our spouses, our friends, our church. We don't have to go on a mission trip halfway around the world to find a soul in need.

These things have been on my heart lately, and if I have ever made anyone feel the way I am feeling right now, I am sorry. I'm sorry I was too caught up in myself that I didn't see the pain in your eyes. I'm sorry I have been deep in the trenches of diapers and nap times that I haven't been able to lift you up. Most of the time I feel unqualified to give any sort of advice or direction, but it costs nothing to be a friend. We're all in this together, so give me grace and I'll do my best to give you grace, too.

This is the Day that the Lord has Made

I'm sorry if it seems like I left you hanging about the interstitial cystitis. I still don't have any definitive answers, but I have been having more good days than bad lately, and that leaves me hopeful.

The morning of July 20th I went back to the urologist for a cystoscopy. I was on the fence about going through with such an invasive test, my biggest concern was that they wouldn't find anything, and it would just make the pain worse. I checked in, Brad and Roman by my side, and they put one of those hospital wrist bands on my arm. I was a nervous wreck waiting in the waiting room, and the wrist band only made me feel like a "patient" all the worse. They called me back to another waiting area where I got undressed behind nothing but a thin curtain. Open-back gown, non-skid socks, and a blue hair net later, the nurse led me into a bright white room as I desperately tried to avoid mooning the world. Was all this really necessary? Brad wasn't allowed to go with me. Really, why do they do that? The nurse had me lie on my back, cleaned me, and injected lidocaine into my bladder. A few seconds later the urologist gloved up and inserted the scope. It was not very comfortable, even with the lidocaine, but there was a screen right by my head, so I focused on the inside of my bladder as the doctor navigated the camera. It's strange, seeing your insides in real time. Most people probably go their whole lives without seeing the inside of their bladders. It was pink, and almost squishy looking. The doctor showed me the opening of my ureters and my bladder wall, everything looked normal so far. He then turned the camera around and looked at my urethra from within where I was having most of my pain. I could instantly see a bright red ring around the scope, and I gasped and asked if that was normal.

"It usually gets inflamed right as we insert the scope," he replied nonchalantly. It made me wonder which came first, the redness or the scope? The procedure only lasted a few minutes and he pulled the scope out slowly to look at the walls of my urethra. It was very uncomfortable, and I could see my urethra swelling up around the camera as it was exiting my body.

"Well, everything looks normal. I'm going to send in an antibiotic for two days with a few refills so you can take it whenever it flares up. Before you leave, let's get an x-ray of that right kidney and see if we can see a stone."

The nurse led me back down the hall to where Brad was waiting behind the curtain. "It hurts so bad," I said as I was doubled over in pain. I was afraid I had made the wrong choice in having the scope after all. Another nurse came and brought me back to the x-ray room.

"You're not pregnant, are you?" She asked.

"I hope not!" I replied.

The picture took a few seconds and I was led back behind the curtain again where I could finally put on my own clothes. The urologist poked his head in to let us know that nothing showed up on the x-ray, and I was to follow up in one month.

"Ok...So what do you think is causing the pain?" This was the second time I asked him. "Do you think it's IC?"

"I don't think it's IC," he replied. "You have some kind of urethral syndrome going on. So let's try those antibiotics, we'll recheck your urine on Monday for the ureaplasma, and I'll see you in a month." And with that he was gone. I was left with more pain, but no more answers. Brad rushed me home where I took some ibuprofen, and curled up with a heating pad in my usual fetal position in bed. As if the physical pain isn't bad enough, the thought that I'm leaving my husband to be a single parent for an unknown amount of time is worse. I hate feeling so helpless. I hate feeling like a burden.

A few hours later I was feeling much better and able to go to work. I picked up the antibiotic, but it didn't seem to help as I had a few "bad" days in a row. I was anxious to return to the lab once Monday rolled around and see if they would find the ureaplasma again. I walked into the office, stated my name, and was given the same runaround I was given the first time. Ugh...why couldn't I have the same lab tech I had last time? I explained to her that we had tested for this before in my urine, and that they had found it two weeks ago, so we were retesting today. She handed me a cup and asked for a clean catch sample. I told her the last time I gave a sample, it was dirty (meaning no wiping beforehand, and not a mid-stream catch) she said this time she needed a clean catch, so I went to the bathroom, dropped off my sample right in front of a guy getting his blood drawn (hiiii, nice to meet you), and left.

It's odd when you're having a health issue that no one can seem to figure out. You almost want something to be wrong, just so you have some answers. 48 hours later I was at work and saw that I missed a call from the urology clinic. I knew the voicemail would contain the results of my test, and I resisted the urge to check it until I got home from work.

"Hi Hannah, this is a nurse from the urologist office. Just wanted to let you know that your urine culture came back negative, they didn't find anything."

Normally a negative test would mean relief, but my heart instantly sank. I felt like I was back at square one. Now what? Maybe the ureaplasma wasn't causing my pain after all. As of now, I don't have any more testing or appointments scheduled. I am in this limbo of waiting and seeing if each day will be a "good" day, or a "bad" day. Like I said before, there seems to be more good days lately, until the pain creeps up out of nowhere.

I'm going to be completely honest, I have been struggling lately. Struggling to stay positive, to have hope. The pain isn't the worst pain I've ever experienced (hellooooo 48 hours of labor), but it wears on me as I don't know when it will come and how long it will last. How do I make plans when I don't know if I'll be in pain or not? I've been holding on to the phrase, "This is the day that the Lord has made." This is the day. This day that I was in pain again, felt totally unproductive and worthless. Yesterday was the day. The day that I was pain free, did laundry, and sat on our deck with my husband and watched the sun go down. I desire more days like yesterday. If God loves me, why does He allow this pain in my life? I could never imagine putting Roman through what seems like pointless agony if I could prevent it. I feel separated from His favor right now, and I know that is incredibly selfish to say. I know that this pain does not compare to the glory that awaits me. I know this life on earth is just a vapor...but. But I just want to enjoy the present. I want to spend time with my family and my little boy pain-free, is that too much to ask? I don't have the answers. I long for a time when all this is just a memory.

So that's where I'm at. It's frustrating not having answers, but I am trying to cling to God's promises and remember that He is sovereign over every day of my life. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

In Sickness and in Health

I know I've been absent for awhile and I apologize for that. There are so many things I want to talk about, so many things I want to share, but I have this thing called a baby that's been taking up a lot of my time. I've also been struggling with a health condition for the past few months and it terrifies me to share this publicly, but I promised myself I would always be real when I started writing. There are too many fake, perfect Instagram Moms out there and I don't want to be one of them. This will probably be TMI for some people, but my hope is that if anyone else is going through something similiar, you would reach out to me and we can support each other.

Ever since Roman was born, I've been getting recurring UTI's, or what I thought were UTI's. I would chug water and take the cranberry pills every time I felt the familiar burning and urgency starting up again. Sometimes the pain would subside within a few days. Sometimes I would need an antibiotic. The pain eventually got worse and more frequent over the past few months and weeks, so I reluctantly scheduled an appointment to see my doctor. The first test they did was an easy, quick dip test called a urinalysis. You pee in a cup and they can test it for blood, bacteria, and other things within a few minutes. The urinalysis came back negative, which means I didn't have an infection. Next, they handed me a questionnaire to fill out regarding the symptoms I had been having. I rated each question on a number scale: How often do you urinate in the day? Night? How would you rate your urgency? Etc. I handed the form back to the nurse and she added up the numbers and left the room.

I felt a sense of doom sitting in the doctor's office all alone, in the twilight zone between something's not right, and a diagnosis you don't want to hear. Before we had a baby, Brad would come with me to most of my appointments. But it was nap time, so Brad stayed home with Roman. Within a few minutes, the Nurse Practitioner entered the room with a warm smile that helped put me at ease. We had never met before, and when you're sick and in pain, you just want someone to listen. I gave her a brief history of my problems and she decided to perform a few more tests including a pelvic exam with cultures, and a potassium sensitivity test to see if my bladder was inflamed. She didn't find anything abnormal during the pelvic exam, so I waited for the nurse to prepare the supplies for the potassium sensitivity test.

The nurse returned after awhile with a tray of three large syringes full of clear liquid. First, she inserted a catheter to drain any urine that was left over. (I ended up having about 90 cc left, which is 3 oz, so for some reason I was not emptying my bladder completely.) Next, she injected solution #1 into my bladder through the catheter and asked me to rate my pain. The solution burned as she was inserting it, but after it was in my bladder for a couple minutes, there was no pain at all. She drained the first liquid and inserted solution #2. As soon as she squeezed the syringe, it was instant and intense burning. Any hope I had for a negative test went out the window. The nurse left the solution in for a few minutes and asked me to rate my pain again. She drained the second solution and injected one last concoction of lidocaine, heparin, and sodium bicarb to help numb the pain temporarily. She left the room and I got dressed as I waited for the nurse practitioner to return, but I knew. I had been researching online and consulting Dr. Google before my appointment, and I kept running across one chronic illness that seemed to match my symptoms. 

"Well it seems to be a positive diagnosis for interstitial cystitis," the NP said as she entered the room. My worst fear was confirmed. Interstitial cystitis (IC) is inflammation of the bladder and urethra with no known cause and no known cure. It's also known as painful bladder syndrome and it's the disease I kept reading about, but hoped would never be my fate. How could this be happening to me? I was only 27 years old, healthy, normal, and no family history. My eyes blurred and I felt my throat closing up as she handed me page after page of poorly copied brochures about "How to live with interstitial cystitis," in other words, "How to live with pain the rest of your life." I started to cry right in front of her, I couldn't help it. I wanted my husband, I wanted my mom. The NP tried to reassure me as she told me I could come in anytime for another lidocaine/heparin/sodium bicarb injection, every couple of weeks if I needed to. Every couple of weeks? This was going to be my life now? Getting a catheter shoved into my bladder and holding a mixture of medications for as long as I could just to get some relief!? I instantly felt like I had entered a tunnel with no light at the end. She wanted to prescribe a daily medication called hydroxyzine, but it's an antihistamine and would possibly dry up my milk, so I decided I would try to manage it with diet first.

I drove home in a daze, crying off and on, feeling hopeless. I walked through the door of our home and Brad was there waiting for me. He held me as I cried in his chest. "It's going to be ok," he reassured me, "we're going to figure this out." I knew he believed that, but I didn't. I read horror stories that only 50% of people with IC are able to work, and that many people have to take antidepressants. 

Brad had to leave for work, so I was left alone with my 7 month old baby to take care of and swimming in new information. I scanned over the "IC friendly diet" paper and quickly realized my whole life was about to change. I loaded up Roman and headed to the grocery store as I shoved the paper in my purse. I couldn't risk someone seeing that I had bladder problems. When we got to the grocery store, I just stood in the middle of the produce, lost and confused on what I could and couldn't eat anymore. Watermelon is ok, but cantaloupe is not. Nothing with tomatoes or citrus or caffeine or alcohol. Some meats are ok, but nothing canned or fermented or too spicy. I wandered the aisles, passing by all my usuals, and eventually checked out with a half empty cart.

 

Everyone around me would stop and comment on how cute Roman was, or ask how old he was, which is pretty typical when we go out, but I couldn't enjoy it this time. I was jealous that no one else seemed to be in pain, no one else just got diagnosed with a chronic condition. They were all free to live their lives and enjoy the little things. I finally understood in that moment why all the medication commercials show people smiling and watching the sunset, playing fetch with their dog, dancing with their spouse. I understood that I would never be able to enjoy those things if I was in the middle of a flare up. In the matter of a few minutes and 1 doctor appointment, my priorities changed forever. 

The next few days I felt like a human guinea pig as I restricted food here and added supplements there. I researched and read all the IC forums, searching for any sort of cure, no matter how obscure. I started taking D-mannose and Marshmallow root, I lost 6 pounds in a week. I spent my son's first fourth of July curled up on the couch in pain. Anytime Brad would tell me about something exciting about the businesses or our future I would snap back at him. "It doesn't matter if I'm in pain, does it!?" I was angry at God, I spent my nights on the floor begging Him to take this away from me, I couldn't imagine a future of pain and suffering. I knew that ultimately if this was His will for my life, that He knows what He is doing and He is still good, but I could feel myself spiraling into depression. 

With a little more research, and lot of pressure from my husband and parents, I decided to get a second opinion and see a urologist. I had been having low grade fevers and chills off and on, and I wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't some kind of infection. I mustered up some courage and called yet another doctor's office. I generally shy away from confrontation, and it was really hard to be my own advocate, to fight for my health. The receptionist told me the next opening was the end of July (about a month away). Obstacle number one. I pushed her for something sooner, even though it was so uncomfortable. I had reached the point I couldn't live like this anymore, I needed help. She sighed and said she would have to call me back. A few minutes later my phone rings, "Can you come in right now?" I said yes even though I had just put Roman down for a nap. I called Brad to come home from work yet again. 

The first test they did at the urologist was another urinalysis. It was clean, as I knew it would be. I sat with the PA and repeated my symptoms to her, and the diagnosis I had received from my OB. 

"Well I want to try a few more tests on you before we jump to that diagnosis, so let's put that on the backburner for now," she said. Gladly. "We actually don't use the potassium sensitivity test anymore because everyone would be positive," she added. The plan was to get an ultrasound later that afternoon, and to look inside my bladder with a scope a few weeks later. I left the clinic feeling cautiously optimistic. It's strange to say I wanted to find something wrong, but at least then I could treat a problem instead of having no answers. 

A few hours later I was in the hospital, with my baby crawling all over me as the sonographer scanned my kidneys and bladder. I started with a full bladder, and halfway through she had me go to the bathroom to see if I had emptied all the way. I hadn't retained any urine this time, so the OB appointment must have been a fluke. She let me go, but I knew I would have to wait through the weekend to get my results. I lugged the heavy car seat, my purse, and the diaper bag from one end of the hospital to the other. Motherhood doesn't wait for you to feel good. Your children need you whether you're in pain, exhausted, sick, hungry, depressed, or just plain at the end of your rope. 

In a lot of ways, IC is an invisible disease. It's different for everyone, but for me the pain tends to be worse in the morning and at night. I made myself go to work, but I was distracted. I decided to test my urine again because neither clinic had saved my urine after the UA, so I sent a sample through my clinic to the lab for a culture. A few days later my co-worker showed me the results.

"Multiple species growth. Probable contamination."

What? How could it be contaminated? I used the wipes and did a clean-catch, so I sent yet another sample and made sure I cleaned myself even better. A few days later, I got the results again.

"Multiple species growth. Probable contamination."

Ok...something is not right. A typical UTI is caused by the bacteria E. Coli, so once the labs see more than one bacteria growing, they automatically discard the sample and assume it was contaminated. The next step was to get a sample via catheter to limit the probability of contamination. I didn't want to irritate things even more, so I went back to researching online, narrowing my search on the cause of IC, and whether or not it could be caused by an infection. I started finding stories of people who had discovered a bacteria called ureaplasma in their urine, and all it took was a few rounds of antibiotics and they were pain free! I wanted to exhaust all my options, so I called the urologist to see if they could test for ureaplasma. They called me back and said they would send an order to the lab, and I could stop in within business hours to give a sample. Of course these things always seem to happen during naptime, so I pulled Brad away from work for the third time in a few weeks. 

When I got to the lab and told them who I was, they pulled up my order and called over a woman in a white lab coat. She looked at the order and looked up at me. "This bacteria is usually found by the cervix and is collected as a vaginal swab, not a urine sample. Obstacle number...I've lost count. I sheepishly told her about all the research I had been doing, and asked if there was any way they could test for it in my urine. She reluctantly agreed, "Well I don't know if we'll be able to isolate anything, but we can try." I thanked her with a heavy heart and headed home. 

Over the next few days I played the waiting game as well as the what-can-I-eat game. There didn't seem to be any sort of pattern to the good days and the bad days. It was a Monday morning and I was reviewing the letter from the urologist about my ultrasound results. For the most part everything looked normal. There was a small area in my lower right kidney that could possibly be a kidney stone, but it wasn't blocking anything and it shouldn't be the source of my bladder pain. My phone rang just a few minutes later. 

"Hi, Hannah? This is the PA from the urology office. I just wanted to let you know that your culture came back positive for ureaplasma, so good job." Good job. A physician's assistant was literally congratulating me on diagnosing myself. "I'm going to send in a gram of azithromycin, it's only one dose, but you'll have to pump and dump for 72 hours after you take it." I felt dizzy after the call. On one hand I was anxious to take the medicine and see if I would feel better. On the other hand, I wouldn't be able to nurse my sweet baby for 3 whole days. I picked up the medication that day and prayed my son wouldn't wean himself as I nursed him for the last time and put him to bed. 

About an hour after I took the antibiotic I started to feel sick. I was tired, nauseated, and had to run to the bathroom several times. I hoped the side effects wouldn't last long, but if it cured me then it was worth it. By the next morning I was feeling much better, but still having the familiar bladder pain. The PA said we would recheck my urine in 2 weeks, and that I could still have pain from lingering inflammation, even if we killed the ureaplasma.  I missed the bonding time with Roman as I had to pour liquid gold down the drain multiple times a day. I worked hard at saving some milk in the freezer ever since he was born, so we were still able to give him bottles along with solid food. The next 72 hours crept by and I was so sick of pumping. By Thursday night I was ready to nurse again and Roman never missed a beat. 

If you're still reading this, thank you for bearing with me. I know this was a long one, it's been a hard past few weeks. I will be re-testing in about a week to see if the infection is gone. I still have to decide if I am going to go through with the bladder scope. I have had my first pain-free days this week in a long time, and I am hoping that the antibiotic is working. Please pray for me as I continue to figure out what is causing my pain. Please pray for my family as Brad has had to step up and take care of me and Roman even more. When you're 21 and 23 standing at the alter reciting your wedding vows, you promise to be there for each other in sickness AND in health, for better AND for worse, for richer AND for poorer. But do we ever really expect anything but the health, wealth and prosperity? I've learned to thank God for these trials in my life as it's the only time I really grow. My whole world has been turned upside down and it's made me reflect on my priorities. What do we have if we don't have the promise of everlasting, PAIN-FREE life through Jesus Christ?  Our money, our families, and eventually our health will fail us someday. So I will proclaim that God IS good! Whether He allows me to be healed, or whether I will have to live with this the rest of my life. (I pray for the former!) Thank you all for your support, I will you keep you updated as I learn more. 

You Made Me a Mother

It's my first Mother's Day tomorrow. Ok, technically 2nd. I was 13 weeks pregnant last year on Mother's Day. No bump. No kicks. No idea how you would change my world. Before you were born I was terrified you would ruin my life. No more late night dinners and movies with your daddy. No more sleeping in, no more bikinis. To be fair, we see a lot less movies and my tummy sees a lot less sun. But...you made me a mother.

How could I ever be ready to be someone's mother? I thought about everything my own mom had done for me over the years, and I knew I could never be all that for you. You deserved the best, and I'm just, well, mediocre. I tried to take care of you while you were growing in my belly. I even refused the pain meds when I was hospitalized at 22 weeks pregnant. I wanted to make you perfect, and you made me a mother.

When our "due date" came and went, and the texts/calls/visits from concerned family and friends came flooding in, we kept you safe and warm within me because I wanted you healthy. And on the morning my water broke, your daddy and I walked and breathed and prayed through 24 hours of unmedicated labor because you decided it was time to make me a mother.

We transferred to the hospital and trembled and prayed and pushed for another 24 hours because I wanted to see the moment you made me a mother. I wanted to feel it. I had waited a lifetime for you, and the thought of someday being your mom has saved me more times than you'll ever know.

After 26 years and 48 hours, I heard your first cry. My baby. MY baby. I dreamt about you during the night and while awake, wondering what you looked like, what you smelled like. But I would have to wait just a little bit longer to hold the one who made me a mother.

Then all at once, there you were. You appeared from behind the blue curtain, bundled up in stiff white linens, crying for your mother. They laid you on my chest and I did my best to introduce myself, but you already knew.

"Hi Baby."

You stopped crying as I kissed your face all over. "Hi my baby." Your cheeks, your nose, your lips. You looked up at me and I looked down at you. You made me a mother.

We brought you home and we navigated the uncharted waters together. You were much easier to take care of within me. You seemed to like it better, too. You made me clench my teeth every time you would latch on those first few days. You made me cry when you wouldn't go to sleep. You made me crazy when you wouldn't stop wailing. You made me a mother.

Somewhere along the way, I can't quite put my finger on when, things got easier and we started to enjoy each other. No one told me how much you would love me. You started to smile and grab my hair, you started to reach for me. How could you want me so badly? If only you knew what kind of person I was. Maybe you wouldn't like me so much if you heard of all the wonderful mothers out there who have home water births and themed-birthday parties. Maybe you would wish you had a different mother.

I'll never wish I had a different son.

Oh my baby...you made me fall in love again. You opened my heart to the wonders of this world. The way your hair pulsed as a newborn with every beat of your heart. The first time I cut your fingernails and they were the tiniest moon-shaped shavings on my hands. You made me care about all the ridiculous things like watching you jump in your jumper and hold your bottle all by yourself.

No matter what happens to me, no matter how big you grow, you will always hold a special place in my heart, for you are my baby, and you made me a mother.

A New House Blessing: Part II

Brad and I wanted to do something special when we were building our house since it was more to us than just some wood and concrete. This house represented over a year of dreaming and planning and then revising those plans over and over again. If there's one thing you need to be while building a house it's flexible. I think people tend to get trapped into thinking if they build a house from scratch, it will turn out exactly how they want. If you have unlimited money and time, that may be true. That wasn't the case for us as we battled the mounting obstacles from digging through a power plant graveyard, to special orders being delayed or coming in completely wrong time after time. We didn't have the luxury of waiting since I was about 6 months pregnant and we wanted to move before baby Lepper came. There were countless nights and weekends spent working on the house and wandering through home improvement stores. (I called these our "Lowe's dates") But it was nice to take a little break one evening to write a few verses and pray over the shell of what would soon be our new home. You can find part one here "A New House Blessing: Part I". 

Master Bath

"Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised."

Proverbs 31:30

I tried to write this verse where I thought my mirror would be. I've never considered myself a super "girly-girl", but I enjoy looking and feeling pretty. As Brad and I grow older together, and especially after carrying an almost 9 pound baby, my body is far from the body he fell in love with. He would tell you he loves me even more now that I've given him a healthy son, but I can't help but feel self-conscious about things I never used to worry about. I can barely look at pictures of when we first met and I secretly compare myself to that young faced, tanned skinned girl smiling back at me. How ironic I never thought I was beautiful then, either. If God says beauty is fleeting, then it has to be true, and I would rather be praised for fearing the Lord than for just a pretty face. 

Master Closet

"It is not fancy hair, gold jewelry or fine clothes that should make you beautiful. No, your beauty should come from within you-the beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. This beauty will never disappear and is worth much to God."

I Peter 3:3-4

This verse is in our master closet as a reminder when I'm throwing all my clothes on floor because they don't fit, or they're out of style, or they're unflattering, that even the most expensive item I could ever put on my body doesn't compare to what comes from within my body. I could be the best-dressed woman on the face of the earth, yet still fall short of pleasing God. Are our bodies a temple that we should take care of? Yes, of course. There's nothing wrong with dressing well or having nice things, but I hope I always remember to strive for the beauty that comes from a gentle and quiet spirit. 

Guest Bedroom

"Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by doing so some people have entertained angels without knowing it."

Hebrews 13:2

Wow. It's crazy to think that the homeless person you pass on your way to work, or the little old lady you help on the bus might actually be an angel. I've always been hesitant to give away money to the people holding "GOD BLESS" signs made out of cardboard on the side of the interstate. Where do we draw the line between helping and enabling? It's a difficult and sometimes scary part about Christianity, and I certainly don't have the answers. One of reasons we were excited to build this new house is so we could finally have an extra room for people to stay with us. In our old house, we literally had to blow up an air mattress and put it in our living room if anyone was staying the night. We pray that this new house gives us an opportunity to take better care of our guests and family. 

Storm Shelter

"The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold."

Psalm 18:2

I thought this would be a perfect verse to go on our storm shelter. Just like our shelter will protect us from raging winds, so too will God protect us from the storms of life. As humans, we're always looking for security. We crave consistency whether it's in our jobs, our relationships, our homes. I've only lived on this earth for 26 years, but I've gone through enough experiences to know that everything changes except for our Creator. Marriages that you thought were bulletproof end up broken, careers that you've built your life upon disappear overnight. This verse gives us hope that we can find refuge in God, no matter what life brings. 

Great Room/Living Room

"Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock."

Matthew 7:24

I love the poetry and creative writing found in the Bible. Jesus spoke in parables and you can find all sorts of metaphors and similes throughout the pages of scripture. We didn't build our house on a rock, but we did pour a deep and sturdy foundation of concrete for our house to rest on. I loved how this verse compared listening and obeying God's word to building a house! 

 "Through wisdom a house is built, and by understanding it is established, by knowledge the rooms are filled with all precious and pleasant riches."

Proverbs 24:3-4

This is another great verse related to building a house. As much as I love to decorate and design, this is a great reminder that wisdom, understanding, and knowledge are what fill our rooms with something valuable. 

Office

"Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails."

Proverbs 19:21

How many times have I thought I wanted something, only to be turned down, rejected, or led down another path? I thank God that He is continuing to refine me, challenge me, teach me, and grow me spiritually. All too often it seems that we only mature through difficult situations that weren't exactly in our "plan". We would never plan to feel overwhelmed, angry, stressed, or brokenhearted. But when I look back on my life, those were the times I learned a valuable lesson or skill that helped me in the future. This verse is in our office to remind us of our purpose on this earth, and that is to be the hands and feet of Jesus Christ in whatever we do.

"O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God. How unsearchable are his judgments and his ways past finding out!"

Romans 11:33

This verse is also in our office and is Brad's favorite verse. The story goes he was looking for a verse to prove a point to someone, when he came across this and it stopped him in his tracks. How unsearchable are His ways. For all of our doctrine and Theology and religion, we still can't fully grasp the wisdom and knowledge of God. That can be frustrating, right!? Did Adam and Eve have belly buttons? Was Jonah alive or dead in the belly of the fish? Why do people suffer or struggle with infertility or a physical handicap or the loss of a loved one? Why, why, why? This is where faith comes in. And letting go. And being still. Some things will never be revealed to us, but at least we know that God loves us so much that he sacrificed his son, Jesus, so that we can live in paradise with Him forever! 

Nursery

"Children are a heritage of the Lord, and the fruit of the womb is a reward."

Psalm 127:3

Brad and I waited longer than most couples to have kids. And we would have waited a little longer if God hadn't decided Roman needed a place in the world. (Remember the whole, "many are the plans...but the Lord's purpose prevails?) Before we had a baby life was good. I'm not going to lie. We were both working and enjoying the time we got to spend with each other and our fur baby, Gracie. We went to movies and weekend vacations and slept in sometimes. We didn't worry about spit up or drool or nap time or dirty diapers. I was terrified to lose that lifestyle. More and more people are waiting to get married and have kids, if they have them at all. And I get it. Being a DINK (double income no kids) was awesome. But wait a minute, it says right here the fruit of the womb is a reward. You mean this stinky, crying, high maintenance little fart bucket is a REWARD?? And just like that my selfish heart began to soften and I've gained more in becoming a mother than I did in losing my DINK status. Whether a child is healthy or disabled or adopted or was born into the arms of Jesus, every life is precious. I'm finding myself falling in love with our son and thanking God that we had an unplanned pregnancy.

"'I know the plans I have for you' Declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future.'"

Jeremiah 29:11

Brad once told me, "You know, he's God's child first." And it's true. As much as we love our son and think that we had everything to do with his existence, Roman wouldn't be here if God didn't have a plan for him. I pray over this baby more than I have prayed over anyone in my life. Fire and water and sharp objects suddenly seem extra scary to me, but the one thing I find myself praying for the most is that Roman would believe in Jesus as His savior and live a life that is pleasing to God. If I call myself a follower of Christ, then I need to be able to trust the One who created my son with his life. This verse is written in the corner of the nursery above Roman's crib and I smile at the thought that he is sleeping under God's promise. 

 When we finally finished writing all of our verses and vows, Brad and I went to each room and prayed over them. We prayed that the kitchen would help us feed our bodies and our guests, we prayed that our bedroom would give us a safe place to rest and strengthen our marriage, we prayed that the guest bedroom would help us be hospitable and gracious to others, and we prayed in the nursery that our baby would be healthy, and we would be godly examples and raise our child to love Jesus and love others. It was a night I will never forget.

A New House Blessing: Part I

Happy Good Friday! I thought it would be fun to share some pictures and verses from our "house blessing" on this weekend that we remember Christ's resurrection. As some of you may know, we built a house this past summer/fall and decided the best time to move would be when I was 9 months pregnant. Luckily, we somehow survived and baby Lepper didn't make his appearance in the middle of contruction...he decided to wait 2 weeks past my due date, but I digress. I had seen snippets and photos here and there on Pinterest of verses on the framework of a new house, and I loved the idea of the Word being permanently marked in our home, buried under insulation and dry wall. I wanted each verse to correspond to the room where we would write it, so I cracked open my bible, booted up Google and went to work.

  (Please excuse the quality of the pics, I had no idea I would ever be sharing these, so I just snapped a few on my phone.) Finding the verses and writing them down took longer than I expected. I suppose you could just highlight them and save them from a bible app on your phone, but I wanted both Brad and I to be able to take a few note cards and Sharpies and divide and conquer. I brought extra Sharpies because I was a little worried how they would write on the wood and if they would dry out. Turns out, they worked fine and didn't get ruined at all. One piece of advice I would add is to make sure the verses you pick aren't too long, unless you want to get carpal tunnel syndrome. I met Brad at the house site one hot summer night and we started writing as the sun slowly dipped behind the trees.

Entry/Foyer

"As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."

Joshua 24:15

Brad wrote this verse above our front door in the foyer as a proclamation to all who enter our home of who we are and what we believe. 

"Learn to do good. Seek justice. Help the oppressed. Defend the cause of the orphans. Fight for the rights of widows."

Isaiah 1:17

This verse still gives me the chills every time I read it. I thought it would be a perfect commission to go above the door leading into our garage, since we would use it the most. Like an athlete tapping the motivational quote above the locker door as he runs into the game, so too would we be driven by the Word of God to help others every time we stepped out of our house. 

Kitchen/Dining

"Give us this day our daily bread."

Matthew 6:11

So simple, yet such a good reminder of how we should pray for everything. The big things, the little things like the food we eat. This verse is above our pantry.

"So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God."

I Corinthians 10:31

As I was writing this verse on our kitchen wall, I was reflecting on how soon we would have not just 2 mouths to feed, but 3 as baby Lepper wiggled and kicked every so often from within my belly. I remember growing up with 5 brothers and sisters, all seated at our assigned spots around the table at dinner and starting each meal with grace. I pray that Brad and I can raise our children in this home the same way. 

"Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever."

Psalm 118

The way our house sits on the river, we get to watch every sunset through our dining room window. It still never gets old as we stare in awe of God's creation as He paints the skies with oranges, pinks, and reds. He is good. He is good. He is good when we were living in a one-bedroom apartment. He is good when I was unemployed for a year after graduating. He is good as we were able to design and build this house. If tomorrow a fire burns it to the ground, or a tornado comes and sweeps it away, He is still good and we will give thanks.

Laundry

"And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart."

Galations 6:9

Oh the laundry room. It's probably the only room in every house designated solely for work. I struggled to find a verse that would be appropriate, after all, I couldn't think of any laundry references from the Bible. I can't remember how I came across this one, but as soon as I saw it, I knew exactly where it should go. Laundry, cooking, cleaning, and all the daily maintenance that goes into being a homeowner is hard work, and it can feel like we're stuck in a never ending cycle of dirty clothes and dishes. I love this reminder that God keeps His promises, and the monotonous tasks I do as a wife and a mother are not in vain.   

Master Bedroom

"Love is patient. Love is kind."

I Corinthians 13

The beginnings of the popular "love verse" is under our master bedroom window. I've been less than patient with my husband at times. I've been less than kind. But whenever I feel tempted to try and "keep score", or retaliate in anger, the words, "love keeps no record of wrongs" plays over and over in my head. We'll never be able to love each other perfectly in these sinful bodies, but how amazing is it to be loved like this by the Creator of the Universe?

Our wedding vows.

Not only did I want the promises of God written on our house, I wanted the promises we made to each other, as well. Our hands were cramping by the end of it, but there's something so sweet and romantic about re-writing our wedding vows at the head of the bed to each other. I can almost hear our young, trembling voices again when I put my hand on the wall. These words mean so much more to us now than they did the first time they left our lips. Expectations that were broken, picked up and put back together again. We had no idea the trials we would go through when we made that commitment to each other almost 6 years ago. When we were done writing, we read them out loud to each other, this time with a baby between us. Something happened that day that didn't happen at our wedding. I cried. 

To the Wife of the Momma's Boy

To be fair, I wouldn't label my husband a "momma's boy". The traditional meaning seems to have a negative connotation; clingy, whiny, not masculine, everything my husband is not. But if it means he respects and honors his mother, then momma's boy it is. My husband had a very unique upbringing where he spent most of his childhood and adolescence traveling the country in a bus, singing southern gospel with his family from church to church. He and his sister were both home schooled, so they got to spend a generous amount of time together as a family. Being the 4th of six kids myself, family was always a top priority for me, and it's one of the things that attracted me to Brad in the first place.

Our very first date was a hot day spent at the Iowa State Fair. We walked from attraction to attraction, ever aware of the other attraction that was growing between us. He tried to hold my hand, I giggled and played hard to get...but not too hard to get. After eating our fill of fried food and a skyline ride later, we rested our feet on a bench in the shade. I don't know how we got to the topic of marriage, (Brad likes to close his deals fast!) but soon we were talking about the possibilities of the future with stars in our eyes.

"Are you going to love your kids or your wife more?" I tested the waters.

"My wife, for sure." He passed. "I think if you have a strong marriage, you have a strong family," he added. Question after question we dove into each other, exploring our values and beliefs. How was this man single, I thought. He was everything I wanted. Three months later we were engaged.

A few months before our wedding, his mom was due to have bilateral knee replacement surgery. We were down in Missouri visiting, and it was the last time we would see her before the operation.

"Everything will be fine," I smiled as I hugged her goodbye. Then it was Brad's turn. He wrapped his momma in a bear hug and squeezed her longer than I had ever seen.

"I love you," he whispered as he pulled away. There were tears in his eyes and it was the first time I had ever seen him cry. I felt strange in that moment, my heart went out to this man that I loved, but I also felt like I was intruding on an intimate moment where I didn't belong. The relationship between a daughter-in-law and her mother-in-law is a sensitive give and take. You want so badly for her to approve of you, to think you're good enough for her baby boy she's poured her whole life into. At the same time there's an unspoken competition for his heart. I wanted Brad to praise everything I ever cooked him, I wanted to fold his underwear perfectly and vacuum the house everyday and make sure he never ran out of toilet paper. I wanted him to hug me like that, to cry over me because he loved me so much.

Fast forward to just a few months later and we're swimming in the deep end of the newlywed pool. Barely keeping our heads above the water, we lived 3 hours away from my family, 8 hours from his, and surviving in a tiny 1-bedroom apartment. He was working retail and I was a full-time nursing student and part-time waitress. We were trying to find our routine, and stepping on each other's toes. One night before Brad got off work, I was determined to make the best homemade dinner he had ever tasted. I ended up burning the garlic bread until it was black, and somehow managed to use every item of cookware we had in preparing the meal. Our romantic evening turned into washing dishes all night. I felt defeated, embarrassed. What was I doing wrong? I meticulously cleaned the apartment every week, I packed my husband's lunch every day, and I color-coordinated the towels in the bathroom. I mean, isn't this what being a good wife looks like!?

Over the next few years and a lot of grace, we started stepping on toes less, and dancing more. We discovered each other's love languages, and started communicating in a way that respected our relationship. We were finally finding our rhythm, and because God seems to have a sense of humor, we got pregnant. We had our baby boy after a difficult, 48 hour labor. As I was recovering in the hospital, I saw the fruit of our commitment blossom in the way my husband cared for me at my worst. Just as he had embraced and cried over his mother before surgery, he kissed and cried over me after mine.

So here's a lesson I've learned after being married for 6 years and having a son of my own: It's true what they say, a man will treat his wife how he treats his mother. If he disrespects her, belittles her, yells at her, or ignores her, he will eventually do the same to you. However, if a man takes the time to visit his mother, if he hugs her hello and goodbye, if he calls her about exciting news, if he's patient and gentle with her, then he will be the same with his wife.

To the wife of the momma's boy:

Let him call her. Let them talk. Let him tell her what he's excited about and what's troubling him. One day she won't be on the other end of the phone anymore, and she's the woman who raised this man you love so much.

Learn her recipes. I'm still trying to master the cheesy potato casserole myself, but if you learn a few of his favorite meals, it will always give him a taste of home.

Speak kindly of her. It's so tempting to want to commiserate with your husband, no matter who or what he's gossiping about, but if you can encourage each other to tame your tongues, it only benefits your marriage as he will be less inclined to speak about you to other people.

Tell her thank you. Soon enough this woman will become the grandmother to your children, the competition fades away, and you begin to appreciate each other as fellow mothers.

Know that he will cherish you forever. Your husband's mom has a huge influence on how he treats women. My mother-in-law invested her whole life into her children. Raising them in the Word, teaching them respect, and setting an example of love and sacrifice. If you're lucky enough to marry a momma's boy, you will reap the seeds she carefully sewed in his heart.

I have a 4 month old son now. I know that I will probably be be a mother-in-law someday, and I pray for my son's future wife. I pray that her parents are raising her to be a godly woman, just as her parents might be praying for us. I hope they're praying for a momma's boy.

*Amazing photos taken by Sweet Little You Photography

The 5 Best Newborn Products that No One Tells You to Register For

You're about to become a new mom. The excitement from seeing those 2 pink lines has died down and your little growing food baby bump is a reminder that it's time to start buying all the "necessary" things that one tiny human apparently needs. If you're anything like me, you'll start scouring the internet, reading reviews, and asking all the moms you know for any advice when it comes to baby products. It's an area of Target you always walked by with longing eyes, but never dared to enter. I've only been a mom for about 3 months, but I thought I would share some products that I've discovered along the way that ended up being my favorites. The stroller, the car seat, the bouncer aside, here are 5 of the best newborn products that no one tells you to register for.

1. The Baby Bum Brush

I put this first on my list because I use this every.single.day. and I'm on a mission to put one into the hands of every mom who changes diapers because I love it that much. Seriously. Basically this is a "butt spatula" (as my husband and I call it) for applying diaper rash cream to your little one's bottom. I know, I know...WHY wouldn't you just use your fingers? Do you really need this in your nursery? Yes. I don't know why it's so amazing, there's something about the way it spreads the cream so smooth and evenly that makes this product so useful. It has a little suction cup on the bottom, so it stands up on its own, then you just wipe it with a baby wipe when you're done. It also keeps your hands clean and dry, which I think makes you use cream more often. My husband and I use it for every diaper change, and our son has never had a diaper rash! (Bonus: We like the Aquaphor Baby Healing Ointment). You can get the Baby Bum Brush from Amazon...I have 3.

2. Aden + Anais Burpy Bib

This is another product by the beloved Aden + Anais company that I use almost daily. The Burpy Bib is a soft, muslin cloth that doubles as a burp rag and a bib. It has a nice "C" shape to it, so it fits perfectly over your shoulder, plus it has a button on the back so you can snap it around your baby's neck and it works as a bib. I use it mostly as a bib after I nurse Roman because it's big enough to cover his whole body and arms, and is great for catching any spit up after a feeding. I love all the cute designs they come in, too. You can find these at Target, or online at adenandanais.com or Amazon.

3. Medela Quick Clean Micro-Steam Bags

If you use a breast pump, you know what a pain it can be to wash all the little parts that come with it. I was getting frustrated when I first had a baby and started pumping, because it seemed like the parts were never clean when I needed to use them! I bought these Medela micro-steam bags on a whim at Target, and they've really helped me keep my pump parts clean so I can use them more often. The micro-steam bags are basically a way to sanitize your breast pump parts, bottles, and pacifiers in your microwave. You just add a little bit of water, then seal the bag and place it in the microwave for the recommended time, and it steams and sanitizes in just a few minutes. The bags are reusable up to 20 times, and you can find them in Target or on Amazon (are you seeing a pattern here? I love Amazon.)

4. Boppy Water Resistant Protective Cover

I'm sure you've heard of the Boppy Pillow. It's one of the most-registered for items at Target and for good reason. The Boppy Pillow is a helpful aid when it comes to nursing your baby, and for tummy time once they get a little older. When I was shopping for a cover for my Boppy, I was surprised that most of the options were the same cotton covers in various designs. The patterns were cute, but I was looking for function, hello! I came across these water resistant covers in Buy Buy Baby, and I knew I had to have them. They're just plain, white covers that come in a 2-pack, but I love that they are water resistant because, let's face it, babies are messy. You can technically put a cute cover over these, but I just leave it as-is and switch it out with the other one when it gets dirty. Roman has spit up more than once on my Boppy, and I'm glad I've had these to protect it. You can find them at Buy Buy Baby, or Amazon.

5. The Windi

Last, but certainly not least is the Windi. From the makers of the Nosefrida comes another somewhat silly, but oh-so-useful design. I ordered the Windi off of Amazon (duh) when our baby seemed to be having trouble with a gassy tummy. I couldn't believe all the five-star reviews, so I thought I would give it a try. The Windi is a hollow, rubber suppository that you stick up your baby's butt when they're gassy or constipated. I was nervous to use it for the first time, but I massaged his little tummy and inserted the Windi. It was only a few seconds before gas (and eventually poop) came out and relief flooded his face. I couldn't believe it! The design of the Windi makes it so that you can't go too far, and it keeps any unpleasant body fluids off your fingers. They are single use suppositories, and come in a pack of 10. My husband and I use one if Roman is really, really fussy and hasn't had a bowel movement in a few days. It usually does the trick and we have our happy boy again! You can order them off of Amazon.

So there you have it! My 5 favorite newborn products that I've discovered over the past 3 months. What would you add to the list?

The Birth of Roman: Recovery

Our baby boy was finally here, but the road to healing had just begun. I had lost a lot of blood during the c-section, 800 cc to be exact which is almost a liter, and I was very anemic with an iron level of 8.7 (normal range is 12-15.5). Besides being incredibly sore, I felt lightheaded, nauseated, and weak. My one and only job was to nurse Roman, and it required a copious amount of pillows and helping hands. I was relieved that he latched on right away, and was a great sucker, but I still had to feed him about every 2-3 hours around the clock so I wasn't getting the sleep I desperately needed.

Right after you give birth, whether it's vaginal or c-section, the nurses push hard on your uterus to make sure it "clamps down" and you don't hemorrhage. They were even more concerned than usual in my case because my uterus had been contracting for 48 hours, and I had been on Pitocin for 24 hours. A tired, overworked uterus can be slow to clamp down and I didn't have any blood to spare. The first time this one particular nurse pushed on my freshly cut open stomach I almost screamed. I gripped the side rails of my bed with tears in my eyes. Brad had crashed on the couch almost immediately after Roman was born, and I didn't want to wake him up. I couldn't believe how hard she was digging into me, right above my minutes-old incision. She was putting her whole body weight into her hands, and I thought for sure my stitches would rip open. Once again I thought the pain of contractions would finally be over, but those "massages" brought it all back. I cringed every time she walked in the room.

Ironic how after you have a baby everyone else gets to rest, except you. Brad was snoring on the couch, our family had left to go sleep for the first time in days, and I was lying helpless in my bed while the nurses took care of me. After going through this experience, I have a whole new appreciation for nurses. As a nurse myself, I never really experienced the other side of it. To have someone serve you and bathe you and help you in your most vulnerable state gave me a pure gratitude for these women. Within a few hours I had 2 nurses come in and give me a sponge bath. I really needed more of a car wash at this point, but they did what they could. It had been 3 days since I showered, I was bleeding and sweaty all over. I'm sure I'm smelled terrible, but the nurses worked quickly and respectfully as they rolled me like a log from side to side, wiping between all the intimate creases and crevices. I still had the catheter in my bladder, and the nurse informed me it would be removed at 8 am. 

"What!? There's no way I can walk to the bathroom, can we leave it in longer? I'm not ready," I pleaded. 

"Well it can only be in for 24 hours due to risk of infection, and it will be in 26 hours by then so we're already pushing it," the nurse apologized. 

By morning the nurses had removed my catheter, and I needed to use the bathroom for the first time. Amazing how such a simple, thoughtless task we do daily can become an Olympic event. I never called the nurses to help me with that. I just wanted Brad, and he was stronger, anyway. He jumped to my side when I told him I needed to go, and we began the ritual that we would repeat many times over the next few days. The bathroom was only feet away, but it might as well have been at the top of Mt. Everest. We sat the back of the bed up as far as it could go, but it still wasn't enough to put me upright. You realize how much you use your core muscles when you don't have them anymore. I was wincing and whimpering as Brad physically lifted each leg off the side of the bed, and I gripped around his neck as he sat me up, feet dangling off the side.

"Wait, wait, wait, please," I whispered.

"It's ok, I gotcha. Take all the time you need," he reassured me. I grabbed a pillow to splint my incision, and after a few minutes Brad helped me put my feet on the floor for the first time in about 30 hours. It felt strange standing upright. My world had been horizontal for so long that now it felt like I was walking on the walls. Brad supported most of my weight, sometimes behind me, sometimes in front of me, as I slowly tried to put one foot in front of the other. We eventually made it to the bathroom, where Brad lowered me onto the porcelain throne and helped me in ways no human should ever have to. But he still loved me. 

On and on we repeated that cycle. Nurse the baby, push on my stomach, crawl to the bathroom. At about 11 am the doctor who "broke" my water came to check on me. She listened to my lungs, checked my bleeding, then sat on the foot of my bed and asked, "And what are you going to do for birth control?"  Brad and I looked at each other and almost burst out laughing. Birth control was the farthest thing from our minds.

By Thursday evening the nurses informed me that Roman's temperature was low, and they needed to put him in the warmer. They stripped him down to his diaper, and put him under the warmer right next to my bed. It was the first time I had really seen his whole body. I tried to reach him, but I couldn't quite touch him, and my stomach hurt too bad to bend any farther. 

That first day was a blur for me. Nurses, family members, and doctors were in and out all day. They asked me if I wanted them to save me a Thanksgiving dinner from the hospital cafeteria. Sounded...appealing, I said sure. I still wasn't allowed to eat anything more than a few bites of jello, since my gut was still "sleepy" from the anesthetic. Every time the nurses would check on me they asked if I had passed gas yet. I had never seen Brad so excited about me farting before, and I told him his enthusiasm better last when we eventually go home. (It didn't, in case you're wondering.)

The first few days after you have a baby, and especially your first, you live within this surreal time warp full of pain, love, and getting to know this new creature. Brad held his son like he had been holding babies his whole life, he was a natural. I watched from my bed as he spoke to him about all the things he was going to teach him, about his big dreams for him. I have never seen my husband stare at something, or someone so deeply. He was studying every detail of that little face, and occasionally lifted his eyes to me as if to ask, "Am I doing ok?" You're doing great, I returned with a smile. He really was. I wasn't sure how he would react to our new baby. He was the youngest of two kids, with no nieces or nephews on his side, and had never really interacted with babies before. I'm not sure what I expected, maybe it would be overwhelming, stressful, weird. But he looked so...happy. Content. Relaxed. Like he wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world, but holding our son. I had dreamed of doing my own professional pictures at the hospital, but being so incapacitated, that wasn't going to happen. Still, I grabbed my camera from the side table, held it away from my body, and prayed I would get the shot. It ended up being my favorite picture from the entire birth, a father falling in love with his boy.

Nighttime rolled in, along with a blizzard on that Thanksgiving day. Roman was born into a whirlwind, literally and figuratively. Family went home again, and Roman went back to the nursery for the night. I always thought I would keep my baby right next to me 24/7, and I brushed off the advice of the veteran parents that would tell us, "Just send him to the nursery and sleep!" But it's true, we were exhausted and they still brought him in every few hours to eat, anyway. He was the only baby born on Thanksgiving, so we knew he was getting lots of snuggles by the nurses.  

It was just Brad and I. For the first time since before I was pregnant, we were alone. Just the two of us again. We bonded over bathroom trips and water runs. I treasure those memories of Brad leaning over my bed to kiss me so gently, his hand resting on my head like I'm the most precious thing he's ever had. Not only were we falling love with Roman, we were falling in love with each other all over. It was a little less glamorous this time. We were unshaved, unshowered, and unashamed. It was raw and stripped of all the comfort of every day life. It was real. 

By Friday morning, Brad had to work for a few hours on the 2 businesses we were in the process of opening (great timing), so my mom and sisters stayed with me and offered to help me get cleaned up. They say it takes a village to raise a child, it also took a village to get me showered. Normally I would never allow my family to see me buck-naked, but I let my guard down and accepted the help from the people who loved me most. I held a towel over my incision as my mom washed my hair, Kasey scrubbed my body and Amy held the baby. I could physically feel grace as my mom and sisters loved on me. They didn't have to, the nurses could do it, but they wanted to. I was taking care of my baby as my mom was taking care of hers. Oh, the cycle of life.  

I put on a little deodorant and mascara, I felt human again! I picked at some leftover breakfast, someone had thrown away the Thanksgiving dinner they were saving for me. I enjoyed my family and my baby. He was so alert for a newborn, maybe it's because he was 2 weeks past my due date, but he just kept looking around at everyone in the room. The days in the hospital run together, broken up by nursing, bathroom breaks, and getting my pain meds. There was one night that Roman slept for 5 hours straight, so they didn't wake me up to give me my medications. I woke up feeling like I had been hit by a train. It's amazing how much the human body can endure. I went through 48 hours of labor and a major surgery with blood loss, all without eating or sleeping from Tuesday to Friday. I was running on pure adrenaline. 

Friday night Brad and I were alone again. I wanted to brush my teeth, so Brad pulled a chair right up to the sink and helped me sit down. I caught my reflection in the mirror for the first time. Staring back at me was a shell of the person I'm used to seeing. My eyes were puffy and swollen from pushing, my face was pale and dull, my stomach was a deflated blob that once held a life. As I started brushing my teeth, Brad picked up my brush and slowly started to brush my hair. I don't think in the history of our relationship he's ever brushed my hair (without me asking.)

"Did I have a knot, or are you just loving on me?" I asked.

"I'm just loving on you," he said. "You're beautiful." He had seen me looking at myself. "I'm serious, you've never been more beautiful. I'll never look at you the same again." Shoot, I'll go through this a hundred times over, I had never felt so loved. 

I had to say goodbye to my family sometime on Saturday. They had put their lives on hold for me, and it was time to get back to the real world. Sometime Saturday afternoon Brad's parents, sister and brother-in-law came to visit us. Roman was acting very fussy all day, and it wasn't like him to cry so much. I kept trying to nurse him every hour because he was acting hungry, but I had a suspicion he wasn't getting much because my milk still hadn't come in yet. The baby nurse on Saturday was another one of my good friends, Kammy. 

"Hannah, do know what his temperature is?" She asked me.

"No, what?" I asked.

"101," she replied, "and he hasn't had a wet diaper all day." Oh no, my nurse mind started to turn to infection, IVs, a NICU stay. Brad's mom walked in with dinner right after Kammy told me, and I started to cry. I was physically and emotionally drained and I couldn't handle any more bad news. The nurses checked his blood for an infection, but they didn't find anything so we came to a conclusion that the fever was a result of dehydration. I nursed and I nursed, but he began fighting it since he wasn't getting anything and wouldn't latch on. I tried pumping, but I was bone dry. I really didn't want to give him formula, but my baby was sick and needed food. At first I tried to nurse him with a supplemental nursing system (SNS). It's a small catheter that supplies formula into babies' mouths while they continue to breastfeed. The catheter wasn't working at all, and he wouldn't latch anyway, so I finally consented to giving him a bottle. 

I was heartbroken as I sat in my bed watching Brad give him formula. I had failed at a home birth, I had failed at a vaginal birth, and now I had failed at breastfeeding. After his first bottle, Roman went back to the happy, alert baby he once was. Brad handed him back to me, but his baby breath that had smelled so sweet, now smelled like sour formula and I didn't like it. I continued to pump, and every drop of colostrum was sucked up with a syringe and squirted in his mouth. 

By Sunday Brad's family was gone and my mom came back to help me for a few days. I was feeling really sick and nauseated, and my lips were ghostly white. I couldn't sit up or eat at all. I was so overtired that I couldn't sleep, and I was delirious. Brad, my mom, and the nurses had to convince me to try an Ambien to help me get some sleep. I reluctantly took it, and dozed off to some of the strangest dreams I've ever had. 

By Sunday evening it was time to go home. A nurse came in and gave us a bath demo. I was still very nauseated, exacerbated by the fact Brad had just eaten a ceasar salad, but I watched and tried to help as best I could. We strapped Roman into the car seat after the nurse took out all the fluff and padding I had been so excited about, and stepped on the same elevator that brought me here in labor. When we walked into our house, we were greeted by our sweet dog, Gracie, and one more surprise my sisters had left me. We were finally home.

I want to thank everyone who helped us through this process. Thank you to our amazing midwife, Pam, and her nurse Kari for taking such great and personal care of us throughout the pregnancy and labor. Thank you Bob and Sharon for running errands for us and taking care of Gracie. Thank you Mom and Kasey and Amy for staying with me and serving me hand and foot. Thank you to all the nurses at Mercy for respecting us, taking care of us, and encouraging us. There's so many people to thank, and so many things they did for us that we'll never know. Most importantly, thank you to my rock, my soulmate, Brad. Thank you for choosing me to be the mother to your children, thank you for going to all my appointments, even though they were an hour away. Thank for getting me through labor, and recovery. Thank you for clapping when I farted in the hospital, for wiping my butt, for helping Roman latch on every 2 hours in the night, for changing diapers, for giving me a safe and comfortable place to raise our family. I hope I make you proud as a wife, and now a mother. I love you the most.