Amelia Kate's Birth Story

For Millie’s birth, I went with Hypnobabies again. I enjoyed the peace of mind it had given me in Emerson’s birth and since I had no idea how Millie’s birth would go, it made me feel like I had more control over things.

At my last few OB appointments, a couple of the doctors I saw were getting kind of pushy, telling me that they were going to schedule an induction to “get that baby out” before asking me if that’s what I actually wanted. (I didn’t.)

Luckily, at my 39 week appt, I got a nice doctor who wasn’t in a hurry. He told me we could check back at 40 weeks and see how things were going. I was determined to have this baby out naturally before that 40 week appointment so I wouldn’t risk having to schedule an induction.

That Friday, 2 days before my due date, I woke up with a bunch of crampy feelings. They kept me up all night but had no consistency to them, so I figured it was probably just Braxton Hicks. I had been having a lot more of those this pregnancy for some reason. That morning, though, I lost my mucus plug and realized that maybe things were headed in the right direction.

The crampy feelings mostly went away but by 12 or 1 that afternoon, I began to feel small contractions. I was still too afraid to hope that this could actually be labor so I chalked it up to Braxton Hicks and kept going with my day. I didn’t even time them because I just knew I would be disappointed if I did. I hung out with my kids, bounced on my birthing ball, and IMed Isaac at work. By about 2:30, I was pretty sure I was in labor. I messaged Isaac at work and he reminded me that I should probably time them and then call my doctor.

Before I go on, let’s be clear about 1 thing: My brain was not working well. And when I say that, I mean, as far as life preservation or any sense of urgency goes during this labor, it was pretty much non-existence (much to the utter frustration of my husband).  I think that I was so at peace because of my Hypnobabies, I literally didn’t see anything that could possibly go wrong. Luckily, I had a husband who was thinking clearly and could argue enough with me that I would finally do what I needed to do.

I timed my contractions at about 4-5 minutes apart, but they still felt very manageable at this point. For whatever reason, I REALLY didn’t want to call my doctor. I told Isaac that I knew if I called my doctor, they would tell me to go to hospital and I really didn’t want to go to the hospital. Isaac got progressively more and more frustrated with my crazy laboring brain (all while dealing with highly stressful things at work) and eventually convinced me to just call my “stupid doctor!”

I called. They told me to go to the hospital.

Also during this time, Isaac and I were also chatting about who was going to pick my mom up from the airport. We had planned for her to come in just a couple of days before I was due, not knowing exactly when I would actually have the baby. And as luck would have it, my mom was flying in that day!

Her plane landed a 4pm at an airport that is about an hour away from our house. Isaac and I went back and forth debating what to do with my mom, the kids, me, etc… Eventually, we decided that I would text a friend who had volunteered as backup to watch the kids during my labor and have them take my boys. I would drive to the hospital and get checked in. Isaac would drive to the airport, pick up my mom, and have her drop him off at the hospital on the way back. It never crossed either of our minds to have my mom just rent a car from the airport. In hindsight, that would have made so much more sense. But it was a stressful couple of hours, so whatcha gonna do?

By about 3pm, Isaac was on his way to the airport, my boys were playing with friends and I was leisurely driving to the hospital. I seriously took the long way there because I was so anti-hospital in my head. I even contemplated stopping to get something to eat first since I knew once I got to the hospital, they wouldn’t let me eat. I had a few contractions on the way, so I figured it was probably best just to get to the hospital, but I put in some Hypnobabies affirmations and just peacefully kept driving.

When I think back on my labor now, I would use the word “floating” to describe the majority of it. I floated to the hospital, floated to the labor and delivery unit, and floated as I waited for Isaac to come.

When I got to the hospital, I realized I didn’t even know where Labor and Delivery was. (3rd child. Totally didn’t plan this out.)  So I parked in the normal spot I used when going to my OB appointments and walked in. I asked the first person I saw where Labor and Delivery was. He took one look at me and said, “It’s down there a ways… would you like a wheelchair and I could take you there?” I told him I was good, that I would just walk! Lol Floating. When I finally got to the front desk of L&D (it was on the complete opposite side of the hospital), they were like “Who are you?” and so I looked at them and matter-of-factly said. “I’m in labor!” lol They were confused and I couldn’t understand why. Finally, they nailed down who my doctor was and got me checked in. I was progressing and in active labor so they told me I could stay.

I requested intermittent monitoring so I could walk around. The nurse was fine with that. She asked me if I had anyone coming to help and I told her that my husband was picking my mom up from the airport but should be there soon.

Little did I know that Isaac was having an adventure of his own. Apparently, right as he got onto the freeway to go get my mom, our 200,000+ miles car began making an awful sound. He pulled off the road and inspected the car but didn’t see anything that he could fix, so he kept driving. He drove 80 miles an hour the whole way, willing our car to just make it there.

It made it. Barely.

When he got there, the tires were so hot that he burned his hand trying touch them. He was able to connect with my mom and they eventually decided that driving back in that car was not a good idea. They decided to just rent a car and get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

My favorite part of the story is what happened next.

Back at the airport, Isaac and my mom ran over to the designated car place (my dad had reserved a car for them) and saw that it had 3 people in line. My mom decided to just ask the people in line if they would allow she and Isaac to go ahead of them, given the fact that Isaac’s wife was in labor and the hospital was still 1 hr away. The first 2 people nodded and told my mom they were fine if she went ahead. The last person let out a frustrated grunt.

My mom being the amazing person she is, looked at the man and asked, “I can see that you don’t really agree with letting us ahead of you. Why is that?”

The man looked at my mom and with an air of frustration said, “I am late to a funeral.”

Hahahaha

My mom said she actually had to sit there for minute and think to herself, “So funeral or birth? Funeral or birth? Which one is more important?.... Nope, Birth. Birth is more important, your person isn’t going anywhere.” So she told the man she understood but that she felt that the birth was more important. He let her go ahead of him and they were able to get the car.

By this time, it was about 5:30 and I was expecting them any minute. I texted my mom to see what their ETA was and she texted, “On our way. Complications.” I texted back , “Oh, traffic?” and she said, “Car.” For a brief second I debated asking more about what happened to our car but decided that I needed to focus on my labor. Because of Hypnobabies, I wasn’t at all worried (which is crazy given my husband was stuck with a broken down car and hour away). I happily labored with my headphones in, just listening to my Hypnobabies tracks and enjoying my “pressure waves” (contractions).

By about 6:30pm, I had a contraction that was very intense. I knew from Emerson’s birth that it was likely I was headed into transition. Honestly, that’s the first time in the whole experience that I remember being worried or concerned at all. And I wasn’t concerned about the contractions, I was still breathing through those just fine. I was concerned that Isaac wasn’t going to make it to the hospital in time. After that contraction ended, I texted Isaac and said that he needed to come as quickly as possible because I was getting close. He texted back and said that they were in the hospital and on their way up!

When they walked in the room, my mom asked, “Has your water broken yet?” And literally right as I was answering her my water broke.

I knew that after my water broke things would go quickly and the nurse believed me! She got my doctor in there and they got ready for me to push. She measured me and I was only a 6, but she said “Given your history, we should expect like 10 more minutes, right?”

Sure enough.

After only 1 or 2 more contractions, I began to push. 2 more contractions and our Amelia Kate was here. 7pm on the dot. She was pretty chill, but let out a good cry. They had to give her a little oxygen to get her color up, but other than that, she was great!

Isaac and my mom made it to the hospital only 15 minutes before Millie was born. We all laughed about the timing of the whole thing. The funny thing is, I actually really enjoyed laboring on my own. Because Hypnobabies is so internal, I just had my headphones in and let it guide me through the process. I didn’t worry about Isaac not being there and I didn’t feel pain until the very end. I know it sounds weird, but I genuinely enjoyed it. It was very peaceful and sacred for me and I’m very grateful for that. I truly believe that every woman should be able to experience that, regardless of what they choose during their birthing process. What a neat thing.

I took this picture on one of my walking laps in the Labor and Delivery hall. The sunset added to the beauty of the moment for me.

When I look back, I’m grateful I have a husband who could be my voice of sanity in the midst of my clouded laboring brain. It didn’t once occur to me that if I had gone into transition or my water had broken at any point before I got to the hospital, that would’ve been bad news! I go so quickly that I wouldn’t have had time to do anything about it. I would’ve given birth all by myself in my car or something. So I’m glad that Isaac pushed me to go to the hospital and that I was able to have a positive,  peaceful experience with it all. Also huge props to Isaac for keeping the car drama far away from my labor. I am really grateful he understood that I didn’t need to know any of that and that I was working on bringing our baby into the world. It wasn’t until Millie was safely sleeping in my arms and I was about to be discharged to a postpartum room that I asked Isaac what had happened with the car and he told me.

My recovery has gone well and Miss Millie is sweet and adorable as ever. She did have jaundice in the hospital so we had to stay an extra day and have her under the phototherapy lights, but she kicked that pretty quickly. She also has a dairy allergy so we’ve been adjusting to that, but overall, she’s a sweet and aware baby girl. She fits snuggly into our little bigger family and we all love her bunches.

Full of Surprises

Back at the beginning of June, I found out I was pregnant. For those of you who might wonder, no, it was not planned. In fact, Isaac and I had had a discussion just a few days earlier about how it would be great to wait at least a few more months before thinking about getting pregnant again so we could settle into our new home and get adjusted. Apparently, God thought that was pretty funny. "Settled?" He said, "Adjusted? I think you can
handle more than that!"

And so the day that I found out I was *surprise* pregnant was also the day we found out our hopeful house #3 caught on fire and the day Isaac started his first real job. How's that for an adjustment period?

How I told Isaac I was pregnant. He came home to this sign hanging up in the hotel room.

We had just moved into our small hotel room the week before and were getting settled with our boys. As we began looking for yet another home, I got to go through that entire stressful 2 month process feeling early pregnancy symptoms galore, compounded significantly by the fact that my toddler slept in our only bathroom so night time potty breaks were taken down the hall and to the right. The desk people got to know my bed-head look really well by the end of our stay.

I began prenatal visits and enjoyed the practice that I met with. Because it was still pretty early, they didn't try looking for a heartbeat at those first few visits.

At what I thought was my 12 week visit, my midwife began the routine Doppler heartbeat check, squirting the gel on my tummy while Sam and Emerson sat in the room with me- Sam on the iPad, Emerson with a book, both with their little legs dangling off the chairs.

After a few minutes of trying to find a heartbeat, she went and grabbed another Doppler. And once again, she was unable to find a heartbeat.

My heart beat faster and faster with every second that went by, just waiting and longing to hear that familiar "thump, thump," but it never came.

My midwife slowly looked at me and said "I'm not finding a heartbeat and your uterus is measuring smaller than I would expect it to be. This could mean a couple of different things: It could mean that our dates are off and you're just earlier so the Doppler isn't picking up a heartbeat, or it could mean a possible miscarriage."

I feel like time kind of stopped in that moment for me. I nodded and stayed strong, not wanted to lose it in front of the doctor. In the distance, I could hear her explaining that she was going to order an ultrasound which should give us a better idea of what was going on and then she left the room.

I quickly snapped back into the present and realized I still had 2 kids to take care of. I gathered them up, talking quietly with Sam about his angry birds game and opening some fruit snacks for Emerson, all while my mind was racing and I was diligently trying to hold it together.

I knew my dates weren't off. I knew it because I had been tracking it. I found out I was pregnant 4 days after what should have been my missed period. So that timeline checked out. All that was left for me, then, was option B- miscarriage.

As we got to the car, I called Isaac at work and let him know what was going on. They scheduled the ultrasound for 3 pm that day, so we would have to wait another 5 hours to know anything for sure. He told me to come pick him up from work so he could help me with the boys and we began looking for a babysitter so Isaac could come with me to the ultrasound appointment.

My mind and heart went through so many emotions in the those 5 hours. I spent a lot of time on google, just trying to figure out what a miscarriage would even mean for me, for my body, for my recovery emotionally and physically. I went grocery shopping- just to keep something normal about my day. Isaac and I talked and I cried.

We found a babysitter for our boys and made our way to the ultrasound. We tried to keep our conversation light- neither of us really wanting to talk about what might happen soon.

When we went to the ultrasound appointment, the tech asked me some questions and began the scan. Isaac sat in the only chair on the other side of the room and we both just waited. As I stared up at the screen, not sure what I was hoping to see, I saw my baby. I saw a perfect little outline of the head, body, arms, and legs.

And then... I saw a heartbeat.

Less than a second after I saw the heart fluttering, the ultrasound tech said "That's a heartbeat!" She smiled and sighed a huge sigh of relief. Then zoomed in even closer so we could see it. It was quite a thing to see.

The heart was beating strong, as strongly as it should be beating and while the tech told us she couldn't personally inform us about the ultrasound results, she did say that I appeared to be measuring much smaller than 12 weeks.

We finished with the ultrasound and Isaac and I walked out of the room not really sure where to go with our emotions. We were beyond relieved that everything looked ok. There was a heartbeat. We even saw our baby moving. But then there were a million questions- how could I have been off on my dates? What could we have done to prevent having to go through this? We felt lucky and guilty all at once- so lucky to still have our baby and guilty that other couples are not as fortunate. And then in the end, it was so hard to believe. For half a day, I believed that my baby was gone. And suddenly, my baby is alive and well and I'm still healthy and pregnant.

Eventually we got the results back from my Dr and she informed us that I was measuring at about 10 weeks instead of 12 which would explain why the heartbeat wasn't showing up on the Doppler.

As I added the dates up in my head, that 2 week difference meant that I found out I was pregnant at 3 weeks along. What in the world? How do people find out they are pregnant that early? And how could my cycle have been so messed up that that even happened?

Then it all started to make more sense: "So that's how this *surprise* happened in the first place, my cycle must just be completely crazy."

It took Isaac and I quite a while to process through the emotions of that day. What a whirlwind. We were both exhausted. Eventually, I started readjusting to the fact that I'm still pregnant and our baby is still healthy. But both Isaac and I wanted to get a second opinion, just to make sure all of the measurements and dates checked out.

This morning, we went to a different doctor and got to see our Little Olive again with his/her strong heart beat and beautiful little profile. They measured me within a couple of days of the other ultrasound and confirmed that I must have just found out I was pregnant very early.

We are glad to finally announce this pregnancy and share our good news with everyone. My mind still thinks back to that day and how differently things would be if we hadn't seen a heartbeat. In a many ways it makes me a lot more empathetic to the women who go through that heartbreaking experience and makes me that much more grateful for this little person inside of me who is still healthy and growing stronger every day.

Given the way this pregnancy has gone thus far, I would not be shocked if our Little Olive has more surprises in store for us. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

1 Month

I'm so dang excited for this race. 

A Sensory Kind of Day

Today, we started the day like every day. Emerson woke up and started babbling in his crib which woke up Sam who began quietly yelling "Stop talking! Go back to sleep!" over and over until I got up to tell him it was ok to wake up now.

We went downstairs and Sam sat at the kitchen table, immediately ready for breakfast. Isaac, who had been in the shower, came out and turned on the kitchen light.

That's when Sam's sensory world began.

He began crying and covering his eyes with his blanket, saying the light was too bright and that it hurt. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to the light and he calmed down. He requested a banana with peanut butter on it, but we ran out of bananas yesterday so: more crying. I gave him oatmeal and said a prayer of thanks that we still had one package left of the oatmeal with the dinosaurs in it because the dinosaurs worked. I put it in the microwave for way less time than the package recommends because it doesn't really matter how long you cook instant oatmeal. Even with less cooking time, it was too hot and: more crying. Eventually, it cooled down. He was able to find a straw for his apple juice (why do I keep forgetting to buy more straws at the store?) and he finished his breakfast.

We turned on a show (his favorite), and he sat in his little chair, snuggled up to his green blanket and zoned out for a while. I took a shower while Emerson hit his head on something and ran to me screaming, which then caused Sam to begin crying again. But we made it through that.

Then I got my boys ready for the day, sifting through my ever-growing piles of clean laundry, picking out a shirt and some shorts that I was pretty confident Sam would not be bothered by. I passed the test. He wore them, no problem.

It was time to go. I explained to Sam 30 minutes before we were going to leave that we would be visiting a different kind of fun doctor today. Sam wanted to go to the park. He didn't want to drive in the car, because taking a walk means he gets to ride his red bike and he loves his red bike. More crying.

We got in the car and began backing out of our driveway. As soon as we backed out of the shadow of our house, I felt my body tense. A second later, there it was: "The sun! It's so bright! Ug. The sun!" I reassured him that it was ok. He can close his eyes. It won't be in his eyes much longer. I wasn't really sure anything I said actually helped.

I pick up some dry cleaning first. I was worried about not having explained this step to him, but he handled it just fine. He was very interested in the sliding glass on the dry cleaning window.

Sam's jacket hood fell off while he was sitting in his carseat and he couldn't get it back on: crying.

We dropped Emerson off at my cousin's house so I could be fully present for Sam's therapy appointment. Emerson wailed as I walk away from him, leaving him in an unfamiliar place.

We made it to Sam's therapy appointment right on time. Success. As I began filling out the forms, so many feelings of anxiety and questions ran through my mind. Will they understand what I'm talking about? ("Has he ever had what kind of drugs?!") Would they get why I was seeking further assessment? Would they understand that I just need to know, as his mother, that I am doing everything I can to make his life the best it can be? ("No, he's not sexually active, for goodness sake.")

We talked to the therapist who was very nice, but had absolutely no idea what SPD is. I spent the session explaining it to her and she set up a referral for an official assessment/evaluation. Not a complete loss, I was only there to get the assessment referral.

Sam did really well.

We picked up Emerson and spent some time at the park before heading home for lunch. Sam and Emerson loved the park, especially the swings. Then it was time for lunch and quiet/ nap times. Lunch went pretty well: pb&j again, with any fruit I could scrape up or some pea chips. I put Emerson down. I helped Sam go potty and put him down.

Peace at last.

2 hours later, Sam began moaning/crying from the playroom and I got him up. He rarely sleeps anymore, but he plays by himself pretty well. Such a blessing.

Emerson woke up and we got ready to go to a trampoline park with my cousin. We had never been there before and this made me nervous in more ways than one. I like going places at least once before I invite friends, just so I know the potential risks/good things about the place. But I needed the social piece of it for myself, so we went. Sam was very excited. He loves trampolines.

As we were putting our shoes in the cubbies, the loud speaker came on to announce that the hour had ended for those with green bracelets. Sam cried and covered his ears. It was too loud and too sudden. I was able to bring him back and distract him with the possibility of jumping.

He spent a solid hour running and jumping into the foam pit. He was in heaven. I wandered with Emerson and talked to my cousin, and Sam just played and played.

When our hour was up, the loud speakers came on again. I didn't anticipate it, so I wasn't very close to Sam when it happened. He was trying to get out of the foam pit and couldn't quite get his hands over his ears, so his ears were blasted with the noise of the guy telling us it was our turn to be done jumping. I went to Sam before I even heard his cries and wasn't surprised to see him struggling. I got him out of the pit and made the mistake of trying to bribe him with one more jump. I was worried about the transition since I hadn't told him it was time to go and I thought that one more jump might help him transition better. Unfortunately, I think that jump just put him over the edge and he lost it. We put our shoes on as he cried and cried. I tried to talk calmly to him. He wasn't upset about leaving. He just couldn't get his body to calm down. I gave him a drink of water and that helped for a second, and then: more crying. As I was getting his shoes on, he began pulling at his clothes, telling me that his body was wet and so hot. I told him that his body was sweating because he had been running around so much. He told me it hurt and that he felt sick. I tried to explain there was nothing I could do to make him stop sweating, but that he could take a bath when we got home if he wanted to. He liked that idea, but it wasn't enough to calm him down. "I'm feeling so sick! My body is so hot!"

He cried all of the way home, telling me how sad he was and how hot his body was (even though it was only 65 degrees outside and I was blasting the AC.) I kicked myself for letting him take that one last jump.

When we got home. I got him out of the car and he just curled into me. He's not usually a "huggy" kid. He's very purposeful with his hugs. But recently, we have been offering him more hugs because his occupational therapist says deep pressure hugs can be very soothing. This was one of the first times he's initiated a deep pressure hug with me. I knelt by our car in the driveway and just hugged him as tightly as I could. I felt his body relax into me and his breathing calm. Eventually, I was worried that Emerson would think I forgot about him, so I let go, but Sam just clung to me and wrapped his legs around me. I carried my 45lb, 3.5 year old into the house and he laid down on the carpet, somehow immediately finding his green blanket.

He was crying softly again by the time I got back into the house with Emerson. I remembered another technique his therapist said I could try, so I took his green blanket and wrapped him like a burrito. I told him he could get out of it as soon as he wanted to. I expected him to fight it or immediately break free, but he just lay there. He looked completely comfortable and at peace. He stayed in his cocoon for a few minutes and then sat up and asked to play with his sand (another soothing thing for him), as I cooked dinner.

The rest of the day went well and he loved playing with his daddy when he got home.

Sometimes, I wonder to myself if I make a bigger deal of this than I need to. I over analyze everything and I often wonder if I'm just over analyzing Sam's behavior. But very slowly, I am beginning to learn more about all of this. I am learning what the difference is between a tantrum and a melt down. I am learning how I can help him the best and when I should just let it go. Some moms at the trampoline park were remarking that at least I know he'll sleep well tonight (in reference to the wailing he was doing after the loud-speaker announcement). I agreed that he would sleep well, but I wished they really knew what was going on for him. I find myself wanting to explain it all of the time but realizing that it's not necessary. Every kid has their thing. Some kinds struggle more than others, and sometimes they just struggle differently. I don't need other moms to understand him. I just need to understand him. I know that even within the SPD world, Sam has it good. He's not nearly as severe as many instances I have read about. I don't find myself feeling bitter or resentful to this struggle for him. Instead, it breaks my heart a little. I hate that he has to deal with this everyday. But I am so, so grateful that I am learning what to do and that I can help him through it.

Why I Run

We went to visit my family this past couple of weeks. It was awesome to spend time with them. For the first time in about 4 or 5 years, we had every single one of my siblings in one place. In fact, we had almost every person in my family there except my brother-in-law, Tyler, who is completing his Residency and understandably could not get the time off. It was somewhat chaotic to have all 9 grandchildren (under the age of 7) at my parent's house for a full week, but it was a bunch of fun. Sam and Emerson had a blast playing with their cousins and Sam has not stopped asking to play with his "cousin friends" ever since. 

While I was there, I had some downtime and I was able to read a bit. 

I finished this book:

 

And haven't stopping thinking about it every since. It tells the true story of a journalist/ reporter who is trying to find the solution to his running injuries. He discovers a hidden tribe in Mexico called the Tarahumara and learns from them that humans were always meant to be able to run, especially long distances. This tribe is surrounded by mountains and rough trails, yet they are consistently able to run hundreds of miles at a time without stopping or getting injured and they have been doing this for quite some time. It was amazing to me to read through example after example of extraordinary runners and find the commonalities between their stories. 

When I began running after I had Emerson, it started out as a way to get out of house. Isaac could be home between the hour of 8-9 every night and I was welcome to do whatever I wanted with that time. So I went to the gym. I knew if I tried to work out at home it would never happen, but something about being away from my house, without kids or anyone who needed me was incredibly freeing. As I began to run/walk shorter distances, it was pretty rough and not fun at first. By the end of the first mile, I was struggling and would often quite. But slowly, I began running further and further. I felt myself getting stronger. I ran a 5k in April of last year and it felt so great that I decided right there that I would train for the same race, but do the Half Marathon in 1 year. 

The first time I ran more than 4 miles was emotional for me. I was doing something I had never done before. I was discovering a strength in my body and myself that had never been part of my life until that moment. I knew that my only limit in running was myself. 

For the past year, I have been ramping up the mileage and going on more runs each week. The other day, I ran 4.5 miles for fun and I would've gone further if Isaac didn't need me back home so he could go to the library.  I'm up to 10 miles for my longest distance and I'm planning an 11 mile run this Saturday. 

If you were to ask me even 2 years ago if I would ever become a runner or even enjoy running, I would have looked at you like you were crazy and said, "Um..., no. Running is for crazy people." But I get it now. I get why people do this, why they go through the pain and stress on their body to run long distances. For me, after about 2.5 or 3 miles, I reach my "happy place." Suddenly, my body has taken over and I'm not paying attention to my running anymore. I am just there. I guess you could call it a "runner's high," but for me, it's more like a "runner's peace." 

So much of my life is riddled with anxiety. I overthink everything, research everything, over process everything in my mind. But when I am running, I hit a place where nothing else exists. I can feel my breath giving energy to the rest of my body and my feet hitting the payment over and over. I can look around and take in the beautiful mountains or the cars driving past. But my brain doesn't have the energy for anxiety. Every part of myself goes into making me run. 

It's a peace unmatched by almost any other area of my life. 

This book, Born to Run, talks a lot about the motivation behind the running and I think that's why it rang so true for me as I read it. When I have tried to run before, it was so that I could lose weight or prove something to my friends. I had some wonderful roommates in college that really enjoyed running, but I hadn't gained my own positive experience with it yet. In my mind, it was something that other people could enjoy, but it definitely wasn't for me.

I'm convinced that the reason I love it now is because I have absolutely no goals, no outcomes that I am looking for. When I run during the week, I almost never set a distance goal for myself. I just run. I do set distance goals on my long runs, but I always tell myself I can stop if I need to or I can go longer if I want to. This time around, running was not for loosing the baby weight or impressing anyone. It was for me. It was my time to connect with my body and the world around me.

My friend, Stephanie, who has been a huge inspiration to me throughout this process has talked before about how running is a spiritual thing for her. And I couldn't agree more. With my anxiety falling away, I can connect to my world, myself, and the Spirit much more effectively while I run. My emotions are more free and my heart is more open. 

I am excited that this has become a part of my life. Sam asks to go on runs with me all the time and I love that I can set that example for my boys. I love that it's so much more than body image or proving anything to anyone else. It's about loving myself and pushing myself as far as I can go. I am so excited for my Half Marathon in a month. I imagine that once I'm done with that, I will only want to keep going.

Sensory Processing Disorder

I'm going to start out by saying that it's pretty difficult and anxiety-provoking for me to write this post, but I also feel like it will be healing and motivating for me.

Sam has always been an amazingly sweet, aware, and conscientious kid. When he was 2 days old, he spent a crazy unusual amount of time awake because he just wanted to stare at the world around him. I could tell, even then that he was just taking it all in. By about 6 weeks old, Sam didn't want to be held when falling asleep. I would try to cuddle with him, but even as a tiny baby, he did not appreciate it. When he was a toddler, I began noticing that he had some funny quirks. For the most part, he hated getting his hands dirty (which I expected a toddler would enjoy). And by hated, I mean that he would often throw large fits or be unable to continue the activity if his hands got something on them. Noises, especially sudden noises, were hard for him. He also had to have things a certain way: If he put his jacket on, it needed to be zipped and his hood needed to be on his head. If he tried to do something and made a mistake, he had a very difficult time recovering and would usually just give up. There were things that became a normal part of our every day lives that he needed for consistency and comfort. I didn't think much of any of this. It all seemed manageable and normal. And we believed he really was the easiest, most self-contained child.

As time grew on, I saw Sam in relation to other children his age and began to notice that those children didn't share his "quirks" or "sensitivities." Other kids didn't cover their ears the entire time they were in a public bathroom, asking over and over if the toilet is going to be loud or crying, terrified if the hand dryer went off before I could warn about it. Other kids could sit through the somewhat crowded and noisy story time at the library without completely losing it after 5 minutes and begging to go home. Other kids didn't spend an hour or more a day driving cars over "bumps" in the carpet, over and over the bumps. Again and again. We put him in tumbling classes and while other children did the activities and listened to the teachers, Sam would have meltdown after meltdown, screaming most of the entire class. The second time around, he had the same teachers, and they remembered Sam. He was "that" kid. Then came his baseball class which just ended recently. While other kids were running and trying to catch the ball, Sam spent one entire class covering his ears, afraid the coach would blow his whistle again.

No matter what I did to try to help him, it seemed like Sam was not going to ever get past these difficulties. After a while, I became discouraged and realized that this might actually be something he needed outside help with.

I asked Sam's pediatrician about seeing an Occupational Therapist who may be able to help me with some of the concerns I had about Sam. I needed to know if my concerns were warranted or if I was just being an overprotective mother and making something out of nothing. His pediatrician fed into my fears as she told me that she felt like Sam was just fine and that we probably didn't need to go that route with him. So I left it alone for a while. It was always there, sitting in the back of my mind, and every time another meltdown happened, I would feel terribly hopeless.

Then this last summer, I spent some time with my family in Myrtle Beach. My sister Meagan, whose oldest daughter was diagnosed with Autism and then subsequently diagnosed with Turner's syndrome, has been around the block as far as Occupational Therapy is concerned. During one conversation I had with her, she encouraged me to get Sam evaluated. She had seen him interact with his world for a week and she felt like he could benefit from some of the processes her daughter had gone through. She later told me that she was nervous to say something, since you never know how that will be received, but it was actually incredibly validating for me to have that conversation with her.

During Emerson's next well-check, I went back to their pediatrician and told her I would like (read: I was demanding) a referral to an Occupational Therapist for Sam. She referred me and we began the process.

Leading up to the first appointment, I had an incredible amount of anxiety. I just knew that we would get there and she would look at me and say, "I really don't know what you are so worried about. Sam is a good kid and you are just crazy to think there's a problem here." I lost some sleep the night before because my anxiety was so high.

But then we got there. Sam's therapist, Cindy, brought us back to a room full of toys, a swing, and a small stair case. Sam busied himself playing with some toys while Cindy and I talked. As she began asking me about Sam's behavior, I felt my anxiety start to fade away. It seemed like every question she asked was completely about Sam. Every potential struggle she mentioned seemed to fit our normal, day-to-day life to a "T." I felt like for the first time, someone really understood my life. When Sam tried to get onto the pendulum swing the first time, it moved out from underneath him and he came over to me whining that he couldn't do it. Cindy turned to me and said, "Does he always give up that easily?" To which I replied an enthusiastic "Yes." She just smiled, started writing some stuff down and said, "Ok, we can work on that, too."

Since that first appointment, we have been back to see Cindy 4 times. Each time she gives us more tools to use at home with Sam in helping him deal with his world.

I have learned that the struggle Sam deals with is called "Sensory Processing Disorder" or SPD. It's really hard for me as a mother to think my child struggles with a "disorder" of any kind. But in some ways, it is nice to have a name for his challenges and a reason for some of the things he does. Since learning more about this disorder, I have become even more aware and compassionate towards Sam's needs. What I saw a unfortunate "quirks" before, I now see as sensory processing difficulties.

I'm so glad to have learned about all of this now so that Sam doesn't have to struggle with it alone. Now I know that if he is getting overwhelmed, it isn't just because he wants to be obstinate or whiny, he is dealing with something that's incredibly difficult for his brain to process. When he doesn't want to play with shaving cream, there is a reason. It's not just because it's messy. It's also scary because his brain registers it as being painful and overwhelming.

I'm so excited to know more, now, of how to help him through moments like this. It's also amazing to me how excited I get about his small accomplishments. The other day, he played with cooked spaghetti, something he would never have done before because it would stick to his hands. He was really nervous about it at first, but eventually, he played with it and actually had fun.

It's incredibly validating to be able to go to his therapist and say, "He played with cooked spaghetti!" and have her get just as excited as I am about it. 

We still have a ways to go and from what I understand, SPD is something Sam will always deal with. He will always be more sensitive to outside stimulation than other people around him. But hopefully because we are working with him now, he will have a much easier time managing it all.  

I'm hoping to continue blogging about my process with Sam's diagnosis and the various things we do to help him. It's hard to stay motivated about our home program because progress is usually very slow but hopefully by putting this out there, I will continue to be motivated and do what I need to do to give Sam the best chance I can.

We love our Sam boy more than words could ever express. He is sensitive, kind, caring, loving, and unashamedly emotional. I love that he feels with his whole heart and connects so strongly to his world and those he loves. He has so many gifts and talents and the world is lucky to have him in it. This is just one thing that makes living a "normal" life harder for him, but it's definitely not what makes him who he is. I can't wait to see the person he becomes and I'm excited to be able to help him on that journey.

In his favorite jacket, zipped up, and with his hood on. :)

February Update

Once again, I've let a while go by without updating my blog. I dunno why it's harder for me these days. I would love to start giving more updates about what our family is up to and the various goings-on of ours lives. So I guess I'll start there!

Christmas was awesome and exhausting. We got to go to my little brother's wedding in Texas and it was really fun getting to see my family and hang out with them for a while.

After Ethan's wedding, we drove back up to Utah and spent Christmas as my grandmother's house. By Christmas day, we were so ready to be home after over 2 weeks of travel, so we said "peace out" and headed back to our cozy little house. It's funny how much I missed our house while we were gone.

Since then, we've been settling back into a new semester for Isaac. It's his last semester of his undergrad career and we are both very excited. It's taken Isaac a while to get here and he's done some really incredible things. This semester he is working as hard as ever, taking 18 credits, working part time, and founding the BYU Humanitarian Club. 

(At the first, official BYU Humanitarian Club Meeting)

I sometimes just sit back and look in awe at his awesomeness. But really, though. He's pretty amazing. I don't know how he does it all.

This semester (when do you stop thinking in terms of semesters?) is a lot more relaxed for me. I finished teaching my online course for BYU-Idaho in December and I am done with that forever. I understand why it would be appealing to some people, but it was definitely not the thing for me.

It was interesting during the course of 2 semesters of teaching, to learn that just because I "can" do something as the strong, powerful, competent woman that I am, doesn't mean that I "have" to do something or even "should" do it. There will always be many good opportunities out there, but I have to weigh the costs of everything. That class was taking way to much time during my day which made it harder for me to play with my boys and be the type of wife/mother I wanted to be. So it's gone now, and I'm loving it. 

I have been putting more energy into my private practice and developing myself more as a therapist, so that has been refreshing and intimidating all at once. There are so many directions you can chose to go as a therapist that really the possibilities are endless. What theory do I chose? Do I chose more than one? Should I get certified in anything, like play therapy, EMDR, etc? How many hours should I work each week? Is everything I'm doing even legal? lol But one day at a time, my identity as a therapist is beginning to take shape. I'm slowly becoming more confident when I tell people what I do. I'm slowly realizing because the possibilities are endless, I can do some awesome things with this career. It's a good feeling to be headed in that direction.

Beyond career work, I have been training for a half marathon. Maybe someday I will write a blog post about my running journey because I feel like it needs its own post. But for now, let me say that I have discovered a part of myself through running that I never knew existed. It's a safe haven for me from my never ending struggle with anxiety. I'll just leave it there for now.

So overall, things are headed in a positive direction. Isaac will graduate at the end of April and then we'll be moving across the country to Chicago. We are both very excited for that move, but we are dreading the fact that we will have to leave Isaac's family behind. Our boys 100%, completely, and totally adore Isaac's family. I don't know what we will do without them. It will be quite an adjustment all around but adventure awaits and it will be excited to see what comes our way. 

Hopefully I can begin updating more regularly and keep up to date on all of our adventures.

Sam drew a person (on the right) for the first time the other day. He made it a "grumpy" person and thought it was hilarious.

At our favorite children's museum.