No Longer An "It"

I was so excited to go to the doctor Tuesday. So, so excited and nervous. So excited, distracted and nervous that I forgot how to walk a little bit. I walked out my office building, giddy, hit the first step just fine, then faltered. My arms were nowhere to be found (luckily – broken wrists for sure). My head was held high (another bonus). My stomach was safe (thank goodness). But my knees crushed to the pavement. Oh, how it hurt. My skirt flew over my head, my phone flew into the street. It was in a word – awesome.

I humbly righted myself and my attire. What a blessing nothing seemed broken. I picked up my phone with Tyler on the other end. I explained what had happened and walked hurriedly from the scene and the staring eyes of construction workers across the street. Then I looked down. Blood. Everywhere. Blood dripping on my boots, blood pooling down my legs into my socks. Blood on my skirt. Everywhere. I made it to the car two blocks away, stuck a few napkins on the situation and drove straight home where Tyler helped me clean up and grab about 19 band-aids.

Then we were off to a very important appointment.

And soon I forgot about the pain. Our baby is so real, so perfect and soooo BOY! The ultrasound tech started to giggle right off – she asked if we wanted to know what we were having, then said “he’s an exhibitionist.” And he pretty much was. His was folded in half with his legs clear up over his head, his arms tucked neatly, certainty of his gender completely in view. She commented on the baby’s “beautiful heart.” No cleft lip. No club feet. Everything. Is. Perfect.

He didn’t seem impacted from the fall and was only slightly active (I wish I could have an ultrasound at 8 p.m. - he goes crazy!). He even yawned a couple of times.


I don’t know anything about how to raise a boy, but I didn’t have too many ideas on raising a girl either, so we’ll learn as we go. But we are so totally stoked. Life is as it should be. Times like that make it worth it. Tyler sitting next to me, the kid in full view. Above my knees everything was right with the world.

Resolutions

I have one New Year’s resolution. Just one for this whole year. Give birth to a healthy baby in July. Hooray for life! A heartbeat. A hand wave. Who would have thought how remarkable and world-changing those little things can be. That has been our focus for the past three months, and will remain the goal. We are beyond happy. Beyond.

I wish I could say, however, that it’s been three months of bliss. I’m too aware that things can go wrong. My nurse says I’ve lost my innocence. This is our first child, but not my first go-round on the pregnancy train. The first was not meant to be. I have grasped one hundred times for a reason. All I’ve discovered is that sometimes the reasons come later. And sometimes they never come.

Needless to say, I’ve had pins and needles beneath me this time around. Every day has been greeted with mixed reviews. Success – we’re still sick! Somehow I’m sure that desire is normal. The constant seasickness is difficult. But it’s a sign that things continue. And for me, for now, my faith has needed an extra boost.I have begun an assent into better health, and our child continues to progress outside the 13 week zone of concern. My mindset remains hesitantly dang excited. Thank goodness for Tyler who never accepted that hesitation and is just pretty much looking forward to being a dad. He’ll be a really great one. That is for sure.

We can’t wait, yet we can. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real, but it is. It’s real. It’s happening.

Refreshing in Fall

Did you hear it? In the walls that creak, in the potatoes that boil, in the chill of sheets.

It turned fall.

Last week, 90 degrees and all, was lovely. Windows rolled down and the breeze through my hair, I casually asked Ty for his bet that it would be 90 on December 1. He bet me a million dollars to the negative. I’m quite certain he was surer than I. I’m also certain I’d like to know where he’s hiding the million.

All bets aside, I do love fall. The colors of red, orange, yellow, even deep purple. I was born in the fall. I hope I die on the last day of fall – to experience it one last time, but not the winter that it brings. Winter is not my thing.

I feel calm, even with the chilling rain. Thank goodness for fall.

I have been working on an inner peace lately. On a knowledge that I don’t need to know and definitely don’t need to understand everything. Or anything really. It’s been a little up and down, as I’ve always been the one with the questions of “why?” “how?” “when?” “who?” Since childhood, I have asked my fair share.

I’m learning only now that some questions have no answers. But you don’t have to know everything to be happy. In fact, if you did know everything there was to know, I have no doubt it would damage some of that sought-after bliss.

For me, I am determined to enjoy fall. Every unkown bit of it.

You Can and You Will

Know this, that you are brave. You are stronger than you think you are.

That hard things will happen, but hard things will not ruin you. You don’t have to be afraid.

These things – the things that are hard – You might feel for a brief, dramatic moment that your life is ruined. You might wonder for longer than a moment if you will ever be truly happy again. But things. Things will be ok.

I knew. I knew as I typed this that something was coming. Life was so perfect. I knew the happiness I was feeling was a great blessing to help with the rough road ahead. I didn’t understand fear or suspect it, right on the surface I just knew. It would happen.

The road is rough now. I asked, received, lost. Yet, my soul has never been more submissive. My faith is gaining traction, and I didn’t even realize it had been stagnant. My marriage has never been stronger, or my love for my husband more startlingly profound. My desire to be better has never been so acute.

Right now, I am fully aware that certain things matter and certain things just don’t. Life matters. Love matters. Soap scum and mile times do not.

And suddenly, I am dealing. So will you, when you must.

“Courage does not always roar. Sometimes it’s the quiet voice at the end of the day that says ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”

Increasing Stride

There’s a running analogy for pretty much everything in life, you know?


I was thinking about that the other day as my brother-in-law asked me how to increase his stride. He’s new to running, otherwise he would know that my stride’s not necessarily one to emulate. But I know HOW to increase stride and improve times, even if I don’t DO it.


For a better stride or time, you increase your speed or you increase your incline, or better yet, you do both.


There’s an exercise that sounds ridiculous but is actually valid called “fartleks.” I know, I know. You won’t forget the name so easily. Put simply, you begin your run at a normal pace, then pick a spot approximately 100 yards in front of you and sprint to it. Repeat throughout the run and do this one or more times a week and you’re bound to pick up the pace a bit.


Doing hills and doing them as fast as possible will have a nasty effect on your run enjoyment level (unless you’re awesome and it gives you a high – hats off to you), but will have a solid effect on your time and that pretty little stride you’re searching for. Really, it will. And my dad says it will grow hair on your chest. So far not true, thank goodness.


Back to life, isn’t it interesting how you grow in life often through the same techniques? Difficult times, trials of stress and trials of the uphill climb variety teach us who we are. They help us shake off the love handles, you could say, leaving us with a purer faith and a stronger character. They suck. Yes. But most often we’d keep them for the fact that afterwards we realize what we’ve overcome. 

Collapsed Perfection

I left the house for work last week in a hurry – looked around as I went out the door and thought, “I should clean this place before I go, but NOBODY is going to possibly be here while I’m gone and I am sooo late and today’s important....”

I left the dishes in the sink from the previous night’s homemade jam endeavor. I left the pillows on the floor, where they landed the night before after we collapsed on the couch after said jam making. The crockpot was on for dinner, hardly noticeable with all the other dishes left to drain along the counter.  

I just left. Of course, my mother-in-law stopped by for something located on the cluttered counter that afternoon while we were out. As kind as she is, as great as she is … oh, man, of all the people to see it in that state. I could do nothing but laugh, so I laughed. What fabulous irony. 

My own mom instilled in me this dire sense of cleanliness and homemaking. She drilled this concept into my sisters and me – from the 7 a.m. Saturday wake-up calls with the vacuum to the Thanksgiving pies. She is very talented at balancing a job, a family and a home. My sisters also got that vibe down to a science. I’m not there yet and may never be.

I’m realizing more and more in this wife world I’m in, I can’t do everything I wish I could do. I make crappy breadsticks. I don’t sew. I haven’t washed the blinds since … a while.  I don’t invite the neighbors to dinner. Heck, some nights I don’t even make dinner, Tyler does (thanks, babe).  

I do not measure up to my own expectations. Fortunately, the more I think about it, the more I’d say they’re screwed up. I’m demanding perfection, but my perfection is not attainable. My expectations and failings haunt me on many occasions, mostly when I lose myself by inflicting comparison. I bring myself back to peace with the thought that my husband is happy and I am happy. And I go for a run. Perfection is not what life’s about anyway.

Trying On the Course

I have taken up golfing. And when I say I’ve taken up golfing, I don’t mean that I’ve taken to being good at golfing. I can drive when I hit it, my put is quite floppy, my sand aversion is, well, rough. But I have started to enjoy golfing. Tyler’s been golfing for pretty much his whole life, so he’s really good. For me, I love riding in a golf cart with Ty, I think golf courses are beautiful and I actually quite like the game. The whole process is relaxing.

Tyler found the sweetest deal on a starter left-handed set, surprising me one Saturday. I think I’ve just about used them enough it was worth it now. 

I’ve even experienced my first golf wound – this bump on my wrist is nicknamed a “bible cyst” because back in the day they used to tell people to hit it with a bible and it would go away. Tried that, didn’t work. Going to have to visit the doctor soon. I think, scratch that, I know (ask Tyler), I’m swinging too hard. I was a softball player first, for heaven’s sake. 

Before I met Tyler, I used to take classes just for the excitement of learning something new. I took basic Web design, CPR, swimming, tennis and I was about to start cake decorating and photography. This is just another chance to learn, even if I may never score out of the 60s (I’ll let you guess if that’s on 9 or 18 holes…). It feels good.