I just read a heartbreaking and thought-provoking article: Notes from a Dragon Mom. Be warned, it is very sad.

My heart breaks for these parents. But rather than just being sad, her words made me think. Really think.

In the face of their future (or non-future, as it were) these parents were forced to let go of a lot of things. They came to realize that a lot of the things we parents really stress about and put a lot of effort into…don’t really matter that much for their lives. What matters the most for them is loving their son as much as they possibly can for every single day of his short life.

That’s what made me think.

Because isn’t that really what it’s all about at the end of the day?

We spent a lot of time and energy making decisions for our first baby while I was pregnant. Every little choice felt like it was the very thing his future would hang on. Even whether or not we would use cloth or disposable diapers. That was a big stress point for us.

But reading the words of Dragon Mom, all those things feel…kind of trivial to me now. We as parents should certainly know what we want and choose what we feel is best for our kids, but is it really worth all the stress and craziness and preaching to other parents about how they need to do everything?*

*Dear God and other parents, Please forgive me if I have ever presumed to do that.

I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that it’s not.

Reading the blogs of parents who have children with terminal diseases has put a lot of things into perspective for me, and this article was one more piece of perspective. Ultimately, it won’t matter to my son or to the baby in my tummy what kind of diapers I put them in or which food I introduce first or so many other things. There are so many things I can do or not do when they’re this young that they will never know the difference, because they’re not going to remember. What matters first is that I love them as much as I can for every day of our life. And that I am grateful for their health and their presence.

Yes, I do still need to parent with their health and development in mind. But I’m not going to do that at the expense of my sanity or the expense of their assurance of my love for them. At least I’m going to try.

Perspective. It’s an interesting creature, isn’t it?

There’s a little girl who needs help getting to the Mayo Clinic. Please help us help her. Please please please please please!

Read about Hailey and donate here.

There’s not a lot of time left for this family to gather the funds they need to travel to the clinic. Whatever anybody out there in Blogland can do to help would be awesome. I’ve seen bloggers do amazing things! Let’s not let Hailey down. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t really, really important.

If you could just take a second, and read about her, and pray about it, I’d really appreciate it.

You’re going to be hearing a theme from me over the next several months. The theme is every pregnancy is different, every woman is different, and you just gotta do what you gotta do in every unique situation.

For example.

With my first pregnancy, I had nausea in the 1^st trimester. A nurse taught me how to keep it under control by eating combinations of carbs and protein throughout the day. That method worked like a charm and I was able to function like a normal human being. And the nausea didn’t really last that long anyway. That was my story with 1^st trimester symptoms on the first go-round. They hit fast and they left fast.

This time, though?

The nausea is full-on kicking my butt.

No amount of snacking on carbs and protein is helping. The only thing that gives me any relief whatsoever is sipping on 7-Up. And that’s just temporary. Any physical activity at all sends me to my knees, taking deep breaths, struggling to not throw up. I can’t do life. I can’t do dishes. I can’t do laundry. I can’t vacuum. I can’t go to the store.

And I can’t EAT. The mere sight of food sends me running from the kitchen most days. A meal that sounds amazing one moment could be revolting by the time I finish making it. I choke it down, because I need to eat, but it’s miserable.

So, today, I caved.

I called my OB’s office begging for some kind of meds to deal with the nausea. I can’t do this anymore. I have a life. I have a kid. A husband. A house. I need to be able to function. I need to be able to take a shower without feeling like I’m going to keel over by the time I’m done. I need to be able to unload and re-load the dishwasher. I need to be able to carry laundry baskets up from the basement so we all have clean clothes. I need to be able to do things for my little boy. I can’t keep spending every day sacked out on the couch sipping on 7-Up if I so much as try to do anything.

I was prepared for it this time, at least. With my first pregnancy, everything was a surprise and I found myself thinking When is this going to get FUN like everyone talks about? This time around, I know I’ll get to the fun part. I know this is only temporary.

But gosh darnit, I’m going to get it dealt with in any way I can. And I do not feel the least bit guilty or like a failure. Every pregnancy is different, every woman is different, and I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do.

…does not give me grief about indulging in any craving.

…does not mind that the house is not as clean as it normally is while I get through this nausea phase.

…does not mind that I have not styled my hair the pretty way in weeks because I can’t stand up long enough to do so without getting nauseous.

…finds me awesome maternity jeans on Craigslist so I can feel cute while my belly grows.

…comes and tucks me into bed at night when I want to go to sleep way earlier than he does.

…makes dinner when I can’t because the sight of food is more than I can bear.

…is patient when dinner is late because I got a wild craving to make something that takes a long time.

…is the best daddy in the entire world.

…makes me laugh when he plays with our son.

…is the most understanding man on the planet. Seriously, I lucked out. He’s one in a million.

When my husband and I got married, we made a promise: That we would never throw the word “divorce” around in an argument.

We’ve both broken that promise a few times.

It’s easy to do it, when you’re in the throes of a fight and it’s going nowhere and you just want to hurt the other person. We’ve always repented and forgiven each other for it, and then we both swear we’ll never do it again. But eventually it happens again. It’s just become too easy, a convenient threat to get our way in an argument.

Until we sat and watched two marriages among our friends, couples who got married the same  year we did, crumble and end this year.

And it made me realize something.

Divorce doesn’t just affect the couple going through it. On some level I’ve always known that, but it didn’t really hit home until recently. Everyone’s reality changes – their families, their friends. A piece of everyone’s world shatters and we all have pieces to pick up and try to put back together to form a new picture. I’d never presume to think I’m hurting as badly as one of the spouses in these marriages. Not even close. But when someone in your circle of friends leaves their spouse, their spouse is not the only person they’re leaving. They leave a hole in everyone’s life. I had only witnessed this from the outside until recently. Now I’m smack in the middle of it. And it sucks.

It’s made me realize the solemnity of the promise not to throw around the word “divorce” just to hurt each other. I don’t like divorce. God doesn’t like divorce. I’m always sad to see a marriage end, because people have been hurt. And when people hurt, my heart hurts. I’m sensitive that way. I can’t help it.

God is sensitive that way too, you know. When you hurt, he hurts. When you cry, he cries. When you shut down because the emotion is too much and you just can’t stand to feel it any more, he’s right there patting your shoulder saying “I know how it feels.”

The thing really on my mind and heart right now is how selfish we as human beings are. And the world encourages us to be selfish. Do what you want, screw what everyone else thinks, put yourself first, make yourself happy above anyone else, who cares what others think or feel about what you do, they should just shut up and be supportive if they want what’s best for you.

Well, all of that is wrong. I can’t just shut up and be supportive when I see someone choosing a destructive path. I can’t just not grieve for them, I can’t just not be sad. Because I love them. And with love comes a lot of pain sometimes. Love isn’t just butterflies and warm fuzzies and fun memories. Sometimes love is your heart breaking and tears rolling down your face because you just don’t understand how someone could do what they’re doing and why they’re not listening to God or anyone else trying to warn them about the path they’re going down.

That’s love, people. Love connects us. Love causes our actions and choices to affect the people around us. Love means the people who love us hurt for us.

So choose your words and actions wisely, because they may not be literal “sticks and stones”, but they still have the power to hurt others.

*I hope it goes without saying that I’m not encouraging anyone to stay in an abusive marriage. But I’ll just say it as a disclaimer anyway. 

So I’ll just come right out and say it.

WE’RE EXPECTING AGAIN!

I’m still in the throes of 1st trimester symptoms so it’s hard for me to muster up much beyond that. I have good days and bad days. Days where I’ll eat everything in sight and days where the mere thought of any food makes my stomach do cartwheels. So far I’ve craved comfort foods like roast with carrots and mashed cauliflower, and chocolate milkshakes. Yeah, I normally limit my sugar, but lucky for me Arby’s sells these little “value size” milkshakes that are just right for my sugar tolerance levels!

And you know how they say you show faster with your second pregnancy? It’s so true. I already can’t get my regular pants buttoned. And I’ve tried those belly bands and rigging a ponytail holder through the button hole a la Pioneer Woman (her account of her first pregnancy in her book “Black Heels to Tractor Wheels” is HILARIOUS), and none of it is comfortable. So this weekend I’m going to go get some maternity jeans. I can’t stand it any more. Even though I don’t “look pregnant” to most people, my waistline does not like regular jeans. It wants soft, stretchy fabric around it. Yeah, I have maternity clothes from my first pregnancy, but the problem is I’m about 20 pounds lighter than I was when I got pregnant that time, so all those maternity clothes are too big.

Yes, I know, what a horrible problem to have. All the other girls at my high school reunion this summer who have had babies think I live a charmed life. I’ll just let ‘em think that. I know I don’t live a charmed life so it’s all good.

To answer a few questions:

Yes, we were trying to get pregnant. I’ve been thinking out this timing for a long time and am thrilled that I was able to get pregnant within this time frame.

My due date as of now is May 10th. I completely expect that to change. My due date with my son moved around a couple of times. I’m having an ultrasound next month, so that will give us a more concrete due date. I went into labor right smack dab on my due date with the first, so we’ll see what happens this time.

Our little boy has not a clue what’s going on yet. He’s only 21 months old. I doubt he’ll grasp that we’re going to have a baby until we actually bring the little mushkin home from the hospital and he’s not the center of the universe any more.

I know full well what today is. I remember exactly where I was, exactly how I reacted, exactly how I felt on this day ten years ago.

But that is not what I’m blogging about today.

There is a different kind of attack going on. And I’m watching people fall prey to it.

It’s an attack on women.

A little background: You may remember last spring, my circle of friends was struggling with a spouse leaving. Well, it’s happened again. Just a few months later. The details in this new situation are different, but still heartbreaking. We’re all kind of reeling right now, still trying to process feelings.

In both of these cases, it has been the women who have left. And the more people I talk to, the more and more stories I hear about the woman being the one to leave. Women who are lonely, unhappy with who they have become, unsatisfied with life. Each story is unique but it seems there are a few themes that always ring true.

A pattern is emerging. The enemy’s battle plan is being revealed.

And girls, we gotta stand up and fight.

The husbands in our circle of friends gathered together during this crisis and made a discovery – each and every one of their wives – including me! – have been struggling with a lot of the same stuff! But we each thought we were alone. And that’s the key – it’s when he can get a woman alone that the enemy wreaks his most damaging havoc. Planting lies in our minds, playing with our insecurities, bringing up every mistake and past failure until we’re suffocating in a swirling storm of emotions. And we feel so alone.

Well, I stand before you today, the day our nation was attacked in a blatant act of war, and recognize that an act of war is being issued against us women. And I am going to stand up and say NO MORE. No more isolating myself. No more believing the lie that I am alone and unloved. No more allowing the disconnection to happen between me and these other women as dear to me as sisters.

When we as a nation realized war was being declared on us on September 11^th, 2001, we declared it right back.

I’m declaring war. I’m not going to see myself or my sisters go down without a fight. No more. Who’s with me?

May God bless and comfort everyone affected by the events of September 11th as we remember…

I haven’t really told much of the story of how I met my husband, have I? I’ll have to share it from the beginning sometime. Meanwhile, I have a funny story that just came to mind yesterday.

I heard something about the Marines instituting a ban on farting. Ooookay…didn’t know one could ban a natural bodily function…guess they’ll be taking the beans out of the MRE’s…

Anyway. It reminded me of our first official boyfriend-girlfriend date. I know, you wouldn’t think farting is romantic, but just hear me out.

We had just decided we were officially dating a couple days before that date. He took me to a Vietnamese restaurant near where he worked. Incidentally, if you like Asian food but have never tried Vietnamese, get thee to the nearest Vietnamese restaurant and give it a taste! I haven’t met anyone yet who didn’t love it. The difference between Vietnamese and other Asian cuisines is the food is generally light and very fresh. Not a lot of heavy sauces or deep frying, as with most American Asian food. Our favorite is the “Bun” – basically a big salad made with cold rice noodles (not that I eat rice any more, which makes me sad!), shredded lettuce, bean sprouts, shredded carrots and cucumber, fresh mint and cilantro, jicama (I think) and other veggies. At the restaurant we go to, they serve it with your choice of meat or tofu and a very yummy egg roll. And this sauce on the side that is just soooooo good. Kinda sweet, kinda salty, but not too much of either. Husband used to call it “fish sauce” until he learned that fish sauce is just one ingredient in that concoction. REAL fish sauce is so salty, even my salt fiend of a husband can’t handle it on its own. We learned that one the hard way.

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah.

So. Vietnamese food. Which I fell in love with. Good first official boyfriend-girlfriend date.

After that, we were going to hike up to Pulpit Rock, which is a well-known landmark in our city. But we couldn’t find the trailhead! We ended up wandering through this neighborhood in the dark and finding some kind of trail out to the cliffs, where we found a nice spot to sit down and look out over the city lights.

We had been talking about our childhoods – I grew up with three brothers and plenty of scrapping, whereas he essentially grew up as an only child. At that point, Husband asked “Would you punch me if I put my arm around you?” and I replied teasingly “I don’t think I would!”

And so he did.

And it was super romantic.

And then…I farted.

I’d been holding it back, but it would be held back no more. And it was loud. Not one of those quiet ones that goes unnoticed. Oh, no. Of course not. Most romantic moment of the evening, and of course it was one of those that practically echoes. The fact that I was sitting on a slab of rock certainly didn’t help matters.

Cue awkward silence.

Until Husband said “Did you just fart?”

Sheepishly, a bright red blush creeping up my neck, I replied “Yeah…”

And then, gallantly, he ripped an even bigger fart so I wouldn’t feel so embarrassed.

Man of my dreams, that one.

And I have now used the word “fart” more times than I ever thought I would in a blog post.

…camping trips…

…cooking adventures…

…the 75 pounds of beef now residing in our basement freezer…

…the vegetables growing in our backyard and the herbs growing in our basement…no, not THAT kind of herbs!

…deep spiritual stuff…

…preparation for the upcoming Who You Are conference…

…my baby’s first haircut…

…the raging case of Baby Fever I currently have because my baby is not a baby any more…

…how much I hate my carpet…

…but I guess I should be grateful I have carpet…

…future plans for the house…

…future plans for our family…

…my 10 year high school reunion…

…the awesome dress I wore to said reunion…

…our birthday this past weekend…

…a trip to Water World…

…and a million other things.

One of these days the blogs in my head will make it to the page in consistent fashion. Till then, I still love ya for stickin’ around.

Good Idea:

Going to Water World tomorrow.

Bad Idea:

Going to Water World tomorrow when I have lost a significant amount of weight since the last time I bought a bathing suit, and thus do not have a bathing suit that fits. Which means going to three stores trying to piece together a bathing suit. Went to one of them twice – so does that count as four? Oh, and it’s the end of the season, so there are basically no bathing suits anywhere except clearance racks full of random pieces.

First stop, Ross. No dice. No bathing suits at all. Back in the car.

Next stop, JC Penney. All they have are bikinis and very skimpy one-pieces. Uh, not gonna work. The last time I wore a bikini was on my honeymoon. Which is different than going to Water World. So, not gonna go there.

On to Kohl’s. Okay, promising. Several clearance racks of bathing suits. Except barely anything in my size! Paw through the racks…find a few tankini tops in my size or close to it. Look for bottoms. No bottoms except little skirts three sizes too big or skimpy bikini bottoms in polka dots or plaid. Crud. Go to dressing room. Try on tops. One fits! Hallelujah! It has black in the pattern…and blue…pretty sure I saw bottoms in those colors at Penney’s…

Buy the top. It’s only like 7 bucks. Back in the car. Back to Penney’s. Dig through every single rack of swimsuit bottoms for every black or blue one anywhere close to my size. Explain to very nice sales associate who offers to look for what I need online that I need it tomorrow because Husband wants to go to Water World, so while she is very nice to offer, the online boat has kind of sailed for me.

Into the dressing room. I stuffed my bathing suit top from Kohl’s into my purse so I can try it on with the bottoms. Try on every pair of bottoms. Two fit!!! Try the first ones on again. Bingo. We’re golden. And they’re also on clearance, so all in all, I’ve spent less than twenty bucks on the whole outfit.

Go home. Inform Husband he owes me a Starbucks for what I’ve just been through.

The End.