Hadley's Birth

It was Saturday, June 1st. I had been living at my parents' house in Ames since May 22nd to wait for the baby. Brad and I had decided at the beginning of the pregnancy that we were going to see my cousin, Dr. Tami, who practiced in Des Moines. I knew I wanted to try for a VBAC, and I wanted a provider I knew and trusted. I was getting more and more anxious toward the end of my pregnancy, because I didn't want to go into labor 3 hours away from my doctor and hospital. So I decided to stay in Ames after my 37 week appointment, while Brad worked in Sioux City. The past week and a half felt like an eternity as my mom and I tried to stay busy and go into labor. My dad had just taken Roman down to the lake house, and I knew the next time I saw him, he would probably be a big brother. We said our usual, "I love you forever, I like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be," and I could barely choke out the last few words. It was true, no matter how many new babies we have, he would always be my first baby. I tried to hold it together because I didn't want him to see me sad. I watched him drive away and went inside and lost it. After a good cry and talking to Brad, I started getting ready to go to the mall for the matinee showing of Aladdin with my mom. I had just walked up the stairs and I felt a tiny gush of warm fluid, so I stopped in the bathroom while my mom waited for me in the kitchen. I had been losing my mucous plug over the past 2-3 weeks, especially after cervical checks, and Braxton Hicks contractions almost my whole pregnancy. I didn't see anything in the bathroom, so I just assumed it was watery discharge and we headed to the mall. Once the movie started, I noticed my Braxton Hicks contractions were coming somewhat regularly, so I started timing them on my Fit Bit. They were about 6-10 minutes apart, but I tried not to get my hopes up because they weren't painful at all. I texted Brad to let him know, since he was 3 hours away and had to be on call at all times. By the time we got home, the contractions died off, so we decided to go on another long walk. We had been logging over 12,000 steps a day on our Fit Bits from all the walking. At the far end of our walk, around 4 pm, I felt another small gush. Again, I assumed it was just discharge since all kinds of weird things happen at the end of pregnancy. For dinner we went to one of my favorite restaurants in Ames, Hickory Park. My mom joked that this could be "The Last Supper", like it was for her right before my sister Amy was born. I basically rolled my eyes and said, "Ya right, I'll be pregnant forever." Plus, my cousin Tami was out of town Friday through Monday, so I knew she wouldn't be there to deliver the baby if I went into labor that weekend. We finished dinner, then went to Target to kill time. Since Roman was with my dad at the lake house, I knew I had a little free time in the evening. I bought a face mask, face scrub, a hair mask, and Epsom salts to have a "spa night". I took a bath and used all my new goodies when we got home. Then we watched the 2nd Sherlock Holmes (since we watched the first one the night before), and went to bed. I had joked earlier in the day that this would be the night I would go into labor since it was the first night I wouldn't have to have Roman's monitor and I could actually get a good night of sleep, between all the 3rd trimester bathroom breaks at least. Well, at 5 am on Sunday, June 2nd I woke up to another warm gush of fluid and went to the bathroom. This time the fluid was definitely more than discharge, but nothing like the gushing waterfall I had when my water broke with Roman. Could I have really peed myself?? No, I didn't think so. I called Brad and woke him up to ask him what I should do. I knew they could do a test at the hospital to see if it was amniotic fluid, but I knew I would be devastated if I got sent home. "Just go," he said. "Get it checked out." I wasn't having contractions, but with Brad's prompting, I tiptoed to my mom's room to let her know what was going on. I slowly opened her door and she was already awake and on her phone. She almost shot up out of bed when she saw me, and I told her about the fluid and she thought we should go to the hospital, too. I told her I needed to shower and pack everything just in case they kept me. I went back downstairs, showered, shaved my legs, and packed up all my stuff to head to Des Moines. When I went back upstairs, my mom had made eggs, but I could barely eat any because I was too nervous and excited. I called the hospital to let them know I was coming, and we drove the rest of the way in silence. Once we got to Methodist in Des Moines, I checked into Labor and Delivery and they took me to a small triage room to do an exam.

They had me change into the hospital gown and we waited for the nurse. At 7:30 am, Jamie did a cervical check on me. She said I was still a tight 2cm (which is what I was at my 38 week appt.), and 50-60% effaced. She took a swab to check if the fluid I was feeling was amniotic fluid, but said based on how it felt she thought I might be ruptured! I asked how long the test would take, and she said 30-40 minutes. I started texting Brad, Tami, and our birth photographer to let them know this might be the real thing. After the longest wait of my life, Jamie came back in room and said, "Well, you're not crazy! Your water broke!" I couldn't believe it! I was so happy they wouldn't be sending me home. She started an IV and all the admission paperwork. She told me there weren't any rooms open yet, but 15 people were being discharged today, so I should get a room between 10am to noon. Jamie contacted the doctor on call, Dr. Hanson, and they wanted me to walk the halls and bounce on a birth ball to try to get things going. The plan was to start pitocin around noon when I got admitted to a room since I was only 2cm. I called Brad to tell him my water broke and he needed to leave. He replied, "Ok, but I have to run a few errands first." Typical. "Ok, just let me know when you leave." I told the birth photographer and Tami that my water broke. I knew it meant that Tami probably wouldn't be the one to deliver the baby after seeing her for 9 months, and I was sad, but excited to finally meet our baby girl. At 7am, there was a shift change, so our new nurse was Shawna. Both she and Jamie were amazing, and I hoped I would have the baby before the next shift change. For the next 2 hours my mom and I walked the halls of the birth unit, which was just a big circle. There were just a couple babies in the nursery and I was instantly drawn to one little boy who had thick, dark hair. "Oooh, I'm gonna have one of those soon!" I squealed to my mom. I looked at that baby every time we came around to hopefully get a little Oxytocin boost. Toward the end of our walking, though, there was a cleaning lady who tried to talk to me every time I came around. At first it was cute, but then she started saying things like, "Girl, you need to smile." Girl, I'm trying to go into labor. After that we started walking in a giant C, instead of a circle, to avoid her. At 10:30 Shawna checked me, and I was now 2-3 cm, but still 50-60% effaced. It made me feel good that all our walking actually did something. At 10:45 Dr. Hanson made an appearance to let me know the plan again. She asked if I had any questions, and I said, "Can I eat?" "No," she said, "sorry." She left and I started sneaking food, because I knew I needed energy for labor, and I only had a few bites of eggs at 5am. We decided to take a break from walking, and I felt really tired all of the sudden. I told my mom wanted to take a nap before they started the pitocin, so I laid on the bed in the triage room and drifted in and out of sleep. After a little catnap, I bounced on the ball while I waited for a room. At 12:15 my sister, Beka, showed up from Cedar Falls. She had missed the birth of Roman because she was flying to Thailand, so I was excited she would be there for the birth of Hadley. By 12:30 contractions were picking up a little to 7-10 minutes apart, but still not painful. At 12:40, they finally transferred me to my room, and Brad arrived at the hospital. I gave him a hug and a kiss as I stepped out of the bathroom and said, "Hi. Let's have a baby."

 At 1:04 pm Shawna came and started a saline drip. At 1:26 she checked me again and I was still 2cm, but more effaced and anterior. Then at 1:28 she started the pitocin at 2. It was go time. Our birth photographer, Lindsey, came at 1:45 to take some early labor and last bump pictures. I was nervous to labor with the pitocin, but I didn't notice a difference in contractions since they started so low and upped it every 30 min. Shawna said I can try the cordless monitor if I wanted to walk the halls again, but it doesn't read baby's heart rate as well. Since I was trying for a VBAC, they needed to monitor the baby closely for any distress while I was in labor. I told her it was fine, and I just wanted to labor in my room anyway.

At 2:46 I felt another gush of water with a contraction, and they continued to increase the pitocin by 2 every half an hour. The sun was shining through the big windows in my room, and I loved laboring in the light. At 3:34 I was having a little harder contractions and more gushing water. Shawna checked me again and I was 4cm and 70% effaced. It was so encouraging to be progressing. I kept saying, "I can't believe I'm a 4! I never got past 4 with Roman and it hurt way worse than this. Maybe I should try to do this natural, haha." Lindsey decided to leave for awhile to let me labor and she would come back as I got closer to delivering for more pictures. My mom and Beka left the room to get some food, and at 3:48 the rest of my water broke all over the floor. It was the familiar warm waterfall feeling I had when my water broke with Roman. "Take a picture!" I told Brad. "Really?" he said. "Yes! I want to document everything and I never got a picture after my water broke with Roman." Begrudgingly he grabbed my phone and snapped a pic of the puddle on the floor before cleaning it up. My water continued to gush out during contractions as they continued to increase the pitocin to 12, 14, and 16. I varied my labor positions from side-lying, standing, and squatting. I asked Brad to play me some Alejandro Aranda music. We had discovered him through American Idol, and watched the whole season together. He pulled up YouTube on my phone and his familiar voice and soothing style helped me relax through contractions. I joked to Brad that when we go to his concert in July, we'll have to tell him his music got me through childbirth. After we got through all of his songs on YouTube, I requested some John Mayer. Technically both of those artists are Brad's favorite, but it was the type of music I was in the mood for as I worked to bring our baby earthside.

At 5:35pm, Shawna checked me again. She was quiet for awhile before she said I had an "inner os" to my cervix that she didn't feel before. She left the room to get Jamie, my triage nurse from earlier, for a second opinion. Jamie checked me and said that I was a good 3cm, and 75-80% effaced. It was hard not to feel crushed and disappointed, because I felt like I had lost a centimeter. Shawna apologized and said she must have been feeling the outer os, and suggested I try the "Texas roll" position. She had me lay on my side, a little farther than 90 degrees as I rested my top leg on the side table. The contractions continued to increase in intensity as they maxed out the pitocin at 20 by 6:05pm. At 7pm, there was another shift change, but Shawna wanted to check me one more time. I smiled as she said I was a good 4cm and 80% effaced. My new nurse was Sara, and she would be with me until 7am.

I stood back up so I could move my hips and squat as the contractions were getting harder and harder. I started needing Brad to push on my hips for counter pressure through each contraction like he did with Roman. By 8:34pm, we called Sara back into the room to check me and ask about getting the epidural. My goal was to make it to 4-6 cm before getting an epidural, but before I was in so much pain that I was losing control. I felt like it was a good time to get the ball rolling, because I knew it could be awhile before the anesthesiologist came to my room. At 8:45, she called the anesthesiologist, and said he should be there shortly after 9pm. I felt like the baby's head was getting lower and was starting to get shaky. The contractions were very intense at their peak, coming every 2-3 minutes and lasting 60-90 seconds. I was having to moan through the contractions, but still had enough humor left to say I was scheduling a vasectomy. So many things reminded me of Roman's birth, even though it was so different. The smell of amniotic fluid, the feeling of contractions in active labor, and reaching for Brad to squeeze my hips, all brought back memories of going through this before. I was still surprisingly calm about everything. I knew that I was going to do to everything within my power to have a successful VBAC, but ultimately I had very little control over anything. I was much more flexible going into this birth than I was with Roman. I didn't even have a "birth plan" this time. I was riding the waves of labor as they came. While I waited for the anesthesiologist, I started to feel the contractions in my back. I never experienced back labor with Roman, so this was a new feeling. It felt like my left SI joint was ripping in two at the peak of my contractions. I knew I better get the epidural soon, and I was glad I started the process when I did.

At 8:50pm we waited for a break in contractions and Sara checked me again. She said I was 5-6 cm and a -2 station! I was ecstatic! I felt so accomplished that I made it to 5-6 cm on pitocin without any pain meds. They had offered me IV Fentanyl, but I didn't want anything to alter my state of mind or make me feel drunk. I was very drugged up when Roman was born, and I wanted to avoid that feeling if possible. At 9:16 the anesthesiologist, Dr. Anderson, walked in the room and I said, "Are you just everyone's favorite person?" He laughed and then asked me if I had had an epidural before. I said yes, and it was horrible. He asked me what was horrible about it has he started setting everything up. I told him in between contractions as I moaned and swayed that my right side got numb, but my left side never really did, and that if felt like my legs were on fire. He told me that he could cheat off to the left a little, to make sure my left side got numb this time. That made me worried that my right side wouldn't get numb, but he seemed to know what he was talking about, so I trusted him. At some point Brad made a "just got reinstated" joke and made Dr. Anderson laugh again as I rolled my eyes. At 9:25 pm everyone except Dr. Anderson, my nurse Sara, and Brad left the room. Sara sat me on the edge of the bed while Dr. Anderson prepped my back and gave me instructions. He said he was going to do a numbing shot first, then while he was placing the epidural, I had to hold absolutely still, or I could get a CSF leak which causes epidural headaches. I had one contraction while I was sitting high on the bed with my feet dangling, and it was even more painful since I couldn't move through it. I was nervous I was going to have another contraction in the middle of him placing the epidural, because I didn't know if I would be able to hold completely still. He injected the numbing solution, which felt like a pinch, then Sara had me curl over a pillow and push my spine back toward Dr. Anderson. I knew what was coming since I had gone through this before, but I was still anxious to be done and hopefully start feeling some relief. Dr. Anderson worked quickly as he told me this was the part to hold still. I tried to relax, which was hard because I was still trembling a lot. He pushed the needle between my vertebrae, more on the left side than the right, and started threading the catheter. The pressure was uncomfortable, but not near as painful as my first epidural with Roman. He kept talking to me as he was working, asking if my feet were going numb, if my ears were ringing or if I tasted a metallic taste in my mouth. I said no to everything. Before I knew it, he was putting the big sheet of adhesive over my back to secure the epidural, and had me lay on my back. I was amazed at how fast it was and so grateful he was able to time it perfectly between contractions. As soon as it was done, I had another one. He warned me to try not to slide on my back so I wouldn't accidentally dislodge the catheter, or we would have to go through all this again. I definitely didn't want to go through that again, I remember thinking, "This is my last baby," as he was pushing the needle in my back. He told me I was going to start feeling like the peak of the contractions were shorter, and milder, and then I shouldn't feel them anymore. I told him my left leg started feeling numb, was that a problem? He laughed and said, "It's supposed to." I said, "Haha, oh I didn't know you started it yet." Within seconds my right leg was numb, too, and I instantly knew this was going to be a better epidural than Roman's, thank goodness. Dr. Anderson stayed in the room as the epidural was trickling down my back. I started feeling lightheaded, my ears were getting muffled, and I knew my blood pressure was dropping. "I feel like I'm going to pass out," I said. Dr. Anderson had Sara check my blood pressure, and it was 80/50. He had her increase my fluids and turn me on my left side. After a few minutes she checked my blood pressure again and it was 90/50 and I was feeling better. I asked if it was a PCA, and he said yes, and showed me the button I could push every 10 minutes if I needed a boost. Satisfied with how I was doing, Dr. Anderson wished me luck and said, "Just got reinstated, ha, I'm gonna use that one," and left the room. Sara told me I would have to turn from side to side every 30 min to keep the epidural flowing evenly since I couldn't lay flat on my back without my blood pressure dropping. I knew from that point forward I would be confined to the bed, but I was so happy my epidural was working and I wasn't having the horrible fire feeling in my legs. My left leg was definitely more numb from him cheating to the left, but my right side was numb, too.

Everyone came back into the room, and I labored for another hour and a half as Sara turned me from left to right and back again. I also had to keep the blood pressure cuff on my left arm since I had the epidural running. Lindsey went back home to get some sleep while Brad snored on the recliner and my mom and sister somehow tried to both sleep on the couch. At 11:02 Sara said she was going to empty my bladder. She used a straight catheter, which I thought was weird, instead of a Foley. After draining 300 cc's of urine, she checked me at 11:08. She said I was 6 cm, and had a forebag of water. I couldn't believe it, because that's exactly what I had with Roman. Even though my water had ruptured both times, there was still a pocket of amniotic fluid that was bulging in front of the baby's head. With Roman, the doctor broke it right away. Sara said she was going to let the doctor know and maybe they would break it, or let it help open my cervix. The doctor on call since 5pm was Dr. Dickerson, but I never ended up seeing her. Sara had me try to sit upright to put more pressure on my cervix, but I started feeling like I was going to faint again and my blood pressure dropped to 80/41, so I went back on my left side. At 11:25, 2 nurses came in and moved me on my hands and knees into the "rescue position". It took 2 nurses because my left side was very numb and I couldn't move my left leg at all. It even fell off the bed at one point, which reminded me of when my right leg fell off the bed when I was laboring with Roman and Brad had to "hot potato" my leg back on the bed because I was screaming at him not to touch it. I was very nervous to be on my hands and knees and kept telling the nurses I didn't want to be there long. When I was trying to push Roman out, I tried the hands and knees position and it made my epidural stop flowing properly, and my contractions returned with a vengeance. I was terrified of that happening again, and at midnight they turned me back to my right side. I officially was not having a June 2nd baby. Dr. Anderson peeked in the room at 12:15 to see how I was doing. I told him I was feeling well and couldn't feel the contractions, then he left again. I tried to get some rest, but I was shivering, sweating, and itching from the epidural. Plus, my blood pressure cuff was going off at least every half hour and Sara was switching me from left to right every half hour with a peanut ball between my legs, too. I didn't tell my nurse that I was itchy, because I didn't want to get IV Benadryl. I had it with Roman and hated the way it made me feel drunk. At 12:45 Sara came in to switch me to my right side, because the baby's heart rate was dropping a little on my left side. At 1 am she checked me again, and I was a -1 station, almost 7 cm, and I still had a lot of pressure on the forebag of water. Sara said she was going to call Dr. Dickerson and see if she wanted to turn the pitocin off. At this point, my contractions were very close together, about 2 minutes apart, and they wanted to give my body a break and see if I would keep contracting on my own. At 1:05 am, they turned off the pitocin. I remember feeling hesitant, because I was nervous it would halt my already slow labor. At 1:15 Sara turned me back to my right side and I felt another warm gush as the forebag of water ruptured on its own. At 1:22 Sara came back into my room and said I needed to have some oxygen to "perk up the baby", and she started the 3rd bag of fluids. I was a little scared that I needed oxygen, I just wanted everything to be ok with the baby and I knew if she started showing distress, I would have a c section right away. Sara didn't seem concerned, and after a few minutes of breathing through the oxygen mask, the baby's heart rate went back to normal. At 1:30 am Sara put in a Foley catheter, saying she couldn't keep up with my urine output with a straight cath, thank you Stone Bru Hydro Flask, and I was still only 7 cm.

 It was so strange to see her tape the catheter to my left leg. It was completely numb, more numb than my right leg because of the epidural cheating off to the left, and it was like watching someone tape something to someone else's leg. At 1:40 I didn't need the oxygen anymore, and my body was still contracting every 3.5 minutes without the pitocin. However, by 2:15 am Sara started me back on pitocin at 1 with the doctor's permission since my contractions had slowed down to about 4 minutes apart. Sara checked me at 3am and I was 7cm, almost 8, and 90-100% effaced. She said I still had a little forebag, and tried to move it and more fluid came out. I could not believe how much fluid kept coming out of me in a 24 hour period, ha! Sara "massaged" my cervix until it was 8 cm. At 3:15 she bumped the pitocin up to 2. At 3:35 am my temp was 98.5. I was grateful I never had a fever, because I knew the risk of infection increases after 24 hours of ruptured membranes. Luckily this hospital didn't automatically start me on penicillin after 24 like they did with Roman. They just said they were going to watch my temperature, and it never got above 99. By 4 am my contractions had slowed to 4-5 minutes apart. By 4:30 Sara increased my pitocin to 6, and I started feeling contractions again on my right side. I had not felt the need to push the PCA button on my epidural up until this point, but I wanted to stay ahead of the pain so I pushed it for the first time. There was a beep while I felt a cold trickle down my back. At 5 am she checked me again, the baby was lower, at a zero station, and I was 8 to 9 cm. I was very tired and my pelvis was getting sore from being checked so much, but Sara was always happy and positive with my progress. She increased my pitocin to 8. I was getting annoyed, though, because every time she left my room she would pat my left leg which was mostly numb, so it felt like someone touching my leg while it was asleep. By 5:30 my contractions were back to 2.5 to 3 minutes apart, and I was feeling more pressure. She increased the pitocin to 9. The sun was starting to rise and it was getting brighter in my room. I decided I would "wake up" for the day, and try sitting since I wasn't getting any sleep anyway. I tried to make until 7am to get checked, but I was feeling pressure and contractions down low so she checked me at 6:45. I was still 8 to 9 cm but lower at +1 station. By 6:50 I was started to feel more pain and pressure, I pushed the PCA button again, but I was starting to get restless. At 7 am there was another shift change and Sara handed me off to my new nurse, Angie. At 7:10 am I started having a lot of bloody fluid. Brad and Beka helped wipe me with towels and they showed me the bright red blood on the white towel. I hoped that meant something was happening and birth was right around the corner, because I was getting very uncomfortable. I texted Lindsey that I was feeling more pressure and it might be soon. By 7:30 am I started feeling a lot of rectal pressure, and having more bloody fluid. Ten minutes later they turned me past 90 degrees on my side to try to take some pressure off my bottom. At 7:45 Angie increased the pitocin to 12. Around 8 am, the new doctor, Dr. Brown, came into my room. I knew by the look on his face he was about to say something I didn't want to hear. I saw that look too many times on the faces of Roman's doctors. He started off by saying I had been at 8 cm for quite a few hours, and that if I didn't make any changes within an hour or two that we would have to "have a conversation". My heart sank. It was like deja vu. It wasn't the "C-word" I was afraid he would use, but I knew what he meant. I didn't want to come all this way AGAIN just to have another c-section. "As long as the baby looks fine, I want to keep going," I said. Desperately. It was the first time in labor I felt the fear and disappointment from Roman's birth creep into my mind. "I understand, but if there's no progress in the next couple of hours, we need to have a conversation," he repeated. He left the room and I lost it. I was sobbing to Brad that I didn't want to go through that again, I couldn't believe this was happening, I didn't know what to do. He tried to console me, but he had his own trauma from Roman's birth. "You don't have to do anything right now, but I'll tell you what we're not going to do," he said, "we're not going to keep doing this until 5 am tomorrow." I texted my cousin, Tami, at 8:07 am, I hadn't updated her all night. "I don't know what to do. I've been 8 forever and Dr. Brown is talking about a c section but baby's heart rate is good. I always take forever to get to 10, this feels exactly like romans birth, but i feel like if i could get to 10 i can push her out". She called my phone shortly after I sent the text, but I had Brad answer because I was crying too hard. After a few minutes of talking, Brad hung up and told me she said Dr. Brown wasn't saying I had to have a c section, he was just preparing for all the options since labor was taking too long. If they baby looks fine, he would let me keep laboring. I heard her words, but I still felt hollow. I felt like he had already made up his mind. I felt like a failure again. Shortly after Dr. Brown left, Lindsey came back. I couldn't see her through my blurry tears, but I could hear her voice. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to as long as baby is ok. Don't let anyone bully you." She had turned from birth photographer to birth doula, and it was exactly what I needed to hear.

At 8:25 I pushed the PCA button again, and by 8:29 I was bawling and writhing in pain from the pressure in my butt. I didn't want Angie to increase the pitocin anymore, I couldn't take it. She tried to reassure me that the pressure was a good thing, but I had been stuck at 8 for so long and the pain was so unbearable, I started to give up. "Brad I don't know what to do!" I cried. "I can't do this anymore!" "Just try to make it until 10am, baby, you can do this." "No," I replied, "I don't WANT to do this anymore." I looked into his eyes, silently begging him to not make me say it. "Do you-do you want a c section?" he asked. I didn't want to say yes, but I was losing control. The pain was so bad, even with the epidural. "I don't know, I just can't do this anymore." Shortly after Angie came back in the room. "How long would it take from now if I wanted to do a c section?" I asked with a shaky voice. She told me she would have to look into it, because they had some scheduled c sections that morning. That was it. I felt like I was up against a wall, and there was a wall behind me. I felt stuck. Stuck at 8cm, stuck in pain, stuck between a VBAC and a c section. I knew the only way out was through. Even though Angie told me the PCA button probably wouldn't help with the pressure I was feeling, I decided to start pushing it every 10 minutes anyway because I was in so much pain and had nothing to lose. Angie checked me at 8:30 and I was 9! I felt a glimmer of hope, like a little "F you" to Dr. Brown. I was past the dreaded 8 cm finally. I kept watching the little PCA button, there was a little green light that came on when you could push it. The 10 minutes felt so long as I stared for that green light like Gatsby. By 8:58 am the epidural was starting to take some of the edge off. Angie checked me again and I was 9 and a half. She had me push during a contraction while she tried to move the lip around the baby's head. The lip was soft and movable, but there was still a lip on the right side she wanted me to labor through. I laid on my right side to let gravity help with the lip, and passed the time by talking with Lindsey about photography. "You guys don't know this," I said to my mom and sister, "but you're in the presence of greatness. Lindsey and Amy are two of the best newborn photographers in the business." I knew before I even got pregnant that I wanted to hire a professional birth photographer this time around. It was an investment, but after going through Roman's birth and feeling like there were gaps in my memory, it was worth it to have someone capture all the details I wanted to remember.

At 9:47 Angie checked me again and I still had a tiny lip. She left the room to let me labor some more, and I decided to buckle down and do hip circles during each contraction to get rid of the lip. I could feel some pressure and tightness on the right side where I visualized the lip to be during contractions. I felt like it was working because after a few contractions I started to feel "pushy". You always hear about the "urge to push", but I never experienced that with Roman. I had the pressure, but his head was never low enough to feel pushy. Before this, I always thought the urge to push was just an urge, so you start pushing. I didn't realize your body ACTUALLY starts pushing and you can't stop it. It felt like the baby was trying to come out my butt and I had Brad and Beka check to make sure I wasn't pooping all over the sheets. I wasn't. I told my family to call Angie and tell her I was feeling pushy. She checked me at 10:29 and I watched her face as she carefully checked all around the baby's head. "I'm just making sure there's nothing hiding here...the lip is gone, you're a 10!" I raised my hands in victory, then put them on my face. With Roman I was stuck at 9.5 for at least 6 hours, so I was elated I had progressed from 9 to 10 so quickly. I finally recognized that little "freak out" I had was probably transition. Just when you think you can't go on any further, the floodgates, or in this case, my cervix, open. "You wanted a mirror, is that right?" Angie asked. "Yes, I said." I had wanted one with Roman, too, but never got it. Angie brought in the mirror and Beka positioned it so I could see.

Around 10:45 Angie had me start pushing with each contraction. I forgot how much I hate holding my breath for 10 seconds three times per contraction. My mom started off holding my left leg and Brad was on my right. It only took a few contractions before I felt completely winded and the pressure in my butt was unbelievable. I knew I was so close at this point, but it was excruciating to push when I was already feeling so much pressure. After each contraction, I rolled to my side and Brad put Tucks pads on my butt. Contraction, hold legs, hold breath, push, repeat 2 more times, roll to side, insert Tucks pads. Over and over we repeated that cycle. After about 15 minutes, I could start to see the baby's head in the mirror. I could see her dark thick hair, and it helped motivate me to push. I ended up loving the mirror. I felt like it helped me see how to push; what was working and what wasn't. It was a very slow process, and I felt like I was barely moving her down. Angie had me push in different positions: on my back and on each side. At one point Dr. Brown came in to watch during a contraction and I felt like I was on stage and had to impress him. I pushed so hard it felt like my eyeballs would pop out of my face. He nodded in approval with a little smile on his face and left the room again. I passed. When I was pushing with Roman, the doctor kept shaking his head and I felt like a bad pusher. This time I got a nod and I felt like a champion pusher. After about an hour and half of pushing with just Angie, Dr. Brown came in and asked me how I felt about using the vacuum. I have seen a vacuum used before, and I had always thought it looked a little rough. "Is it safe?" I asked. I'm not sure why I asked, I knew I was going to say yes. Get this baby out of me. Roman's head was never low enough and he had too much caput to use a vacuum or forceps. He told me that everything has risks, but she was in the perfect position to use it and her head was plenty low. It would just help guide her under my pubic bone during contractions. I said lets go for it, and within a few minutes there was a flurry of activity in the room. Nurses I had never seen started setting up the warming table, getting Dr. Brown into his gear, and setting up the equipment. Angie took out my catheter, and started working on the tape on my leg. I told her she could just rip it off because I couldn't feel anything, but she said then it would be raw later. Oh, duh. I didn't notice much outside of what I was feeling. The more pain you're in, the smaller your circle of observation becomes. I sensed Brad on my right side, my mom going between holding my leg and the couch, and my sister taking video. While I had been pushing with just Angie, Beka had asked if I wanted one continuous video or multiple little videos. "You're not allowed to take videos," Angie said. I was quiet because I knew Beka would take video anyway, she knew how much it meant to me and I could trust her to be defiant when I needed her to. "She's just taking pictures," I pointed to Lindsey. "Pictures are fine," Angie replied. And we left it at that. My one extra request I had was that Brad be the one to catch the baby, if possible. I thought it would be a really cool experience for all of us, but as soon as I knew they were going to use a vacuum, it went out the window. Brad was probably more comfortable staying at my leg, anyway. At 12:20 Dr. Brown had attached the vacuum to the baby's head, and we were all just waiting for the next contraction. It was the calm before the storm. I asked him how long or how many contractions it usually takes with the vacuum, and he said it depends. I knew I was going to push with everything I had, and the next contraction started to build. "You ready?" He said. I nodded and pulled my legs up and grabbed the back of my numb legs. Brad was on my right leg, Angie was on my left. I bared down, tucked my chin to my chest and pushed with everything I had left. Even though it felt like my eyes were popping out, I kept them open to watch what was happening on the mirror.

The first push brought her head out about the size of a grapefruit. "Look, I'm barely helping at all," Dr. Brown said. The second push brought her head out even more. I was nervous I would feel the infamous "ring of fire", but I never did. The third push brought her head halfway out, and the contraction was over. The pressure was intense as her head was half in and half out, it felt like I was being pried open. "Should I push again?" I asked. I really didn't want to wait for another contraction with her head hanging out of me. "Yes," he said. I pushed again and her head came all the way out. I heard excited squeals from the couch and I knew it was my sister. "Hannah, there she is!" "Do you have one more in you?" asked Dr. Brown. "Yes," I said, and I pushed as I watched Dr. Brown grab her head, turn it to the right, and wrap his hands around her chest and shoulders as she came out. I remembered that I always wanted to reach down and feel my baby come out, but I never got to have that chance. As the doctor was pulling the rest of her body out, I reached down and felt my baby's head right before she was fully born. It was a perfect circle of love. I finished pushing and took a breath as I watched my own birth through a mirror. All the pressure was gone as Dr. Brown pulled her out and laid her on my stomach. I instantly cried as I wrapped my arms around her. I did it! It was a cry of relief, of pride, of pure love. "I waited my whole life for this moment," I cried.

The first thing I noticed was that her skin was so warm and slightly sticky from the vernix. She was a grayish/pinkish/purple color, and she cried right away as the nurse rubbed her with a blanket. "She looks just like Roman!" I exclaimed. I couldn't believe it. I looked up at Brad through my tear-filled eyes. I couldn't see much, but I could see his big smile. The umbilical cord was short, so they couldn't put her all the way up to my chest yet. Dr. Brown waited a minute to let the cord pulse before he cut it. "Dad, do you want to cut the cord?" He asked Brad. "Yes!" I answered for him. It was just another thing he missed out on during Roman's birth. Someone handed him a pair of scissors and he cut through the cord in two snips. Once her cord was cut, the nurse placed her higher on my chest. She was so warm, a little wet, and crying with her little chin quivering. She smelled like only a fresh newborn can smell. There's nothing else in the world like it, and I'm convinced it's what makes women keep having babies regardless of the pain.

"To answer your question, just one," said Dr. Brown, speaking about how many contractions it would take with the vacuum. "Yes, thank you!" I replied. He had gained some grace with me from using the C-word. Now for the next question, "Did I tear?" I asked the doctor hesitantly. That was my biggest fear with having a vaginal birth, tearing to my butthole and ruining my vagina forever. "I'm just trying to see here," he said as he worked between my legs. "Looks like just a little side wall tear." "Thank God!" I said in relief. He made sure my epidural was still working and started sewing me up. After a few minutes, a nurse brought the scale to the left side of my bed and told everyone to get out of the way. "Mom had to do all the work, she gets to to see the weight first." I held my breath as she placed Hadley on the scale. I knew she weighed less than Roman, but she still seemed like a good size baby. Right before her weight showed up, Dr. Brown had me push again to get the placenta out. It came out in one big plop into a pan. I looked back over at the scale.7 lbs 13.6oz flashed in red. Exactly a pound less than Roman! I was so happy to have a baby in the 7 pound range instead of 8.

Minutes later my sister Kasey rushed into the room with the biggest smile on her face. "Han, you did it!" She ran over and gave me the proudest big sister kiss she's ever given me. I had no idea she was on her way from Cedar Falls, and had just missed the birth by a few minutes. I joked if I would have known, I would have tried to hold her in a little longer.

They did the rest of her measurements and checked some vitals. They put on her first diaper and an ugly white hat and handed her back to me. "Are you really mine?" I kept saying over and over. I couldn't believe she was finally here, and that I got to have a successful VBAC! It was everything I had worked so hard for 9 months, and dared to dream. There were so many parallels with Roman's birth, but so many differences at the same time. Even though her birth was still long and hard, it was the most healing and rewarding experience of my life.

Hadley Marie Lepper. 6/3/19 at 12:22 pm. 7 lbs, 13.6 oz, 20.5 inches long.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

It's been almost 3 months again, and a lot more doctors appointments, since my last health update. There is a part of me that wants to shut everyone and everything out. Like maybe if I don't talk about it, everything will eventually disappear. Unfortunately, that hasn't been the case. A few weeks after my last blog post in November, I developed yet another odd symptom. I noticed a bright red patch on the tip of my tongue about the size of a quarter. It didn't hurt, but it was more sensitive to spicy foods. I tried to ignore it, but it got more prominent over the next couple of weeks, so I scheduled another appointment with my Rheumatologist. I showed him my tongue and reiterated the discomfort I was feeling from the dry mouth and dry eyes, as well as the persistent bladder pain. Once again he had no idea what was going on with my body, and towards the end of the appointment he made my family leave the room so he could talk to me one on one. He asked me if I felt safe at home, if I have any sort of history of abuse, he offered me antidepressants, and I lost it. I had reached the end of his capacity to help me, and I knew it. I denied any sort of abuse, and told him if I was depressed it was because I was in chronic pain and not vice versa. There's a certain point you reach after so many doctor appointments and specialists with no answers where they start offering psych meds because they don't know what else to do. But I don't want a band-aid. I want a solution. The last thing he said to me was, "How can I help you?" Bless his heart. He is a good doctor. We have first born sons that are the exact same age and he always asks me about Roman at every appointment. We decided to try referrals to more specialists; an ENT for my mysterious tongue problem, and a Urologist in Omaha for my bladder issues.

The 2 appointments were a few weeks out, so I decided to follow up with the Nurse Practitioner at my OB clinic to check once and for all for any sort of infection. I wanted to check for the ureaplasma again, and I wanted to get a urine culture via straight cath to eliminate any possibility of contamination. The day after the appointment my NP called to say they didn't get the right test for the ureaplasma, so I would have to come back into the office. Before I had a baby, it would have been easy to run up there on my day off. But now I had to make sure Brad or a babysitter would be available to watch him, and sometimes it feels like herding cats. I made time and went back to the clinic for the right test. A few days later she called me to say everything came back negative, no surprise, but she suggested I could try seeing the pelvic physical therapist they have in the office. I said sure, why not, and I set up yet another appointment.

I returned to the clinic the next week to meet with the PT and give her a summary of my bladder issues. She did a physical exam and found some trigger points in my pelvic floor that were tight and taught me a few exercises to release them. That night was the first night of many that I didn't feel the bladder spasms when I was going to bed, and I was cautiously optimistic.

Two days before my urology appointment in Omaha, the clinic called me and told me I needed to reschedule because the Doctor that was going to see me had a surgery that day. By now it was December and I was desperately trying to figure out the cause of my pain before the end of the year since I had already met my insurance deductible. Of course, they didn't have any openings before the end of the year, so I had to cancel the appointment.

On December 19th I finally saw the ear, nose, and throat specialist to take a look at my tongue. By this time the patch had faded a little, but was still noticeable. He had me open my mouth and after 2 seconds said, "Well, I don't think it's cancer." Uhhhhh, thanks? I wasn't really thinking it was cancer, either. I tried to word vomit all the symptoms I've been having the past year, but when you're dealing with a specialist, they only seem to care about their area of expertise. He basically said he had no idea what it was, could be some sort of geographical tongue, but wasn't sure. Geographical tongue is basically red patterns on the tongue that come and go in different shapes with no known cause. They think it might be autoimmune related. The ENT offered to take a lip biopsy to see if there were any leukocytes in my salivary glands, which would be a positive diagnosis for Sjogren's, but I was just not ready to have a chunk of my lip cut out yet. I left that appointment feeling extremely discouraged and just plain tired. Tired of waiting weeks or months to see a specialist. Tired of waiting over an hour in the waiting rooms just for them to see me 10 minutes and not have any answers. Tired of fighting to find someone or pay someone to watch Roman. And mostly tired of being in pain.

It's incredibly lonely when you're fighting an unknown enemy by yourself. I know Brad doesn't feel like I'm by myself. He has done his best to try to take care of me and Roman, but I know he gets tired of hearing me say, "It hurts." I get tired of hearing me say it hurts. It turns into a Me vs. everyone else situation. "Have you tried this?" my family says. "I really think you need to take an antibiotic," says Brad. Over and over again, as if I'm not doing enough. "You need more rest," from my dad. "You need a break," from my coworkers. And I want to scream, "HOW THE HECK AM I SUPPOSED TO REST OR TAKE A BREAK OR TAKE TIME OFF WHEN I AM A MOTHER!?" A mother who is still breastfeeding and all the medication everyone wants to try would mean I would have to wean my first baby. I was not about to wean him before he was ready just so I could try a myriad of pills that might not even work and have to carry the guilt of knowing I weaned him prematurely for my own body. So I suffered for a few more weeks while I waited for him (and me) to be ready, but the truth is I would never be ready. The decision ended up being made for me when I got walking pneumonia in January and would have to start an antibiotic that wasn't compatible with breastfeeding. Roman was down to nursing once or twice a day anyway, but it didn't make it easier. I was a mess. How do people do this? I thought to myself. And mostly in silence. There I was, crying my eyes out, sitting in the rocker we bought last minute after I had already picked out a different rocker, but saw this beautiful winged-back beauty as we were walking away and I made Brad turn around at Nebraska Furniture Mart. I hand-picked the perfect shade of beige to match the nursery, imagining all the times I would rock and nurse my baby in this chair, and somehow I was nursing him for the last time. I made Brad take some "last nursing session ever" pictures for me to remember, then made him leave so I could soak up every last feeling, every last little fingers in my mouth, and every last second of perfect eye contact with those beautiful blue eyes. I know it's somewhat taboo to talk about breastfeeding and weaning, but I am so dang proud of myself for making it to 13 months. So many sleepless nights and early mornings, so many moments missed while nursing in the car or sneaking away to a different room during family events, and one full year of pumping at night so I could go back to work. I feel like I deserve a medal at least, gosh darn it.

So anyway, I'm a mess all over again, thanks a lot.

With my body now finally being "mine" again, I decided to start fresh with a new doctor with great reviews, and see if I could try some new medication. I had developed a few more symptoms over the past few weeks, I was losing hair in gobs, I was experiencing bouts of vertigo, and I developed bad floaters in the middle of my vision in my right eye (which has made photography very difficult). The bladder pain was worse than ever, and I could tell I was starting to get some sort of urethral stenosis, because it felt like I was peeing through a straw and I could barely empty my bladder. Something had to give before I ended up with permanent damage. I begged my parents to come to my appointment, and prayed the night before that this doctor would really listen to me and help me figure out some sort of game plan. My appointment with my new doctor was on Wednesday, Feb 1st. She listened intently as I did my best to summarize the past year and all my health problems. The first thing she wanted to check was my thyroid, she was worried about hyperthyroidism with the weight loss and hair loss. She also sent me home on Doxycycline, which is an antibiotic in case I still have ureaplasma or some sort of chronic infection like Lyme's disease, and gave me some samples of Myrbetriq, which is for overactive bladder to help with the spasms. Later that night the nurse called back with my thyroid labs, which were all normal, but I will be taking the antibiotic and Myrbetriq for 1 month to see if it helps any of my symptoms. When I left the appointment on Wednesday, I felt like I had hope for the first time in over a year. I actually had a plan. It's a little scary, though, because this is my Hail Mary. If this doesn't work, then I really don't know what to do. It's only been 2 days since I started the medication, but I have noticed a decrease in the bladder spasms, which has been a relief. The worst part about chronic pain isn't the pain itself, but the psychological affect it has on your mind and your spirit. I have never been afraid to be in pain, until now. The uncertainty of when it will flare up, how bad it will hurt, and how long it will last is torture in itself. I feel more jittery, more on edge and sensitive to any sort of physical trauma. Sometimes I can't even stand to have Brad touch me, my nerves are so heightened. It will steal your joy so fast if you let it. I have cried out to God many times to take this pain away or help me find some answers. I have been riding the emotional roller coaster through the highs of feeling good and the lows of new ailments popping up left and right.

Please pray for me, if it's not too much to ask. Pray that the medication will ease my pain and cure whatever infection may by in my body. Pray for me to stay faithful and positive. I know so many people are going through much harder trials than me right now. Every day I look on Facebook it seems like there is another illness or tragedy. I don't deserve the blessings I have, but I long for the day this is all behind me and I can feel like myself again.

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.