on writing now

It's harder than it used to be. Well, and easier too in a way, but mostly harder, because it's been a long time since I started, and I expected more to come of it all. I mean, sure I published a book, which is not a small feat, but that seems so distant now in a strange way. It's hard to remember the time when I was writing Star, because I have all of this other work that is consuming me now. 

That, and a very small and needy human.

I've heard it said that, "Nothing will make you feel better but doing the work." Which I agree with, of course, but for someone as impatient as I am, writing a book, or several books, feels so hard and lonely sometimes. My colleagues are my characters. And they're unapologetic and selfish most of the time. I feel better having done the work of course, but often wonder if the work is anything but words on my screen.

Writing books is not for the faint of heart. Neither of course, is medicine, or law, or engineering, or accounting, or any of the other occupations we humans have drummed up but I am a writer so I'll allow myself to feel equal parts grateful and frustrated with this path I have chosen and has just as decisively, chosen me. 

It's the worst thing in the world, but it's really the best, too. And now that I've reached that conclusion, I suppose there is nothing else to do but slog on. 

Books that Have Made a Difference

I used to subscribe to O! Magazine, Oprah's publication which is a fantastic magazine, (although it always bothered me that she was featured prominently on the cover, month after month. Even if you have a magazine named after you, it seems a tad narcissistic, even for Oprah... )

Anyway, she had this feature every month when she had a celebrity or author or special friend of hers share about five books that made a difference to them. I used to love this short feature, because it was fun to think of what books have made a difference to me. That's such a different question than, "What is your favorite book?" It also seems to change with every book I read, because my latest read is usually my favorite since it is the freshest. Still, I think it's important to consider the question. What books have made a difference to you? 

So here are mine:

Good Poems - Garrison Keillor

I know, blah blah blah. I've talked about this book on my blog so many times I should be ashamed. Except for, I'm not. Because I've read the poems in it so many times I should really buy a new copy out of fairness to contributors. It's the best introduction to poetry out there. It has soul and humor and it's not intimidating and unapproachable like some poetry can be. It's a necessity on every book shelf.

On Writing - Stephen King

This book has made me a better writer, period. I've read several books on writing, and most I enjoyed more than this. (Ann Patchett's This is the Story of a Happy Marriage and Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird come to mind) but I learned the most in this one. It's the only Stephen King book I've read, and it is phenomenal. 

The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern

This book is untapped creativity. One of the most creative books I've ever read, with imagery so rich that I continue to think about details from it almost five years after I read it. I think about it whenever I feel like there is nothing creative left, that all of it has been taken somehow. It is original and fresh. 

The Road - Cormac McCarthy

My senior year of high school I had this AP English Lit teacher named Mrs. Woolsey who changed my life in a hundred ways, but one was with this book. She told our class one Monday morning that she finished a book over the weekend. Someone asked, "What is it about?"

I remember her getting solemn, still. She replied, "I don't know how to describe it. But I do know, that it is about love." 

She was right. If the world were to end (which, spoiler, it does in this book), and I had to rebuild from scratch, I would use this as an example of what love means, what it is. I went to Target after she told us about it (yes this was pre-Amazon,) that afternoon, and read it. It may have been a little advance for me, probably too dark for that time in my life, but I understood it in the same way she did, that it was about love. 

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith

I read this once. In seventh grade, over the course of almost the entire year. We had a free-read period every Friday in English, and my teacher had a copy. I started it as a way to impress my peers - most of them reading Harry Potter and some clinging onto R.L. Stein with a fierce devotion to their past. (I should give them more credit. More likely they were reading similar books, but I felt important reading this one.)

It spanned the course of my year. 40 minutes of reading once a week, and at the end of each class period I was disappointed, having to wait an entire week to re-enter Francie's world. I've considered re-reading it since, of course, but I'm not sure I could recreate that experience and I'm afraid of disappointing myself. This book made a difference to me, because it taught me that dreamers have always been out there, that I'm not alone in the universe, that hard things make us better people. 

I want to hear your lists, if you feel comfortable sharing them. Maybe I'll even create a new series on my blog - Oprah style.

*Let me conclude by noting that I no longer subscribe to the magazine, because it wasn't worth the money after Lisa Kogan left her long-standing spot as a columnist and Oprah posed alongside her younger self (yes not just one but two Oprah's) on a cover. Evidence below:

how come

Baby bird is 17 pounds now. She smiles like a peach and laughs so hard she gasps for air and then cries a little, as if it pains her to laugh so much. She is sassy and stubborn and sleeping so well that I feel I have a new lease on life. I can sword fight one-handed. I can walk on hot coals. No exaggeration, I'm a new woman. 

She had her first haircut a few weeks ago, because there was back-woods mullet neck happening. She is fierce and clingy and loves her dad unless she's tired or hurt or hungry and then she wants her mom. I love that I'm her mom. 

I recently reread Thirteen Moons, the book that made me fall in love with the name Claire. In it, Will reunites with Claire, his childhood love after being apart from her for years. She is 50 and he says, "How come I'm still in love with you?"

I think I'll be saying that to her when she is old and gray herself. I think I'll be saying that to her my entire life. That may sound strange but it's the truest truth. There's nothing like this love.

Overheard

I'm starting a new series on my blog (one of several I've been wanting to start for awhile). Overheard will be simple moments I heard from a real person - not quotes from the internet.

I had a creative writing professor tell me once that his best writing advice is to listen to people. Hear their stories. Let them speak and then write about it. Overheard will be an exercise in doing that a little better. 

In church on Sunday a man spoke about his childhood, growing up in the woods in Northern Montana. He had a clear voice and looked like Harrison Ford. He would trek through the woods on his way home from school, the snow well above his knees.

"As I came above the hill, cold and sad, I prayed to see smoke coming out of the chimney from the wood burning stove, because that meant that my mother was home."

for cindy

I wish I had said more. I wish I had told you what a beautiful son you made. How his goodness is contagious, in that just being around him makes you want to be more like him because he is guileless and kind and he sees the best in everyone including me, which is a real feat. He is salt and rock and he is good. 

I wish I had said thank you for letting me in to your family. You opened up to a stranger, witnessed your first born's marriage when we were sealed like a knot and you came along. Your tears, I know now, were of joy.

I wish I had said I'm sorry. Sorry for unkind words or feelings. Sorry for asking too much or too little or nothing at all. Sorry for closing when I should have opened. Sorry. Sorry. I'm so sorry.

I wish I had said more to you every chance I had. I want to learn now, when it is too late. What he was like, what you were like. Because there was a lot of love there, wedged between you two and I want to know about that. 

I wish I had said nothing at all and just listened. 

I wish. I wish. I wish.

New Year's Goals

I've always been a goal setter. I blame it on my dad. A guy who blames his success on goal setting. And since I feel I am more likely to complete my goals if I share them, I figured I would do so here. I still might fail, but embarrassment is a good teacher for me, and I might be a little less likely - or at the very least more concerned about completing them if I share them with the internet void and you, dear reader.

In the past I've done elaborate goals, big Happiness Project style goals with monthly and even weekly goals. But I feel like in doing that I kind of set myself up for failure. This year, I'm keeping it simple with three difficult (for me) but attainable (I think) goals.

So here they are:

1. Write every day. It doesn't have to be a lot. Can be a paragraph, can be a chapter, can be on my blog, in my journal, or on one of the many projects I have, but the rule is that I have to write. This quote is inspiring me for this goal: 

"The one ironclad rule is that I have to try. I have to walk into my writing room and pick up my pen every weekday morning." - Anne Tyler

2. I'm going to run a half marathon. I honestly can't believe I am putting this here, because I am the worst runner, and, while I exercise regularly, can't be counted on for more than two miles on any given day before I want to cry. But I admire runners, and know a girl who ran a half marathon four months pregnant, so if she can do it, so can I. Right? (right?)

3. Be nice. Nice to my husband. Nice to my baby girl. Nice to myself. And, nice to anyone else who comes in my path, but mostly be nice to those three people. My life right now is stressful and it seems that those I love the most get the brunt of my stress. Man I love those guys. I know it's not measurable like the others, but it's all I've got right now. I'm just going to try really hard to be nice. 

Here's a pic of the two loves I talked about on Goal 3 ringing in the New Year in Jamaica. 2014 was so hard. We're ready for a blank slate. Welcome, 2015. We're so happy to see you.

the wants

It's easy in this world of consumer culture to feel like you don't have enough. Clothes, furniture, degrees, savings accounts. Especially when you are married to a medical student with rising debt and a new baby and a sad income. There are 20 year old bloggers who make 3x more a year than my husband will make as a practicing physician. There are the privileged, and the geniuses, and the lucky, and the ambitious and the scrappy people who make it look easy. Who make money look effortless and harmless. 

I hate thinking about money because it turns me into someone I don't like. An entitled weasel who either feels pouty or judgmental. Two emotions I despise. So whenever I start to feel like my life of more blessings than I could ever deserve seems lacking, I read this poem by Faith Shearin. And it makes the stuff I think I deserve and I am missing out on appear to be what it really is - - just stuff. 

Shopping

My husband and I stood together in the new mall
which was clean and white and full of possibility.
We were poor so we liked to walk through the stores
since this was like walking through our dreams.
In one we admired coffee makers, blue pottery
bowls, toaster ovens as big as televisions. In another,

we eased into a leather couch and imagined
cocktails in a room overlooking the sea. When we
sniffed scented candles we saw our future faces,
softly lit, over a dinner of pasta and wine. When
we touched thick bathrobes we saw midnight

swims and bathtubs so vast they might be 
mistaken for lakes. My husband's glasses hurt
his face and his shoes were full of holes.
There was a space in our living room where
a couch should have been. We longed for

fancy shower curtains, flannel sheets,
shiny silverware, expensive winter coats.
Sometimes, at night, we sat up and made lists.
We pressed our heads together and wrote
our wants all over torn notebook pages.
Nearly everyone we loved was alive and we

were in love but we liked wanting. Nothing 
was ever as nice when we brought it home.
The objects in stores looked best in stores.
The stores were possible futures and, young
and poor, we went shopping. It was nice
then: we didn't know we already had everything.

efficiency

I used to be really efficient. Like, I would do the dishes while brushing my teeth efficient. My days started with prayers, a morning workout and a green smoothie all before 8 am when I began my workday and simultaneously balanced multiple projects and still found time to make dinner, write a book, and take on freelance jobs. I even had friends.

These days I'd like to think I am efficient still, but the truth is I've really taken a step back. It seems like every time Claire isn't sleeping, I'm frantically working. Every time I feel like I'm ready to get out the door she needs her diaper changed, or she wakes up, or she's hungry. My days are slower, and more tedious. But they're also slower and more meaningful - and that feels important.

People told me a baby would change my life and I kind of nodded and smiled, like, "Yeah but I am a really capable person and I'm going to have a really good baby."

Ha. Ha. Haha. 

These days, my world moves slower. Sometimes it takes me an hour to get Claire to fall asleep and by then my back is aching and my eyes are beginning to shut. Nursing forces me to sit down with her at least every four hours and make her needs more important than mine. My nights are hers. I used to see friends, watch movies with Kev, read, write. Now I rock her with a sliver of light shining through the door and as soon as she's down, I collapse into bed.

My time is not really mine anymore, and that person who accomplished so much feels so far away sometimes. This motherhood thing is the most humbling thing in the world. It's funny and exhausting and the best. 

bookshelf

There's nothing like walking past my shelves of books and seeing my name on one of them. It's surprising to me every time.

I hope to be able to fill a whole shelf someday, but until then, this is making me pretty happy.

mother heart

I don't mean to be annoying about this mom thing and let it consume my blog. But it's hard not to let it. The same thing happened after I got married. My blog went from being solely about me to being about marriage and my husband. It was probably really annoying and gushy. It wore off after a few months - maybe years? I don't know. But every time I sit down to write, all I can think about is Claire. Scratch that. Every time I start to do anything, all I can think about is Claire, and I think I'm beginning to learn why.

My friend on Instagram said something about her "Mother Heart" and that is a phrase that keeps resonating in my thoughts.

Could it be that we all have these untapped chambers in our hearts when we are born? These ways of loving that we don't just get all at once? So I thought about it and I decided that, yes, we absolutely do. And my newlywed self experienced it although not consciously, and my new mother heart is beginning to take root now and that is why I am consumed - absolutely consumed by this little creature that was a stranger until ten weeks ago and now is my new life.

I think though, that there is a purpose for the progression. Of course there is, as with anything else. It's so much. It's so much new feeling that you need time to process it. You can't bear it all at once, so you get it a little at a time. And all of these experiences change you gradually, expanding your heart - teaching you love for new people and things.

It starts with your own birth. The hand that you grasp in the dark, your other senses still taking shape, but that one - that grip tight from the start. 

The breast you cry into when you're hurt, or afraid or sad. That soft, safe place.

Your sister's feet by your mouth when you wake up tangled on the trampoline - the first sleepover of summer.

Your first love, whose newness consumed and drowned you.

The aching loneliness after moving away from home.

The heartbreak that brings both pain and meaning.

The love that doesn't leave, the marriage of minds and spirits.

And then the moment when you really meet your child. Not meet as in physically, those first few moments after they take their first, wailing breath. But the moment where you look at them and you really see them, and you as a part of them. For me it happened weeks after Claire's arrival, and even now, I look at her sometimes and it's like I'm meeting her all over again. 

So forgive me, for my gush of feelings in the past and assuredly in the future about my new baby girl. I just met her for the first time. And it's an absolute revelation.

having it all

You know those annoying blog posts/magazine articles that have titles like, "How to do it all!" or, "Making it work as a Working Mom." Or the interview questions that beautiful and successful women are always asked, "How do you find the balance between work and children?" "Can you have it all?"

I don't want to get into this, because: A. It's clearly been covered, and B. I have only been back to work for one week and I already feel like I'm failing in a hundred different ways as an employee, as a mom, as an author. Never mind as a wife, friend, daughter, sister, church member. So obviously I have no light to shed on the issue and I don't know how to find a balance and it breaks my heart when I have to leave my baby at home for work and it makes me cringe to think that my boss doesn't feel like I'm measuring up since I had my baby, and it makes me sad that writing - which is my outlet, my dream - is slipping through the cracks.

I don't know what I'm trying to say here, other than that the pressure is real. I feel so much pressure to provide for my family physically and financially and emotionally. I feel pressure to be the same worker I was before. The same wife, the same everything - when the truth is I've been born again and I'm a new person, trying to wedge myself into my old life, but I don't fit there any more, no matter how hard I push.

I'm not sure there is such thing as balance. I think you just get by and do the best you can and hope that those around you - your baby, your boss, your husband, etc. all learn to forgive you and accept that your best is enough. 

Balance. Psh. Give your mom a hug. 

Extra Extra

Thanks to Hikari for interviewing and writing up an article on Star. If you want to know what inspired me to write the book, a little about my publishing process and how I feel about it, feel free to read it here.

P.s. Head over to Folded Pages Distillery to win a free copy of the book and read the full interview!

Baby Baby

I expected to feel it all at once. That final push, the moment where they laid her across my chest, sticky and purple and wriggling. I expected to feel all of the emotions at the same time, this grand culmination when I held my baby girl and knew she was part of us.

But the truth is, it's taken me a few weeks to piece together my feelings, which is why I waited to write it down until now. I wanted to remember it with a clear mind instead of the muddy sleepless state I've existed in--hours of sleep but mostly awake, my nights and days blurred. I still exist in it somewhat, but the feelings I am able to discern a little better now. It's funny because it's not really that I just want to remember it all. I want to live in it. It's a new way of life and I never want to never leave.

~

She was born at 10:40 am on September 1, 2014. I was induced the night before, had five long hours of contractions before my epidural at 5:30 am, where I cursed more than I'm proud of and whined like a puppy, Kevin gripping my hand and staying quiet like I told him to.

At 8:00 am my doctor broke my water and at 10:00 am I was at a 10 and ready to push. The staff came out of the woodwork, scrubbing up and circling around me. Just twenty minutes later she entered the world in her puffy, miraculous glory.

She didn't cry too much at first, and when they placed her on my chest I worried that she wasn't alive. I frantically asked the doctor, "Is she breathing? Is she okay?"

He just smiled. "She's perfect."

~

The first night in the hospital she aspirated something and had trouble coughing it up. Me and Kevin responded quickly of course, but after that we were too afraid to sleep. It was as though everything so far had been a dream and if we let ourselves sleep she would evaporate.

We took shifts, one of us staying up with her while the other secretly stayed awake as well, watching her breathe, her chest rise and fall in the din of the hospital room television. 

Her breathing was the best sound in the world to me. Still is. It is rain in a barren desert. It is bread and water. It's my lullaby. 

~

I fell apart the second night in the hospital. It was my third night of no sleep. (We had to stay two nights after the baby came because I tested positive for Group B Strep.) Kevin finally succumbed, snoring on the pull-out couch and she wouldn't stop crying and I was too sore to get out of bed. 

I called my nurse, who came in with tired eyes. Her name was Margie, and I thought she was weird before - her words slurred together, her eyes refusing to meet mine. But for an hour she stayed in the room. She rocked the baby, she massaged my feet, she taught me how to nurse. Around 4:00 am she told me she was going to take the baby with her so we could rest. (The hospital we delivered at didn't have a nursery so they didn't take the babies at night... Never again.)

I cried when the shift changed and Margie left. She was a real-life angel. I think I'll always love her even though I doubt I could pick out her face now in the light of day. But her voice in the dark that night was heaven sent.

~

We brought baby girl home and my mom was with us by that point. Her flight was delayed and she waited for 8 hours in the airport.

I loved having my mom with us for Claire's first week. She cooked every meal for me, cleaned our house, and went with me to the appointments Kevin couldn't make it to. I didn't have her come for the induction, but now I wish I had, because for those five hours when I felt every pain and every contraction, I kept telling Kevin, "I want my mom." 

It still hasn't really set in that my daughter could feel that way about me someday. What a gift it is, to be loved and to love so much.

~

We named her Claire Olivia. My whole pregnancy I wanted to name her Claire Valentine, which I loved and Kevin tolerated. But when she came she didn't look like a Claire.

"What do you want to call her when you look at her?" Kevin asked.

"Olivia," I replied, surprising myself. Olivia was never on my list. 

"Let's use it as her middle name, and later if she still doesn't look like a Claire to you we can call her Olivia." I agreed.

He called the social security lady and told her we'd agreed on a middle name. "Olivia, he said, O-L-I-V-A."

I shook my head frantically, imagining my baby's birth certificate reading Claire Oliva Voisin. 

It took several more tries for him before he got it right and we were laughing so hard by that point I doubt anything he said made sense.

The woman came to our room before we were discharged and walked right over to me, shoving the paperwork in my hands. "We're going to let mom take care of the spelling."

I took the pen with a laugh, a surge racing through my heart. 

That was the first time I'd ever been called mom.

~

My very favorite thing the baby does  is her conductor hands. When she gets scared or startles she waves her hands in front of her like she's conducting an orchestra or something. We have a picture of her when she was first born and she did them and it was and still is the cutest thing I've ever seen. Whenever she does them we call her Maestro, and follow that up with classical music singing. Usually Beethoven's fifth. The amount of culture she's getting in this house is unprecedented.

~

She still has her nights and days mixed up, which has been a real treat. Kev is busy with rotations so I've shouldered the bulk of the late night feedings, occasionally kicking him and telling him it's his turn when I can't bear to open my eyes.

I won't say that the lost sleep is a blessing or anything, but anyone who has nursed a baby in the dark night after night, feeling their sweet breath, and looking down to see their eyes watching you knows that there is something holy about those hours. You feel this tiny body, this warm wriggly person breathing against you, and you know - you just know that there is a God and there is a purpose for each of us.

You know that Ram Dass quote, "We're all just walking each other home" ? That's what waking up to feed a baby in the night is to me. She's here, and she's mine and once I was her and my mom was me and before that my mom was me and my grandma was her. And we're all just walking each other home.

~

She poops all the time. My mom warned me that she would, but I guess I believed that I would have this poopless wonder. 

The other day Kevin changed her and two minutes later she pooped again. He began to lecture her on the cost of diapers, telling her that he's sorry, but she was born during our poorest years and she needed to pull her weight. Now we cheer her on when she makes the best use of her diapers. If you had told me three weeks ago I would be writing about baby poop on my blog I would have laughed in your face. Now it's something we discuss over dinner, and sometimes text about.

We're simple people, really.

~

I've been a mom three weeks now and as paranoid as it sounds, my heart still sinks every time I put her in her bassinet. I drift off to sleep with a prayer on my tongue: Please let her wake up again.

~

I still struggle calling her Claire. It seems so adult and she's so miniature. Her nicknames though, are never ending and almost daily she gets a new one but here are the few that are topping the charts:

Birdy

Dollface

Baby baby (because she's my baby and she's a baby)

Toots

Sweetie Bear

Maestro

Poor thing will be lucky to have a real name by the time she starts kindergarten. I can see her introducing herself to her friends as "Baby Bird".

Names are hard.

~

I cry a lot. My pregnancy wasn't that emotional, which Kevin appreciated and I was surprised by. But post pregnancy really caught me off guard.

I had a call with my sister Melissa a few nights after the baby was born and I didn't mean to lose it, but I totally did. "I just love her so much," I said to Melissa. "I just wasn't expecting to feel this much and I'm overwhelmed by it."

She got choked up too, because she knows. 

I sat there on the phone and cried for awhile because I was so tired and so happy and so overwhelmed with everything I was feeling.

Barbara Kingsolver is famous for saying, "Love weighs nothing."

But she's wrong. It's the heaviest thing there is.

~

These weeks have been the hardest and the best of my life. It sounds strange I know, but it's the truth. They have been my own personal Bethlehem. Sacred and monumental and uncomfortable but mostly hopeful. Because three weeks ago this tiny girl came to us and in her wake, a period of sadness and loneliness ended for our little family. 

She's the brightest thing we've got.

Thank you Thank you Thank you

Star of Deliverance was released yesterday. I dreamt about my book release day pretty much my entire life - envisioning limo rides and parties and probably New York City in some capacity. Instead, I spent my day snuggling my week old baby girl. And you know, it may not have been as glamorous, but it was even better than I imagined.

Writing has saved me. It pulled me out of depression and loneliness. It has given me goals, has boosted my self-worth and has introduced me to some incredible people. Star was written for the hundreds of people I hoped would read it someday, but I would be lying if I didn't admit that it was also written for me. So thank you, to those of you who already have or will support me in my writing. It means so much more than a thank you, so much more than I can even say, but since I can't find a better word, I'll just repeat it over and over. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Enjoy the gallery of images from sweet friends that sent me pictures of their copy. And please! Send me pictures of your copy - I would love to include them on my site.

The Quiet

I am a student of silence. The empty mornings where I wake to myself, and the lonely evenings where I climb into bed as my partner hums beside me, deep in the sleep that comes to those whose fatigue is chronic.

 I hear things. My whirring refrigerator, the cries of my neighbor’s child, the sound of my skin beneath the spout, but I am silent. I offer no words and in exchange I receive them all. I hear things. I hear everything.

I think of my mother, whose bones were made to last. Six times she brought new life in silence, her salt and her mercy the lodestar, the verb, the crux. I think of God who speaks mutely, whose voice came not through fire and ocean and wind but silence.

And everyone wants a miracle. And our prayers are soundless and spoken. And there is no burning bush and God is silent and I’ve still got my shoes off.

4 years + Kevinisms

Four years ago today I married Kevin. I couldn't sleep the night before, tossing and turning on an air mattress in my parents house. I finally did fall asleep after a night of horrifying dreams and woke up on a deflated piece of plastic with a pounding heart.

Fast forward four years and my life is better than I could have imagined. People always say how hard marriage is and how much work it takes. I admit that we have had hard days - even hard weeks at a time. But the good always trump the bad. Kev is optimistic and funny and his love for life and for me is evident in everything he does. 

Here are some recent Kevinisms - I've been saving them in my phone because I don't want to forget them. Some I have shared on Twitter, so sorry if you've seen them before.

Here's to the next four years! And a million after that.

Kevin's prayer over the food: "Please bless this burnt meal that Mandy made."

~

After asking him to send me a Christmas list he wrote: "All I want for Christmas is for you to get your book published."

~

"I'm so tired of being healthy and chubby."

~

When recapping his basketball game: "Airball once, shame on you. Airball twice, shame on me for ever passing you the ball again."

~

"Medical school is just paying a bunch of money to get really stressed out."

~

Kevin's prayer: "Please bless that we can keep calm and carry on."

~

"If you published a Newberry award winning book, if you published and made millions, I wouldn't love you any more than I love you now."

~

Me: "Mmm that smells so good. Are you wearing cologne?"

Kevin inhaling deeply: "No. That's just the city of Paris."

~

"Oh yeah. We'll just eat the muscle. We'll just eat the deltoid . . . Idiot. He's so dumb. He just wants us to eat the muscle." - Kevin in his sleep before an anatomy final. I could write an entire post on the things he says in his sleep.

~

"Don't let the light hit you on the way out." - Tired Kevin

~

Kevin: "Sorry I picked medical school."

Me: "Yup."

Kevin: "Well? Better luck next life."

~

"There could be 100 million girls and without hesitation I would choose you every time." 

Loss

I wrote about my mother-in-law's accident here for the first time, if there are any new readers that need to catch up. Since then though, I've tried to avoid it because it's hard to think about and even harder to write about. Writing makes things concrete somehow. And I don't want this to be. I thought I should write all of these memories down to remember them better but a part of me doesn't want to remember them. Still, the feeling that I should do it anyway keeps coming back to me, so here it is. 

~

The first couple weeks were this tug-of-war between hope and grief. We would be given hope, which filled our hollow insides and made us tilt forward a little more on the edge of our chairs, waiting for news that would erase all of this. Later we would laugh about it maybe, with Cindy next to us. I pictured Christmas and the Fourth of July and Sunday evenings with her like we had. We could have that still, we told ourselves. We would have it.

Grief tugged back though, just as hard, and sometimes we all toppled into the mud. We were given statistics and odds and through it all we pulled back with hope, believing that she would beat those. She would be the one in a million. She would come back and sing for us and laugh with us. It was a terrible dichotomy, the knowledge that we would never and could never be the same.

It wasn't just her, it was all of us that would change in the weeks and months ahead.

~

People were kind in the best way they knew how to be. So much food was brought to the hospital. Donuts and burritos and hamburgers. We stared at the accumulating meals in the waiting room and occasionally one of us would obligatorily unwrap something, only to put it down minutes later. One woman who knew Cindy packed a cooler full of grapes and cheese and crackers though, and I bless that woman because I had a 20 week baby inside of me then, and I'm not sure I've ever had anything that tasted so good. Since then, I have been trying to find the Tilamook slices she brought and buying grapes every time I go to the store. It's like I'm trying to recreate this experience that seemed so silly but meant so much at the time.

~

The day after the accident I was in the hospital with Cindy and Julie - walking back and forth between floors. I was tired, up all night waiting by the phone for any news and took the first flight out of Phoenix that morning. I hadn't eaten much, and I felt pangs of anxiety shooting through me. I was worried about the baby, so I went to the maternity floor and checked myself in.

They had me undress and put on a hospital gown in this huge, empty delivery room with all of Provo sprawled below me. I put on the gown and sobbed. It was the first time I really cried. I cried for Cindy and her suffering. I cried for Julie and her brand new baby boy - for the induction into motherhood she had. I cried for Kevin and the fact that he was alone in Arizona while I was here. I felt so guilty for abandoning him, even though it's what he said he wanted. I cried for myself, selfishly, because I knew that this would be a long road of grief and struggle no matter the outcome.

The nurse came in to monitor the fetal heartbeat while I continued to sob. She knew. Somehow it seemed that word spread through the hospital about the mother and daughter whose time just missed each other. She didn't ask me if I was okay, which I appreciated. She knew I wasn't. That we weren't. But she did rub my back, and left me alone for several minutes so I could stare at the doppler machine.

My baby's heartbeat pounded while I sobbed. Our rhythms matched. 

"She's a fighter," the nurse said when she came back in. "Look at that heartbeat. I never see them that strong."

Right then I knew she wasn't just talking about her.

~

We are back in Arizona now, and Kevin is rotating at the hospital in cardiology. He came home one day and told me he met with a patient whose mother had a stroke which caused her to enter a persistent vegetative state. (Which is what Cindy is considered being in now.) She cried and cried to Kevin, mourning the loss of her mother and the fact that she will never be the same again. 

"So do you feel like your experience with your mom made you more empathetic to her?" I asked, hope tugging at me like a child on his mother's hem.

"No." He said, but I could see that his eyes were welling up. "Her mom is 93."

Cindy is 49.

Grief swallows us up sometimes. 

~

I asked my doctor upon my return to Arizona how all of this grief and sadness is affecting my baby. I have felt guilty that she is developing and growing during such a hard time.

"Can she feel my sadness?" I asked. "What do I do with all of this stress?"

"She can't feel it," he said. "Unless you stop eating or sleeping it shouldn't affect her, so taking care of you is the best way to take care of her. Stress crying is okay."

But I didn't really believe him. So we have this lullaby we do, me and her, and I rub my belly and sing, "Safe inside, rockabye, baby girl you're safe inside." 

It sounds contrived maybe, and a little cheesy. But it's our thing. And in reality, I know it's way more for me than it is for her.

~

A few months after the accident the entire extended family went to the temple and later went to view a movie that Kevin's uncle put together. All of the kids (and me and Dj) shared memories of her that were on it. Along with that were various pictures and videos of Cindy when she was healthy. 

We sat in the basement of this room and I held Conner, Julie and Kevin on either side of me. One of Kevin's distant relatives asked Julie how old her baby Conner was now. "Ten weeks," she said, turning around. 

"Ahh," the woman clucked sympathetically, "The same amount of time it's been since the accident. What a hard way for you to keep track of that day."

Julie nodded, pained but I turned around. "Actually, the accident happened on a Friday and Julie delivered on Saturday. So it wasn't the same day." I surprised myself with my candor. I am just tired of everyone associating this horrible accident and Julie's perfect baby boy as one event. 

I expected Kevin to lean over and tell me that I was rude, that I should apologize to this aunt, or whoever she was, but instead he rubbed my back like he was proud of me.

Sometimes brutal honesty is the way we fight for the people we love.

~

I got a lot of texts and emails from well-meaning friends. Since I didn't make the treatment or the outcome very public though, it's been difficult when people ask. "So is your mother in law doing better?" 

I wish so badly I could reply, "Yeah, she's great. Recovering and talking and walking." I ache to be able to offer that response to these well-meaning people.

Instead though, I shake my head. "No. She's not doing well. Thank you for asking though," I always reply curtly. I don't do it to be unkind. I know people ask out of concern. But some things are too hard to talk about at a barbecue, or a birthday party or church when we are trying so hard to just forget about it and be happy.

I wish I knew the right answer. What to do when someone's family goes through something like this. The truth is though, nothing works. No meals, no cards, no emails or texts. Nothing fixes it. 

I wish I could accept the kindness of others with more grace. I wish it didn't pain me every time Cindy enters the conversation. I wish she would just wake up.

~

I was headed out the door a couple days ago for a church meeting and asked Kev if he was going to come. 

"No I have to study for my cardio exam," he replied, his face buried in his book.

"The Lord will bless you if you come," I offered - teasing as much as I was serious. 

Kevin looked up at me, "Will he?" 

~

I decided to make a book with all of our wedding pictures for Kevin. (Still isn't finished). I sat at my parent's kitchen counter weeks after the accident and sorted all of these pictures, choosing my favorites. Cindy was in most of them, and I was holding it together. Kevin too.

Then I got to this picture of Cindy and my sister-in-law Kim. She looked so beautiful. I cried for the first time in a long time. So much of my own personal grief has been for my loss sure, but more for Kevin than anyone. Looking at this picture I felt the loss of Kevin's siblings - Kim and Julie specifically. 

Life is hard enough. No one should have to do it without a mom.

~

We aren't sure what to pray for anymore. Sometimes we pray that she will recover fully. Sometimes we pray that she will feel loved. Sometimes we pray for the best possible outcome for her. 

Lately I've been praying to know what I should pray for. Faith is easy to talk about when you get what you want. It becomes more real though, when the answer is no.

We always say that someday we'll understand why this happened. But in the off chance that we don't find out, I want to be able to say that I had faith anyway. That grief didn't win.

It's still a work in progress.

4 babies

In addition to my own nugget, three babies joined my family this year. That means my little sis will have three cousins her age. Three!  In her grade in school, even. It's been fun to be pregnant with my two older sisters and my sister-in-law Julie. We've complained to each other about nausea and getting fat and heartburn and it's nice to have people who really get it. I mean, any woman who has had a baby gets it but when you're in the thick of it, it's easier to be empathetic with each other.

So let me introduce these beauties:

The first was born to my sister Melissa. Her name is Mary Irene. She is sweet and snuggly and so loved. This first picture of Melissa brings me to tears every time I see it. 

The second baby was born to Julie. They named him Connor Lincoln. He is funny and has an old soul - or so my mom says. He came at the perfect time, right when the family needed some hope.

(Me with Conner - not Julie)

My sister Lacey had her baby boy Beckham Mark on Saturday. I haven't met him yet but I can't wait to. Lacey and Drew are such cool parents and he is so loved by his older sisters already. Also, Lacey's birth story is crazy. She ended up having him completely natural--on accident. Yeah, rockstar.

I love these three so much. It terrifies me though that mine is next. I always had another baby to plan on, but now it's just me. Yikes.

I've been pregnant for 32 weeks now, close to 33. I guess I had this idea in my head that it would last forever. Makes sense, since 9 months is a really long time. It's just like anything. When it is happening to someone else you are blown away by how fast it went. Wow, they're already coming home from their 2 year mission? They just left! Or, He's graduating from medical school? I swear he just started! When you are doing it though, you count every day. That's how this pregnancy was, but in the past couple weeks it's starting to change. There's no way I can deliver a baby in 8 weeks. There's no way I'll be a mom in 8 weeks. This getting fat and being uncomfortable thing just keeps going on and on, right? Call me crazy, but all of a sudden this pregnancy is starting to feel really short.

The thing is, it might be shorter than I thought because I went to the doctor on Monday after 2 months of not seeing him because we were in Utah. They did a 3D ultrasound which I was really excited about, but the baby's face was smashed against the placenta most of the time, and even when we did get a clear shot of her face it was sort of alienish and scary. Probably could have done without those images, even though she is a really cute alien. Then they did a growth check. It turns out her head is measuring 3 weeks ahead of schedule, but the rest of her body is on track. Ha! Anyone who knows Kevin knows that this baby definitely has her father's head. My doc said they'll keep an eye on it, but he's hoping that I deliver a couple weeks early... for my sake. Yeah, me too.

I had a really  hard time leaving Utah. We we were there for almost 8 weeks, so we could be with Kevin's mom (who is still struggling with consciousness) and Kevin could take his boards. I guess I sort of forgot everything else about my life. I got used to a routine with my family, went to work in the actual office, and got to see my sisters every day. A lot of evenings we spent at the hospital with Cindy. The days before we left were hard for me. I'd have these random fits of tears, realizing that I had to go home soon. It's crazy because I actually love Arizona, and usually am ready to go back after a couple weeks in Utah but not this time. My mom (and therapist) asked if it was because I knew I had to have the baby when I got home. I almost laughed, except she was totally right. That time in Utah was this big barrier between me and having the baby and then it was gone and it was time to go home. Don't get me wrong, I want to have this baby. She was planned, and I actually love the little smudge a lot already. But that alone doesn't make it any less terrifying.

I think it has something to do with my pain tolerance, but even more so, my sleep. I mean, I can get an epidural and that will help minimize the pain, but the sleep I'm going to miss after she comes is what really scares me. I love to sleep. I sleep almost 9 hours every night, and sometimes fit in an afternoon nap. My husband gets roughly 5-6 and he's great all day - on his feet, alert, but not me. Whenever I complain or express anxiety about losing sleep he always says, "You're a champion! You can do hard things!" Sad that lost hours of sleep merits that kind of pep talk, but he's one of the few who understands how important it really is to me.

Also, I always thought that I would have this goddess-like pregnant body. Like one of the Victoria's Secret Angels who pose nude with their perfect belly and skinny legs and voluptuous breasts. But the truth is, I have the weirdest body ever. My belly isn't round - it's pointy, and huge.  No literally, it comes to a point. I've only gained about 12 pounds this pregnancy, but you wouldn't believe that if you saw my belly.  A few people have told me how cute it is, but then later I hear about them remarking that it is cone-shaped to their friends. I'm not "tiny" even though that's what people tell me, which is hilarious since I've literally never been fatter in my life. After being pregnant, I've vowed never to comment on anyone's pregnant body because you have zero control. This belly does what it wants, despite me trying to eat healthy and work out every day with Tracy. And even though it is sort of misshapen, I secretly love it. It's nice to be fat for a good cause.

I think the hardest thing to reconcile is the image I had in my head of what this pregnancy would be like, and what it's actually been. I imagined bringing the baby back to a perfect home with a gorgeous nursery and a sexy husband who did all of the hard stuff. I thought that I would be in a position to stay home with my baby all day and cuddle her nonstop and then spend her nap-time online shopping. Instead though, we live in a one-bedroom apartment and our landlord won't let us out of our lease early for my "condition" as she calls it, so we can't move until after the baby comes which means there's not only no gorgeous nursery - there's no nursery at all. We're pretty strapped, (read: broke) so not only do we not have most of the necessities like a carseat and crib and stroller, we definitely don't have extra for me to shop online during her nap. I'm not in a position to quit my job and I feel a little guilty because I actually like my job and I'm not sure I want to leave. The one thing I do have though, is the sexy husband who wishes he could do all of the hard stuff but will probably only be around in the evenings to give her a bath and me a kiss before flopping into bed himself because he's been at the hospital for 12 hours. I'm not trying to complain - it's the life I chose and have created. But I think there's something to be said for managing our expectations, and realizing you can be happy even when you don't have a lot.

This post has gone on long enough, but I wanted to write all of this down so someday when baby girl surfs the internet and comes across it she will know that life is messy and hard and sometimes heartbreaking. She will probably never really know her Grandma Cindy, at least not the way she was before her accident. She will probably never really know the sacrifices her parents made to make her happy and to give her a secure life. She'll probably never see her mom in a bikini (a real tragedy).  But I hope she always knows how loved and wanted she is and always has been. We pray for her and cry over her and talk to her all day long. Last night Kev said, "We're about to meet one of our life-long best friends. It's like Christmas morning."

And when you put it that way, how can there be anything but joy?