Just another girl's story about running her first half marathon....

I found this in my drafts tonight- a post I started after running the Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon on May 19, 2013. This was worth finishing up and sharing!

thirteen point freaking one miles.

The week before the Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon was a strange one. I had injured my right quad/hip flexor group from training a bit too much/too fast and walked with a limp. My training ended at week ten out of twelve and even a 6 mile easy run was too difficult. Five days before the race, I decided my best course of action was to just rest and, if anything, do some light cross training. I figured I might as well let my leg heal the most it could. My goal had gone from a finish time of 2 hours and 30 minutes to "just finishing".

Sunday morning, I woke up at 5:15am. (actually, I was up with Mr. Ezra, AKA teething mess baby at 4:30 and then snoozed from 4:55-5:15). I slathered my nasty gluten free bagel in cream cheese and choked down half of it. I was too nervous to finish it, but I gave it my best. I sucked down my Zip Fizz (there may be more than one "P" in the "Zip", but its one of my pet peeves when things are intentionally misspelled,) and met two of my partners in crime to carpool to the race. We arrived with plenty of time to check our items and use the port-a-potties. I found my pace group and waited patiently for the start of the race.

I don't remember a lot about the race itself. I remember seeing my bestie's mother in law and her husband in the crowd at mile 3, and they enthusiastically cheered for me as I passed. That gave me a huge boost. Then I found the 2:30 pacers (experienced runners who carry a sign with a pace time on it to help the other runners). There was a very long and difficult hill around mile 7-8. This was probably the turning point for me, and one of the few things I remember. I remember wanting to stop and walk, and then approaching a curvy female runner running in tiny briefs with a clever phrase written across her rear. I laughed, and thanked her for the giggle. Suddenly I had a burst of energy, and I passed the 2:30 pace team. I never looked back. I experienced moments of being tired and wondering if I would ever finish. I would often pray through those moments and then all of a sudden be hit with a burst of energy to keep going. The only time I lost my breath was when I would become emotional about how proud I was for doing the race; and how thankful to God I was for healing my leg and taking away my pain enough for me to run that day (shout out to NSAIDS, too, Ibu). I think I experienced the elusive "runner's high", which I'm pretty sure is equal parts endorphins and delirium. Either way, it was amazing.

I finished the race in 2 hours 23 minutes- much better than my original goal! I crossed the finish line and immediately located a recovery beverage/snack. I also was handed a finisher's medal to hang around my neck; which made me cry a little bit. I DID it! I ran 13.1 miles and did not stop to walk once! (I did have to stop for a minute for them to let traffic pass at mile 12...but this was not a welcome break, because I was so close to being done and this only added a minute to my time!).

I found my girls after the race and we shared stories and took pictures together. Then we went out for lunch to replenish our tired soles (see what I did there?) When we completed our meal, I went to stand up, only to realize I couldn't walk. My injured tendon that had loosened up during the run had tightened back up with a vengeance. For 3-4 days, I walked around like a 96 year old man. I took a good month off from serious running and my leg healed up after 6 weeks of baby-ing it and cross training.

But never, not once, did I have a single regret about the whole thing. That experience will go down in history as the day I proved myself that I am better than I give myself credit for. I am capable of anything, no matter what it is.

I could write like I talk....non stop and forever.

I fantasize about blogging, often, and even will start to construct a post in my head.

But then I end up washing dishes. Or Ezra climbs up and starts hammering on the keyboard with his fists, and then screams in my face and pulls my hair when I remove him ( LOVE him. Seriously). Or I decide to sleep...or if we're being honest I find myself scrolling through Instagram and Facebook for a good half hour or so. Or, I decide that I need to watch a TV show, so I end up watching episodes of Dawson's Creek from 1998 on Amazon Prime instant streaming. I feel like that show is like taking a walk down memory lane into the late '90's adolescent dramatic/ romantic existence I never had...but I DID have those black Steve Madden slip on platforms with the stretchy band. Although mine were from Pay-less Shoe Source.

Sometimes, I REALLY don't know where the time goes. Being a semi-stay at home mom of two is a lot more work than I had ever thought it would be. In fact, today I wrote half a blog post in my head about my past preconceived notions about stay-at-home-moms and how their days went. Well my days look NOTHING like I thought they would. I would love to chat about it, but I must move on, because I began this post for a different reason.

I NEED to document my children's milestones! I don't have a baby book for Ezra (long story). His little life is just blossoming and changing so fast. I'm pretty sure I'm getting a baby book for Christmas, so I will just jot down everything here so that it doesn't escape my memory. Because by Christmas, he will probably be having his first solo in the Christmas pageant, or something.

Ezra James 19 months:

Words: Mama, Dada, Dank-oo (thank you), "yeah" (actually squeals, "yyyyyeaaaah!!!") "uh-oh", "dit-dee" (kitty). "Choo-choo"- sound when playing with his trains. Our little caveman is "a bit verbally delayed" according to the pediatrician, but I feel like that is common for boys. I'm not worried.

Teeth: OH, the teeth. Poor Ezra James has suffered teething symptoms since he was 4-5 months old with little break in between teeth. Right now his top right canine has just broken through, and now his top left is pushing on his gum and making it all erythemic. He is also cutting his bottom two 1 year molars. He pushed his top two molars at 17-18 months.

Stats: 100th percentile for height ( almost 3ft at his 18 month visit) and around 29 lbs. He is a long, lean mass of MUSCLE. He walks around like a little football player; chest puffed out, arms swinging.
 *my cat is snoring and its soooo annoying*
Personality: Sensitive. Caring. Today, I strapped him into his car seat and then bent down to grab something under his feet and his reached out and rubbed my back. He is SO loving and touch and cuddling seems to be his "love language". When he wakes up, he likes to be held/cuddled for a few minutes. He is very shy, but also flirty. Despite his shyness, he LOVES to wave to cars. He will stop whatever he is doing and wave to a car if he hears one. He is very determined and curious, especially with electronics, things with wheels, sports, and daddy's guitar.

Abilities: people always comment on how incredibly agile and athletic Ezra is. He likes to jump off of things, and pretty much always sticks the landing. He runs VERY fast. He is very into sports; especially basketball.

What else can I say about Ezra? I am enamored with that boy. I am amazed on a daily basis just how much love I have for him, despite how much of a little shit he can be. Please excuse my language...but there is no substitute when describing him. I actually mouth the phrase, "You are such a little shit" several times a day because of the things he does. And this should be noted, because I really don't swear, hardly ever. So an S-bomb means business. He does things like kick me in the chin when I change his diaper. Then when I get stern and tell him to stop, he kicks me in the jaw, again, and laughs. He pooped so much it smeared out of his diaper and he rubbed it all over the couch when I thought he was playing happily with Mr, Potato Head. And he takes several bites of an apple slice, spits it out on the table, and then throws some of the half chewed apple on the floor. The remaining half chewed apple? He smeared it all over the table and then proceeded to try to lick it off the surface. Each of theses occurences happened today; so you can see why I have so much laundry and cleaning to do ;)
But this is one special little boy. He is going to be a big, tall, handsome sweet heart when he grows up. He will make one special lady very, very happy one day :)

Before I wrap up, I need to say a few things about sweet Madelyn, who turned four years old last week!
- She loves Pre-school. When I dropped her off one day, one of the little boys in her class exclaimed, "Madelyn's here! Hey guys, Madelyn's here!". My mommy heart died and went to heaven. She has just as many "boy" friends as she does "girl" friends. She doesn't seem to prefer a gender when it comes to friendships yet, and I love that.
- She has made it well known that she prefers to be called "Madelyn" rather than "Maddy"
-Still as stubborn as a mule
-And smart as a...smart. So smart.
- She can sweet talk anyone into pushing her on the swing- her favorite activity.
-She loves Thomas the Train (so does Ezra...so them playing with the wooden train set results in many screams, tears, bites, and pulled hairs).
-Every night her and I lay in her tiny little bed and talk. We talk about Thomas, we talk about school...it's our special time and I love it.

Okay..so now I'm tired. It really is my goal to write once a week...and someday I really hope to do that! Last night I actually decided to forgo Dawson's Creek and read a book before bed...so maybe I can cut the nasty "downtime" habit altogether and start documenting this crazy life of mine. If you are out this and you read, give me a little nudge! :)

My Story of Love and Low Self Esteem (part 1?)

I was never the pretty girl.

Cute...maybe. Awkward...certainly; more at some times than others. Chubby? No, not really. I had a little chubby phase in my tween years before I magically melted down to 108 lbs in 8th grade and then normalized thereafter. I didn't know how to style my dark, partially curly hair so it was often just a poof (hell, these days I KNOW how to style it, but I just DON'T, so really, how far have I come?).

I guess you could say I was just "meh". Average. I didn't excel in sports. I dabbled in drama. I was the yearbook editor and newspaper staff photographer. I didn't make waves, I didn't shine, I didn't impress. I got good grades, I had [have] great friends. Funny, but not the class clown. Nice though--I was nice. To quote Maeby Funke, "You couldn't pick her out of a line-up of one".

I didn't have my first official boyfriend until the summer before my senior year. Prior to him, there were quite a few guys that I went out with but things never progressed to "official couple" status. I ALWAYS had my heart shattered. I would imagine it had a lot to do with the intensity of my desire to feel wanted and special...it probably came off too strong for a 15/16 year old guy. To me, falling in love and having someone to hug and talk to all night was the Holy Grail. That was just IT; there was nothing else.

The unexpected passing of my dad when I was sixteen made that hole feel more empty and the desire to be loved even bigger. About a year after that, I met Stan* and he immediately began to fill that hole. He thought I was pretty, funny, smart, etc. He acted like I was just the most amazing girl in the world and that there was no one else. If we were being completely honest, I think that was a big part of why I loved him.

With Stan worshiping the ground I walked on, my self esteem blossomed. I no longer had to try so hard, because I had the Holy Grail; my everything. However, I was obviously dealing with some very heavy emotions and grief that I was not quite mature enough to process. This all made my age 18/19 years very interesting. Stan was there all along. He was very sweet and supportive. We definitely didn't fit together (many people and friends noted this), but I loved him anyway. I followed him to tech school and we stayed together 2 1/2 years.

It was my second year of college that I kind of had an identity crisis. I was still with Stan because I didn't know anything else; even though by then we had absolutely nothing in common by that point and just fought all the time. I became very interested in other guys and began to flirt heavily. At one point I broke up with Stan just so that I could explore that new world, but then cowardly went back to my comfort zone. Things really, ruh-lly ended shortly thereafter. After it ended, we probably spoke about ten words to each other since then. The last time I saw him was about a year later in a group of people and he looked at the ground the whole time. I do know that he married a really sweet girl who (from what I gather) is a perfect match for him. So I have no desire to Facebook stalk or selfishly "reach out" and apologize, but if I could, I would say this: Thank you for being so nice and essentially an amazing friend to me for 2 1/2 years while I went through a lot of hidden and unprocessed emotional baggage and pain. Thank you for allowing me to realize that I am lovable when I thought I wasn't. I was just a broken and dysfunctional girl, and I'm sorry for any pain I caused.

Back to the story (...it really is going somewhere, but I fear I may not get there tonight.) For about 2 months after I ended things with Stan,  I had my fair share of partying and craziness (not, like, hard core partying, like small town underage drinking party in a barn). Self esteem, at this point, came in the form of Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade and Smirnoff Ice (back when it only came in one flavor) and I certainly was not lacking in either. I joined the cheerleading squad (again...we're talking small town here) and felt like I was living the life. That is,  until I woke up one morning on my former dorm-mate (AKA- guardian angel)'s couch, in her pajamas, unsure of how I got there. She explained how the night unfolded. Thankfully, nothing terrible happened outside of your usual frat party shenanigans, however there was a sneaking suspicion that I may had consumed a beverage that had a "roofy" in it. That is the only time I have ever drank and gotten to the point that I really, truly, still to this day, do not know what happened. I heard a story that they drove me to the ER, but the nurse who checked me out laughed and told them to take me home and let me sleep it off.   I cried and cried many, many tears mixed with intense relief, horror, and shame. This was not the life I had wanted.

No big deal, just running a HALF MARATHON next month...and other big things

So...yeah. I guess I have been running a bit lately

Let's start by saying that I am one of the least naturally athletic people I know, and I have historically said that runners are crazy. I did Couch to 5K with my neighbor for a couple months last summer just so we could laugh, talk, [and mostly walk] through the Portland Color Run.

One of my BFF's started C25K around the same time I did, but she stuck with it. As the months went on, I saw her become a real, dedicated, legit runner through Instagram and Nike+ app postings. I "watched" her tackle some long runs and the health and happiness that she exuded was apparent. In January I decided to bring the BOB Duallie back out and jumped right into some 2-3 mile runs. I had been doing Zumba classes 2-3 times a week, so I think I was fairly conditioned. I kept with it and ran consistently 3-4 times a week. Suddenly one day I ran 4 miles; something I have never done before. I felt so empowered by that, so I signed up for the Bridge to Brews-Portland10K. Three of my cherished friends from high school had tried talking me into running a half marathon in May, but I said that was just cray. Zee. Crazy.

Fast forward to Sunday- April 7th, 2013.

This girl...this girl right here; the never-could-be-a-runner girl; ran 6.2 miles in 1 hour and 5 minutes. (About 10:30min/mile). Now that pace is surely nothing to write home about, but what is amazing is that:
1) I ran the whole thing without stopping to walk once
2) I didn't pee myself or have to stop to pee (Lets be real. I've had 2 kids.)
3) I enjoyed myself the whole time; chatting with other racers and cheering on the mamas who actually pushed their jogging strollers during the race
4) I felt so jazzed and energized at the end that I was smiling and ready for my beer at the end (when I ran my 5K Shamrock run in 2011, I was so exhausted at the end that I passed on the celebratory green beer).

Running across the Fremont Bridge and all through downtown Portland on a Sunday morning with a few thousand other runners was such an amazing experience. The first mile was the hardest (mostly uphill), and the last half mile was pretty tiring since I was pushing myself at the end. I heard my name and time called out as I sprinted across the finish line and it made me want to cry. I did it. I just accomplished something big.

 

The whole thing made me decide to go ahead and sign up for that half marathon. Yep, all 13-point-something miles of it. If I could smile my way through 6.2 miles and chug a beer at the end, surely I could make 13. Even if I feel like I want to die at the end; even if I have to stop and walk a couple times to make it through; even if it takes me 3 hours to finish; I'm going to do it. And I seriously can't wait for that feeling when I cross the finish line because this has already required much more intensive training (um...hi 9 mile run before church yesterday...I was not smiling through that one.)

 

I think the finish will be even more emotional since the Boston Marathon tragedy on 4/16.  Not only will I be accomplishing the goal of running such a long distance, but I am also crushing my fears and anxiety about such a tragedy happening to me. After our family's near-miss of the Clackamas Town Center shooting, I have learned what it truly means to rely on God. In this world, there are sooo many things to fear and be anxious about, but day by day I am learning to let it go. There is a song that plays in my head over and over,

 

"I will fear no evil-

For my God is with me.

If my God is with me,

Whom then shall I fear?

..Lord, You never let go of me."

 

[the song is called, "You Never Let Go", I believe, but it seems like a contemporary spin on Psalm 23].

 

So there you have it. That's just ONE of the big things going on with us right now. The next time I write, I will talk about the story of how Ross's current employer told him that he's awesome and everything, but he might not be working out in the position they hired him for. So, they might let him go. Are you curious to know what happens next? I am, too...

PPD...or PPMD?

PMDD= Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. Remember those Yasmin, or YAZ ads? Those three girls sitting at a night club, sipping cosmopolitans, and talking about PMDD and to ask your doctor about YAZ?

According to the Mayo Clinic website, PMDD can be described as, " a severe, sometimes disabling extension of premenstrual syndrome (PMS). Although regular PMS and PMDD both have physical and emotional symptoms, PMDD causes extreme mood shifts that can disrupt your work and damage your relationships." (please visit the website for further information: http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/pmdd/AN01372 ).

 I was diagnosed with PMDD when I was 17 years old; and subsequently started taking oral contraceptives (Yasmin, actually). It really, really helped me. Fast forward to late 2008. I stopped taking the pill and we tried to get pregnant three months later; and I succeeded. We had a beautiful baby girl that September 2009.

2010 is a year that I honestly hardly remember. I was a miserable working mom with a miserable unemployed husband. I regret our cloudy attitudes about our situations that were out of our control, but thankfully in all the darkness, we had a great light: Madelyn. It was a very tough year that challenged our marriage, but we prevailed.

In 2011, Ross was among the employed again, and I was able to reduce my work schedule to part time. We had a better balance and felt ready to add another member to the family. I found out I was pregnant with Ezra in June. I exercised and ate better with this pregnancy; making it an over better year for me. Ezra was born in February 2012. I was blessed to have a healthy pregnancy and delivery and felt immediately bonded and energized within an hour after delivering my son. I remember spending the one night in the hospital after having him- I felt so comfortable and confident that I had Ross go home and sleep with Maddy. I felt so at peace; alone with my new baby, nursing without difficulty, and just feeling like every thing was as it should be. I was able to follow the desire of my heart and stay at home with my children; rather than return to work after 3 months.

About 4-5 months later, things started to get more difficult. This is about the time that Ezra stopped being "Easy Ezzie", and started waking a lot at night. It should be noted that my period came back five months post partum despite breastfeeding on demand; precisely as it did with Madelyn. It was around this time that I started to notice more difficult periods where I would completely lose my temper with Maddy and Ross. With Madelyn, everyone assured me that the "Terrible Three's" were really worse than the "Terrible Two's".  I experienced moments of near loss of control anger, yelling at my daughter to take a nap and then stomping into my room, slamming the door, and throwing a shoe and/or scream into a pillow. Shortly after I would feel guilty and like I was a horrible mother. I confided in friends, who were very supportive and assured me that it was okay and agreed to pray for me. I would semi-jokingly say to others, "I sometimes feel like I have symptoms of post partum depression, but directed toward Maddy and not Ezra". I actually really did question whether or not I had PPD...but only at moments. I really didn't feel like I had PPD because I didn't really match the bullet points listed as symptoms. I relished in being a mother and caring for my newborn/infant. It was only brief periods that I would lose it.

It wasn't until one evening when I completely lashed out at Ross. He agreed to take the baby monitor while he stayed up playing video games so I could sleep. I was exhausted. 30 minutes after falling asleep, I heard Ezra crying. The crying escalated, and 5 minutes later, Ross had still not made his way up to comfort him. As it turns out, Ross had made a mistake and had the monitor on the wrong channel, and couldn't hear the cries from out in the man cave. I did not care about this mistake. I was so completely fuming with rage that I gave him a completely scary verbal beating. I stomped away wondering, "How did I ever marry such a complete ass hole? He is so selfish. He obviously doesn't care about me one bit". Through my cloud of rage, however, I also thought, "Why am I thinking this? This man is my dream guy and our relationship is so amazing most of the time. We are so happy and compatible. Why do I feel this way?". The next morning, through tears, I apologized to my husband and he lovingly forgave me (and also apologized for his mistake).

I don't remember when the light bulb "aha!" moment came, but I started to piece together that this was happening when I was pre-menstrual. I started delicately charting my symptoms on an app called "My Calendar", which I had already used in the past to track fertility for conception AND contraceptive purposes. I concurrently had cut wheat and most dairy from my diet for other issues I was having. I began exercising more regularly at least 3-4 times a week instead of sporadically.  I began to see an improvement and continued with that lifestyle. I communicate to Ross when I start to feel that dark cloud and he knows to have a bit more patience and grace.

Now fast forward to today. Just as a brief interval history, Ezra is currently dealing with RSV bronchiolitis which require nebulizer treatments three times a day. The fear of hospitalization from pneumonia sits on my shoulders (see also: I have irrational anxiety problems... ;) It is March 22nd, and our family has been sick non-stop since the second week in December. I try not to complain and be grateful for our blessings, and have been praising God as often as I can. But today, I was trying to get a sick, fussy, and hyper Ezra down for his nap when I heard Madelyn yelling at me to get her a snack and causing trouble in the next room. I looked down at my gargling baby as he kicked and bucked in my arms and said,

 "That's it! I JUST CAN'T DO IT!".

I set Ez in his crib, knowing well that he would start screaming, and went into that room of mine and shut the door and began to cry. Even as I continued to say "I can't do it", I knew that I had to. Even though I was in a very weak moment, I knew giving up wasn't an option and that somewhere in there I had the strength to get through it. I immediately texted five of my prayer warrior friends and shared my frustration and asked them to pray. Their quick, overwhelming responses immediately lifted me up. I took a deep breath and returned to my boy's room and rocked him to sleep successfully. I took another deep breath. I went downstairs and hugged my daughter; explaining to her that I was really sad that Ezra was sick, and that she is a really good girl. We made cookies together while Ezra slept.

I got onto the "My Calendar" app and discovered I am due to start my period in four days. I looked back as far as October when I started charting and sure enough; I had documented instances of loss of power/frustration...ALWAYS 4-5 days before the start of my cycle. It always lasts 1 day and one day only. And it seems to come on like clock work. If I am aware and anticipate this day, it is usually not a problem. I tend to crave sugar, wheat, and making that glass of wine a little extra full around that time, and if I avoid giving into that temptation then I usually can get through the month without an episode. I was not paying attention and impulsively ate pasta 2 days ago; and had a big glass of wine after a stressful day at work yesterday. It's amazing how it is easier to read and understand your own body when you cut out or limit most of the crap.

Alright...I am off to go on a therapeutic 4-5 mile run now. My kids have been patiently hanging out and now its time to go out and get some fresh air. I know it may seem in some ways that I have overdramatized losing my temper with the kids, but in my heart I know that I don't want to yell at them. Even though she can be a total brat (lets me honest), Maddy IS only 3 and needs more love and compassion than I sometimes think. I also find it extremely important to be the loving wife that Ross needs and deserves. I just want to be my best self and will strive toward anything that can help me accomplish that. Thank you for reading.

Disclaimer: I am pouring out my deepest, darkest moments in this post. I always, ALWAYS maintained safety for both of my children and never lost control enough to harm either of them (thus, why I described walking away so often). I am also not asking for referrals or crying out for help. I have an amazing support system with this and feel comfortable in my treatment plan. I have taken antidepressants in the past, and if it ever came down to it, I would take them again if I felt it were best for me and my family. I am sharing my story in hopes that it may find someone who can identify with what I am going through and not feel alone. I am obviously a little vulnerable about sharing this, but I feel so strongly that God allows us to go through trials so that we can minister to others.

Cinderella

Madelyn-
We got you the Disney movie Cinderella for Christmas this year. I admit to being just as excited about getting to watch it with you as I was about you enjoying it. As soon as you saw this movie once; it quickly became something you have wanted to watch daily (much to my delight). In fact, Cinderella kept you entertained and delighted when daddy's car broke down last week and we had to drive him to and from Canby. You like to quote it on a regular basis; your favorite saying being, "Oh that clock! Time to get up, you say;  time to start the day. Even he bosses me around!".

I watch this movie now with a whole new perspective than I had when I was a little girl your age. I couldn't help but notice how Cinderella and her prince fall in love after dancing together one night; and how they married soon after. The movie doesn't show them dating. It doesn't show them arguing or questioning things; it was just so simple. Once reunited, they lived happily ever after. For a moment, I had a bit of concern that you were watching this movie over and over and that this would be your perspective on love and finding the man you will marry. But I quickly changed my mind and decided this:

Madelyn, you deserve nothing less than your prince charming and your own fairy tale. You just need to take it with a grain of salt, because its a little more complicated than Cinderella's story. As your mom, I will explain to you how I hope you will find love.

Find a man who makes you feel nervous and comfortable at the same time. A man who gives you butterflies; yet you could talk to for hours and feel like you could tell him everything. And in return, he would listen to you and be captivated that a girl as outwardly beautiful as you could be so smart, kind, and funny. He would appreciate you for everything that you are- just amazing.

Also keep in mind that butterflies alone don't make a lasting love; make sure he is your best friend. Make sure you have plenty in common- not everything, as you should have your own hobbies to enjoy and other things that make you each individuals-but enough to share plenty of laughs and wonderful memories together along your journey.

He would be a really good man who loves his family and treats his parents well. He would love the Lord; and be a spiritual leader in the family for you and your future children. He would make you and your children his top prioroty and would work hard to support you.

Maddy, he won't be perfect. He will have his flaws. He will be weak at times. He will get angry at you, and you at him. You and he will fight from time to time (sometimes it may feel like all the time). But both of your bottom line will be that you both love and have comitted to each other.  Though you might get mad at each other, he would never EVER hit you or physically harm you in any way. He would never call you names or make you feel inadequate or that you're not wonderful; because you are.

Honey, your job in this fairy tale, is to be a strong, supportive, and loving wife. You will love and respect your prince.  You will learn how to swallow your pride and keep your stubborn mouth shut, even when you feel like you're right and he is wrong.  When times get tough and you feel unappreciated; take a step back and look at everything he does for you (and your future children). Life isn't always easy, and a true love and committment to each other and to God will carry you through any tough time you encounter (emphasis on God and committment- trust me on this one!).

Sweet Pea, your current Prince Charming (daddy) and I love you so much. I hope you read this one day and know just how valuable and amazingly precious you are. Don't ever sell yourself short.

"...if you keep on believing- the dreams that you wish will come true"

not to worry.

It's amazing how the events in our lives shape us and impact us. Especially events early on; during those vital young days where we are being shaped into the adults we are today.

Rewind: Maddy and Ezra were both pretty sick the week before Christmas. They both recovered, but Maddy seems to have a lingering low-grade fever that we can't quite explain. She mostly acts the same and is an active and healthy young girl, but as her worried mother I notice every little difference. She's quicker to have melt downs. She is napping about 1-2 times a week instead of NEVER. But she's eating, drinking, peeing, pooping. She's not coughing, sneezing, or oozing or complaining of pain.

Since we're at 3 weeks now of 99.5-100.4 degree temp, we visited her pediatrician today. He completed her exam without noting any abnormalities and explained, "Meh- sometimes kids just run a bit warmer than usual" (pardon my language, but that's bullsh*t). He suggested we have blood drawn if this persists or any new symptoms arise; such as night sweats, complaints of bone pain, weight loss, appetite loss.

Maybe its the worrier in me; maybe its the oncology nurse in me; but I couldn't help but worry about cancer. I stiffed the "worried anxious wreck mother" Amy,  and put on my "logical, calm, respectful" Amy face and followed his instructions and we went home. I mean, she is mostly normal. Aside from the temp. And the behavior. And this nagging feeling that something about my delightful little girl is just...off.  And my knowledge of symptoms of leukocytosis and common childhood malignancies nags and nags.

Ross and I had a very tense and serious discussion about this tonight. He was trying to be supportive, but also was getting a bit panicked and upset at me for even bringing the thought of cancer into the picture. Of course its always a possibility, but realistically the chances are very slim. I tried to explain that as an oncology nurse I probably was just able to read between the lines a bit more as he explained what kind of testing he wanted to do...and how he could never understand how much a mother worries about her children. As soon as that baby is conceived, the mother wants nothing more than to protect her baby. She will ALWAYS worry about him or her; and it was normal for me to worry about this, right? And then it hit me. I had to say it out loud:

"When I was sixteen, my dad became ill one day. He went to the hospital and had extensive testing done. They sent him home, telling him it was the flu; indigestion. The next morning; he died."

Every mother worries; but not like I do.

The experience of losing a loved one seemingly without warning has magnified how fragile life is. Since losing my dad; every time I have fallen in love, I have deeply feared losing that person. With Maddy and Ezra; its like 100000000000x as much. To make matters worse, my medical training and experience gives me enough   information to give me more to worry about.

As I wrap up this dismal post; I will finally mention hope. When my dad died; we survived. I became a stronger young woman. I am able to cope with death and minister to others who struggle with even beginning to fathom losing a loved one. Furthermore; I believe that Heaven is mine and my loved ones' final resting place and our spirits will be reunited in paradise one day. And it will be so beautiful that there should be nothing to fear.

I know in my heart that Maddy is fine. We have decided to have her blood drawn and tested on Monday so we can have peace of mind.