Untitled, pt. 2

I've come to realize that as much as I love writing, it's not something that I am capable of doing as a hobby, much less a career. Instead, it is my release when trying to verbalize my thoughts is not enough.


Thursday was hell. At work, if it could have went wrong, it did. I was in one terrible mood at the end of the day, and when I was finally off the clock I remember wanting nothing more than to just hang out with my little guy and my husband.

We decided that we would go and have some dinner with my grandparents. We hadn't gotten to see them much over the previous week, and their house is a place that we love to spend time.

While I was getting supper ready to eat, Sam walked in the kitchen and asked for some water. I noticed then that he looked very, very tired. Droopy eyes, and his color was off. I suspected that he was possibly overly tired, and would be wanting to sleep soon after eating.

As we ate, he cuddled next to me on the couch. He was not interested in his food at all, so he sat with me, watching videos on his iPad.  I reached to move his hair out of his face, one of my favorite things to do when he is near me, and realized that his whole body was hot.

All the typical mom thoughts made their way through my brain.
Ugh, he's sick.
Well, lets take that temp.
Tylenol?
Gosh, do I need to go ahead and get a sub for tomorrow?
I wonder what is causing it?

When I checked his temperature, it was 99.1. Typically not a cause for immediate concern. Jared sat across the room from me as he, my grandparents, and I talked about what could be the culprit for his fever and about going ahead and getting him something to take for his fever.

We discussed these things for mere minutes.

My Granny noticed that Samuel had begun to fall asleep. That was my first red flag. If you have spent any significant time around my child lately, you will know that when he is watching his iPad, he is wholly focused. He NEVER falls asleep in front of it ( in fact, he cannot even fall asleep with the TV on). I reached around him and hit pause on the video he was watching. Nothing. Even when half asleep, this should have sent him into a fit. Jared crossed the room and at my insistence picked him up.

The second that Jared picked him up off the couch, Sam began to slip into a seizure. I demanded that Jared give him back to me.

What is it about that need to have your hands on your child? That gut feeling that if you can just touch them, you won't both go flying off the earth.

For a moment, he shook in my arms. I tried to take a deep breath and remind myself what the doctors told me the last time that Sam had a febrile seizure. Keep him safe, monitor how long it lasted.

I fought down panic, rising in my throat, and watched as his eyes lost focus, and no longer saw me. His brow furrowed like it does when he us displeased with something. His entire body jerked in my arms, and then went rigged. Jerk, stiff, jerk, stiff. Looking back, this probably lasted about a minute.

Then it changed. His body became limper, still jerking, and he began salivating uncontrollably. The best I can tell, he must have aspirated some of this, because it was then he began to struggle. The noise he made was somewhere in-between a hiccup and choking, and my mind went into a tailspin.

All of a sudden, I couldn't tell if he was getting air properly. And I lost my cool.

During all this, Jared was trying to reach someone through 911 to have an ambulance come to us. After getting no where with them, we made for the Jeep.

Possibly the greatest blessing is that we had decided to have dinner with my grandparents. They live only about 5 minutes from Murray Medical center. Although, I believe the records would show that we made there in under 2.

The entire time, my child lay in my arms, unresponsive, and shaking. Finally, about halfway through the ride, he took one large breath. And then another.

The seizure was loosening its hold, and when we made it into the Emergency Room parking lot, he was still unresponsive, but the shaking had stopped.



In the melee, I realized then that I had ran out of the house, leaving my shoes behind. Hospital floors gross me out to no end, but I would have walked the entire place barefoot to fix what was wrong with my child.

In our time there, I held my baby's legs as they attempted to insert an IV, finally accomplishing it on the third try. And I rejoiced at his screams and tears, because even though they cut me like glass, it meant that he was, even on a basic level, okay. The nurses and I laughed and screamed yay when he promptly wet the bed.

I was ushered out of the room while they took a chest X-ray, to rule out any respiratory problems.


After settling him in my arms, he finally began to come around. He was entering what they called the Postictal state. Lethargic, confused, he pulled at his IV and cannula, but only for a minute. Blessedly, he was content to lay in my arms, and turned his head to look when he heard another one of his family members had entered the room to see him.

We learned then that after blood work, we would be transferred to Hamilton to be checked at a higher level of care. Learning that he was going to ride in an ambulance perked him up considerably. When the paramedics wheeled in the gurney to load him up, he made sure they knew to "buckle first". He was very impressed with the ambulance, although the ride got the best of him and he drifted off to sleep.

Upon reaching Hamilton and seeing a doctor, it was determined that he had, in fact, had another febrile seizure, and that the fever was likely caused by an ear infection. We would be receiving some medicine and then would be heading home soon.

Between these things, there was time. Mostly, I spent it with my eyes closed, holding my sleeping boy, but not sleeping myself. If nothing else, I needed to keep my mind blank, to keep the image of my shaking child out of my head as much as possible. Of how his eyes had never been a purer shade of blue than in those moments.

Instead, I chuckled gently at how every time the nurses and I had to move him someone would inevitably say, "my goodness, you have a big boy!". Or how while laying in my lap, he, with a precious sigh, peed all over me and the bed.

When, after asking to be held by his daddy, I went to use the bathroom myself, I wore my urine stained pants like a badge. Funny, the things you celebrate, the things you put aside, when other things take precedence.


Soon enough, we were driving home, exhausted, unbelieving that this could have happened to us again. But mostly just thankful. That we got handed a get out of jail free card, we got to take our boy home, practically unscathed.

We are anxious, worried, jumping at every noise and unfamiliar motion.
Sam has a renewed obsession with ambulances and a new hatred for "band aids" thanks to the sticky pads we had to peel off of his chest and belly.

And now it would seem that we are in the clear. No fever for a day or so now. And our sweet boy is back to his normal, lively self.

We could never say thank you enough to everyone who whispered a prayer for Sam. I felt them. And they worked.

Soon, we will be seeing a neurologist, to have an EEG as a precaution. Our family asks that you keep us in mind as we begin to gain some clarity, and pray for a healthy report.

I have to say, that the condition we think we are dealing with is a minor one, and while it is terrifying to experience, it could very well be that Sam will be just fine in the long run, and will eventually grow out of this.

To every parent who has to watch their child suffer because of an uncontrollable, unfair, and unforgiving illness or medical condition, I know that I have only experienced a slice of your pain. I try to be thankful daily for my healthy boy, but times like this really serve to hi-light how particularly blessed we are.


Love,
HLP

Just Be Held.

When my son was an infant, I nursed him to sleep every night. Most nights I held him and rocked him as he succumbed to sweet, milk drunk sleep. I read one advice article after another claiming that nursing/rocking your baby to sleep would only spoil them, but to me there was just no other way( and let me just say that if you managed to "crib train", I think you are a magical unicorn.) Every mom and babe have their groove, and that was ours.

But then a thing happened. He got older. He nursed less.

And then one night, he bypassed my open arms and just laid down next to me as he drifted off to sleep. My heart knew that it was all a part of him growing up just like he should, but any mom will tell you that she can remember when her baby stopped asking to be held, or rocked, or comforted. 

It stinking hurts. Puts a lump right in your throat. As parenthood will do, many, many times.

So tonight, when he sleepily declared "You rock me", my heart skipped a beat. And I sat right up. 

As he nestled down into my arms, I wondered if he would really let me hold him long enough to fall asleep. My boy is on the move 24/7 and does not enjoy being held these days.

Or so I thought.

He asked that I cover his feet with his Olaf blanket because he hates when they stick out. And then thanked me for it.

I normally sing to him, and he usually has a request, but tonight surprised me with my favorite to sing to him, and he asked for "Hey Jude".

And so, I rocked that boy. And I sang 2 rounds of "Hey Jude".

Then, he was snoring softly in my arms.

And then it struck me how wrong I was. As it turns out, he does want to be held. We have really been struggling lately with what every one hails as "The Terrible Twos". And you know what? Sometimes it really is terrible. But, not all the time. 

Most of the time, as he is screaming at me for limiting his screen time, and refusing him yet another popsicle/sucker/gummy snacks/(insert any sugary item here), as he is telling me NO! for the eleventy-oneth time that day, I am doing my best(and mostly failing) to reach my mind palace so that I can remember the other boy I live with.

The one who picks his nose as he falls asleep, and loves to sing "Jesus Loves Me", and dances All. The. Time. My boy who can count to 10, and is one of the most polite and caring human beings I have ever met.

And as I was sitting here in my bed, looking down at his eyelashes that are to die for, it hit me just how exhausting it has to be to be a 2 year old. And while no one wants their child to be disobedient or unruly, sometimes it helps to try and look past it all. And see that baby that use to live for the warmth of your arms. And to remember that sometimes, they just need to be held.

Untitled.

I feel like I have to write this soon because if I don't then it will slip away.

Most of the people in our lives know that early Saturday morning, our family had a medical scare.
Around 3:20 am I was pulled from sleep by the frantic movements our son, who will be two in March, was making. At first I thought he was dreaming. He can be a fitful sleeper, usually making a journey around our bed most nights. The bedside lamp on my husband's side of the bed had been left on, so when I saw Sam's face, I knew that he wasn't dreaming. Or sleeping.

It hit me hard that I was watching my son have a seizure. My husband Jared, who normally sleeps so deeply that he is often impossible to wake, woke within seconds of me shouting his name.


For once, my brain did not let me down. We called 911. We made sure he was safe.

This was the first time that I had ever seen anyone have a seizure right in front of me. And it was terrifying. But the wildest thing was this. I was ready.


I was beyond ready.

You see, just the day before, on Friday, I completed an all-day course to become CPR certified.

And so I watched my son, keeping a check on his breathing.

His seizure only lasted about a minute. It took him about ten minutes to come around. He remained unresponsive the entire time. It was excruciating. For a large part of me. But a part of me also had peace.

So, why do I feel the need to record this for all the world to see( or not, their choice. :) )

This post isn't to scare you about your child having a seizure. The type of seizure Sam had is called a febrile seizure, and actually occurs in about every 1 in 20 children, age birth through seven years. It happens when the body has a dramatic change in temperature in a short amount of time. In this case, Sam's temperature rose extremely quickly. The seizure was merely his body's response. He will, thankfully, see no effects.

This post isn't about cosleeping, although I've never been more thankful that I do so.

This post isn't even about how I think everyone who is able and willing should be CPR certified. ( And I do think that, truly)

This post, rather, is how through every moment of this experience, I could feel God's presence with us. This post is my way of thanking Him for the peace he grants us, even when we struggle to find it.

Even Saturday night, when bed time rolled around and I was unexpectedly riddled with anxiety at the thought of succumbing to sleep, and not being able to watch him. We had made it through nap time that day with no such feeling. Honestly all I felt then was relief since we all lost a good bit of our normal sleep time. But the dark changes things. The nighttime has always felt Other to me. Alluring, yet guarded. So when my body was trying to give in to exhaustion, but my mind was wrestling with what-ifs, I reminded myself that worrying would do me no good. For this, we are given Matthew 6:27,
Can anyone of you by worrying add a single hour to your life

Short answer, no.


And so, for the boy sleeping on my pillow, with only one sock on because he is my child, I give all my thanks to God.

A Year of Journaling-2016

While searching Pinterest for Family Management printables(Yes, that is a thing. Yes, they are awesome.), my eye wandered over to my journal. I have had a journal most of my life, and I really enjoy writing in one. Right now I actually have two. One is for myself, and the other is for Samuel. It is my hope that one day I can gift him with a journal(or perhaps journals) full of memories. I hope to do this for all my children.

Both of my journals could use more attention. I have been contemplating what I would like to work on in 2016, and one of the first things that came to my mind is my journaling. So to the search bar I went, and found this really neat list of monthly journal prompts from a blog called Life of Lovely.

They have just put a new list out for January 2016, and since it's only the 3rd I feel that catching up will be manageable. I love writing prompts, so I can't wait to see where this goes.

Here is the list for January created by Life of Lovely.

She also has some great tips for beginning a journal if it is something that you want to do but aren't sure where to start. Printable versions of these calendars are available as well.

Keeping a journal can be very cathartic. It keeps your mind sharp and your soul open.

Best wishes,

HLP

I do not subscribe

I do not subscribe to the idea that once you get married that is HAS to go downhill from there. This is so common now that we think it's an actual law of nature or something.

People, this is a CHOICE we make! Every day.

Lately, this has been shoved in my face in various different ways. I've been watching as friends of mine have been struggling in their marriages, as we all do. Oh, how we do. 
But there is something else going on here. And our culture has been cultivating it for decades, nay centuries.

We whole-heartedly believe that once we are married, it's normal for things to...settle. We let our everyday lives become worn around the edges, and chalk it up to normal wear-and tear.

We are left stunned, gazing at our wedding photos, mesmerized by those blessedly happy people. Where on Earth did they go?

Every time we hear of another relationship suffering, my husband and I find ourselves turning to each other, our faces masked in fear and determination, saying "this will never happen to us!" And then, in a smaller, meeker voice "right?"

Well, I've decided that it is up to us.

In our four years of marriage, I've began to have an understanding of the word. Because, marriage isn't just about those happy people as they were on that one December day in 2011. It's also about these people who are sitting in their living room together right now in 2015, enjoying the silence of their one year old napping.

Marriage is helping your newly wed husband shower because he just had shoulder surgery.
Marriage is cleaning up after your pregnant wife because she missed the trash can.
And doing these things with love.
It's looking out at each other over a sea of dirty diapers, Teddy Grahams and piles and piles of never ending laundry, and remembering how he looked in his tuxedo, waiting for you at the end of the aisle. And then pushing through it all. Finding ways to make this new life you have created together work for you.
And remembering that is not easy. Not one bit. Not for one minute. If it feels easy, just wait. That other shoe is probably coming for you.
But here's the pinch, you already have everything you need to get through it. You put a ring on their finger, and they are waiting for you.

My husband and I like to talk of our future together often. We like to make plans for our family, our home. We enjoy imagining together how our lives might be in 5, 10, 20 years. And one thing that we always seem to come back to is that, in the end, when the children are raised, and they are off making their own lives, there will be no more Legos on the floor to clean. No more dirty diapers to change(hallelujah). We will look up and only see each other. And it is up to us to decide who we will see looking back at us. We could be strangers by then.
Or we could be so much more.

Warrior Mom

Warrior Mom

I have had this post on my heart since this morning. I'm sitting here on my bed, a toy train and an open, unfinished pack of gummy snacks on the mattress to my left, freezing because my one year old is passed out in a ball on the covers at the end of my bed. Our family is exhausted from a very taxing week. On Monday, Jared started an amazing new job, I went back to school for pre-planning, and Sam started at daycare for the first time. This week has really thrown us a curve ball.

This morning at drop off, as the daycare worker was prying Sam from my arms as I turned to go, trying to make it easier for everyone, I felt that familiar lump rise in my throat( I'm feeling it now just remembering). I could still hear his cries for me as I made my way out of the front door of the daycare. I looked up at the morning sky as I willed myself not to break down and thought to myself, " It's time now. You have to be a Warrior Mom". It was kind of a silly thought at first. Honestly my brain automatically brought up an image of Xena, Warrior Princess. But as I made the drive to my school I thought about it more and more.

This thing that we are going through, this transition. It is so commonplace, and at the same time it is incredibly momentous. Sam is learning how to go and be a person without my constant supervision.  Which is quite a big task for a one year old. It kills me to see the uncertainty in his eyes when he watches me leave a room.

And I know. I know it will get better. Because that is the way things go. All the veteran moms are smirking at me right now, shaking their heads, but they know deep down, in some form, they were once me. And it stings.

So I see you, Warrior Mom. I see you praying that this day will go just a little bit better for you and your crew. Celebrating the small things. Living completely in the moment because there is just not enough time NOT to.

I see you, Stay At Home Mom, who just swept Cherrios off the floor for the third time today, and it's not even 10am.

I see you, Working Mom, completing your work as fast as you can, and mapping out the evening hours in your head to maximize the family time that you have.

Since I teach, I get to be you both at times. And I know that in some way, on some level, you feel like you are failing. But your reminder of how amazing you are doing is right under your nose. Just take a glance at their sweet-cherub-"I have done no wrong" faces, and smile back.

So straighten your messy bun, throw back some coffee, and don't worry. You've got this. You are Warrior Mom.

It's Your Job.

I began this draft nearly a year ago, and for some reason, I left it sitting here all this time. I haven't posted on this blog in years, as it says below, and I'm not sure what caused me to abandon this post. But now that I've read it again I think it needs to be shared.