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. 

Behold, the handmaid of the Lord

This Christmas season, it has struck me more and more how amazing Mary, the mother of Jesus, was. The more I think about her and all that she experienced, the more I am blown away by her faith and dedication.

We know that Mary was a chosen woman, but as I sift through her experiences in a practical way, I realize just how chosen she was.

To begin with, an angel comes to tell her she will become pregnant with God's child. Even with her Jewish background, having heard of the prophecies of some type of immaculate conception, this would have been crazy information to digest. Like ok, I'm 12-14 years old, I'm not married, and I'm going to be pregnant with God's child... But Mary, like the amazingly graceful woman she is responded with an entirely practical question, full of curiosity and openness, "How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?" The angel explains a little of the process to her (as much as you can really explain these things) and then comes one of my favorite scriptures in all of the LDS cannon. 

"Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word." 

That's it. The angel leaves and Mary is left with her thoughts.There are a million other questions I could think to ask such an angel. Questions like "But wait, when people find out I'm pregnant, none of them are going to believe that I'm a virgin. What am I going to do about that?" or "Joseph is going to be furious when he finds out. What if he chooses to have me stoned in the square? What about my family? What will they think of me? What will happen to them?" 

Mary's incredibly humble response to the declaration of this angel speaks to the depth of my heart. Oh that I could have the faith like that of this woman. I wake up every morning with a lack of faith wondering if I can get through my day without yelling at my kids or wondering if we'll have enough money to make it until Isaac graduates. These things seem so trivial to what Mary went through, yet her faith was mountains above where mine has ever been. 

Even just looking at the practical logistics of this process. The fact that Mary was coping with a surprise pregnancy, but not any surprise, THE surprise. She didn't even make the choice to have sex and still got pregnant in a time of society where she could be stoned to death for doing so out of wedlock. She then has to process the fact that she will soon become the mother of the prophesied Messiah, the Savior of the World. No pressure or anything, you're just going to be the mother of the most perfect and exalted being who will ever walk the earth. While adjusting to her new situation, Mary then travels to see her cousin, Elisabeth, during the end of her first trimester to the middle of her second trimester, a visit which must have been incredibly validating for both women in recognizing the miracles they had both experienced. We don't know anything about how smoothly Mary's pregnancy went (one would hope that God had mercy on her and she had a fairly simple, healthy 9 months), but just imagine if she experienced morning sickness or back pain or swollen feat while dealing with everything else.

She comes back from Elisabeth's house (after half a chapter of her praising the Lord out of faith and humility) and then Joseph finds out. So here we go. This was such a pivotal moment for them both. How terrifying that must have been for Mary to go through, knowing the her life and the life of her precious baby were now in Joseph's hands, a man she hardly knew. 

Because Joseph was engaged to Mary, after finding out that she was pregnant with a child that wasn't his, he had 2 options in society at that time. He could have her stoned to death and then thrown off of a cliff, shaming her whole family for the rest of the foreseeable future, or he could "put her away", which in essence would make her a menace to society and shame her whole family. Mary would live out the rest of her days unable to be wed to anyone, unable to be a member of everyday society, always with the mark of an adulterous woman. Oh, and Joseph would still receive her dowry. The scriptures say that Joseph was a just man, so stoning felt really harsh to him. He opted for the second, more subtle approach and was "minded to put her away privily." Imagine Mary's heartache while all of this is going on. I don't know how much information she had about Joseph's thought process here, but how do you even explain something like this to your fiance, a stranger? 

Then we learn about the true character of Joseph, another man I admire so much. Instead of following all of the societal pressures of the day (which inevitably were present), he listened to the angel about Mary. He took her to wife and went to Bethlehem to pay his taxes. I can't imagine what his friends and family thought about him taking a pregnant woman to wife when she wasn't pregnant with his own child. What faith Joseph must have had during this time as well.

Then Mary rides a donkey for many miles at 8-9months pregnant. 8-9 months pregnant and she's riding a donkey across the desert. I can't imagine how sore every part of her body must have been. 

She gives birth to our precious Savior in a lowly stable, no medication, no accommodations. And then people from all around come to visit. In the typical manger scene we see lots of different people all there at once, but we know that actually they all came at different times; the wise men likely came when Jesus was a toddler. Today it occurred to me that I really hope for Mary's sake that there weren't a bunch of random people all dropping by the stable to bring gifts and well wishes right after she gave birth. Can you imagine having just given birth in an unfamiliar, dirty place with your new husband (whom you don't even know that well yet) and then having a bunch of people come by to see you and your baby? That sounds awful to me. I hope Mary had some time to bond with her brand new baby all on her own and that she and Joseph were able to have some of those precious moments together before more people came. 

I could go on and on about how Mary must have felt at different points in Christ's ministry, leading to the time when He made the ultimate sacrifice for us. What an amazing woman. I aspire to be just like her. When we hear talks about motherhood in LDS church meetings, we often hear references to the 2,000 Stripling Warriors because their "mothers knew it." Which is great, but it drives me a little crazy sometimes because as I've studied women in the scriptures I have come across sooo many more references to strong, dedicated, humble, graceful, faithful mothers. Mary is definitely at the top of my list of incredible examples of what it means to be a faithful woman and mother. 

I hope that as I continue to study her example of grace and humility, during times of trial or difficulties, I will find myself leaving behind my fear and pride, instead humbling my heart and saying "Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word."

Meaningfulness

I'm so Type A sometimes that I think to myself "I haven't written on my blog in forever. No one reads it anymore. Plus, I would have to go back and do a summary of all of the things that have happened in the last year before I could write an actual post." So each time I thought about writing a blog post, I became too overwhelmed with my self-imposed rules and didn't write.

Lately, I've been trying to shift my thinking in a lot of ways. I'm studying a new theory for therapy called Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT). I have had a ton of success using this with my clients so far and it really resonates with my theory of life. What's been especially great about it, though, is the self-work I get to do while I learn. I truly believe that no theory in therapy will work if you haven't done the work on yourself first.

ACT focuses primarily on mindful, purposeful living. In other words, don't let your dumb thoughts and dumb feelings/ anxieties get in the way of living your life the way you want to live it. So with that long introduction, I'm not going to allow my own insecurities about blog writing to prevent me from writing. Writing is an outlet for me and it's always a healing process when I need it to be. No dumb thoughts should get in the way of that.

This year has been a whirlwind to say the least. But when I look back on the 4 years since Isaac and I first got married, I can't look at even half of one and say "Well, that was nice, calm, and uneventful." Since getting married, I got pregnant, Isaac's father passed away, I started grad school, Isaac started school, my dad was diagnosed with cancer, I had a baby, Isaac applied to BYU, I graduated from grad school, I got pregnant again, we moved to Provo, Isaac applied to internships, I had another baby, started my own therapy practice, and starting teaching at BYU-Idaho, we moved to Chicago, and moved back to Provo. There's 4 years summed up into one long, run-on sentence. I am beginning to come to terms with the fact that "busy" is just Isaac and I's pace of life. I'm ok with that though, I don't do well when I'm bored.

In the midst of the busyness, though, I sometimes get lost. I lose my focus on the things that matter the most like my faith and testimony, or being a mother to my little boys.

Lately, managing my 2 very needy children has been incredibly overwhelming for me. I had this idea that adjusting to 2 children happened fairly quickly- give it a few months and I'll get into a grove with it all. While that was true for a little while, I forgot to incorporate the adjustment that comes with each new stage my kids are going through. Sam is done with the 2's, but headed into his threenager year. Emerson is done with "newborn" neediness, but it headed into toddlerhood. With these transitions, I find myself completely spent most days. For the first time since being a stay at home mom, I wake up in the morning with a feeling of dread in my stomach as I think about the day ahead of me. And that feeling of dread leads to feelings of guilt and saddness as I think about how moms "shouldn't" feel this way, how I should be happy because my life is so blessed and I have so many wonderful things to be grateful for.

One thing I have been learning through ACT is that happiness is very different than meaningfulness. We live in such a "feel good" culture that when we don't feel "happy" we think something must be wrong and look for every way we can to change it. The reality is though, happiness is not an indicator of a life worth living. Victor Frankl (author of A Man's Search for Meaning) talked about this concept in reference to his experience in Natzi concentration camps. Obviously, no happiness was to be found while he was a prisoner there. How could he be happy in such a place? But regardless of his level of happiness, he was able to find meaning and that's ultimately what kept him and others alive.

So as I think about my average day- the amount of bodily fluids that end up on my clothes, the never ending cries, whines, and yells, the hugs and slobbery kisses and the poopy diapers- I think I need to just stop and realize that though I may not feel completely happy throughout my day, I am doing something meaningful. Every moment I spend with my children is meaningful in some way because I am guiding them through this life. That meaning should be what I search for and then maybe happiness will come as an added benefit.

Emerson's Birth Story (Part 2)

After looking at several methods that would help prepare me for natural birth, I settled on Hypnobabies. To me, it seemed like Hypnobabies was the only method that would allow me to "train" for my birthing experience in a structured way. I liked that there were 5 weeks worth of lessons to complete, each with a lesson plan.

If you aren't familiar with Hypnobabies (I sure wasn't before this pregnancy), here's a little info about their method. Basically, they help you train your body to enter "self-hypnosis" and create natural anesthesia during contractions (or as "pressure waves" as they refer to them). During the 5 weeks of lessons, I listened to several different hypnosis tracks, similar to deep meditation tracks, that helped me train my mind and body to relax on demand. I liked having the excuse to meditate and relax for 30 minutes each day.

I was able to complete all 5 weeks of lessons before I went into labor and I was happy about that. So on Sunday, Oct 20, I went to church and all was normal and well. That afternoon I felt some Braxton Hicks that felt stronger than normal, but I didn't think anything of it. I fully expected to go to my due date or past my due date and at that point I had just started my 39th week. Around 7:30 that evening, I was doing the dishes and all of the sudden, I felt a trickle run down my leg. I thought to myself "Wait, was that...?" And then I went to the bathroom, just to make sure. By the time I got to the bathroom, I knew. Nothing was stopping that flow of liquid, it was coming and I knew what that meant. I looked in the mirror and let it process for a moment. "My water just broke. I'm having a baby. Holy crap, I'm having this baby." I felt my stress rise as I realized that because my water broke before any contractions had begun, this labor may be more complicated than I had envisioned. More than anything I wanted to avoid Pitocin or any non-natural labor inducing substances because I knew that would make my natural labor more difficult. After noticing my stress level rise, I remembered my relaxation and hypnosis lessons and I began to consciously relax myself, immediately stopping any stress or fear that was trying to creep in. I put on one of the affirmation tracks that state positive messages about birth and I began to pack Sam's overnight bag. I called Isaac who was at a meeting and got his voicemail. I wasn't in any rush to get to the hospital because I knew that there was a short window to get my labor started naturally before they would want to begin an induction. I also called my friend, Stephanie, and told her we would be bringing Sam over for the night. I told myself that if this was how my body needed labor to begin that was ok and everything would be alright. 

Isaac rushed home after getting my voicemail and was very eager to get to the hospital. :) I told him that I didn't feel rushed and that I would like to straighten up our house a little so it would be clean when we came home. He looked at me like I was insane and said "No, we are going to the hospital, I will come and clean later." haha I agreed to go ahead and make our way to the hospital though I gave him a bit of a hard time for being so anxious about it. 

We dropped Sam off at my friend Stephanie's house and she was very encouraging, saying that everything would be alright. 

We arrived at the hospital around 8:45pm and got checked in. Our nurse, Melanie, tested to make sure my water had actually broken (there was no doubt in my mind at this point) and sure enough the ph strip turned a bright blue. Melanie then checked me and I was only dilated to a 2. We talked about birthing options and she was completely on board with me going naturally and was familiar with Hypnobabies. I was really excited to get a nurse who was happy to help accommodate as much as she could in my birthing experience. She asked if I would like her to refrain from asking about pain level and I told her that I didn't think it would be necessary. True to her word, she never asked me to rate my pain or talked to me about pain at all. She was awesome. 

She called my doctor who agreed to allow me to walk around for an hour to get the labor started on its own. After an hour, we would check to see if I had progressed and go from there. So I began walking around. Let me just say, after your water breaks in labor everything is more fluid (see what I did there?). On one of the laps, we had to call the janitorial staff because my water just kept coming and there was nothing we could to about it. At this point, I had come to terms with the fact that there is no dignity associated with anything during labor, so I laughed it off and moved on. During that first hour, I felt some tuggings but no definite contractions.

Melanie checked me again and she gave me another half centimeter, saying I was now at about a 2.5. Honestly, I think she was just being nice and buying me more time. She said we could try walking for another hour and she also brought me a birthing ball. 

I walked for half the hour and sat on the birthing ball the second half. I was beginning to feel more steady contractions at this point and that made me really excited. 

Melanie hooked me back up to the monitors and checked and said I was at a 3 and because I was having more steady contractions she felt comfortable to let me labor for a little while.

Another couple of hours went by. I began to feel the contractions strongly after a while. I liked watching them on the monitors and was feeling pretty good at this point. I was so happy that my labor had begun on its own and no medical interventions would be necessary. I began using my hypnosis tracks to help relax myself through the contractions and that was really helpful. I can't say that it was painless for me, but being relaxed and unafraid helped me cope with the pain so much better.

Melanie came in again. It was probably around 1:30am at this point. She checked me and said I was about a 4.5, so she was going to take her break so she could be ready for when the action started. She told me I was doing a great job and waited to talk to me until after I was through with each contraction. She was such a great nurse. 

I remember watching her turn on the warmer above the baby station and put out some blankets before she left for her break. During the next difficult contraction, I thought to myself "My baby is coming! She turned on the warmer, that means he's coming!" That warmer got me through the next few intense contractions. 

 Then all of the sudden, things started getting crazy. The contractions picked up to about 30 seconds apart and became extremely intense. I turned off my hypnobabies tracks and just breathed through the contractions, letting all of my body and mind turn inward and just focus on staying relaxed. Isaac was super supportive. He held my hand and encouraged me through each contraction without talking too much. A few more really intense contractions happened and I began to feel discouraged. My body felt shaky and I felt light headed after each contraction. I began having cold sweats as well. I remember thinking that if I was only half way done with labor and this was going to go on for another couple of hours, I didn't think I could do it. (I now realize that I was going through transition and had no idea.)

I tried to stay positive and told myself over and over that my body was made for this and that is awesome. Then all of the sudden, during a really intense contraction, I began to push. It wasn't something I chose to do, I just did it. I can't describe how crazy that feeling is. I was so taken aback by this, I waited until another contraction happened to see if I would push again. Sure enough, I pushed through the entire contraction. Isaac had no idea what was happening so after that contraction was over I told him to call the nurse. I didn't have time to explain why because another contraction hit. Isaac, thinking I was just having a hard time with the pain, called the nurse and calmly said that we needed someone to come. After my next contraction of pushing, I felt so much pressure. I turned to Isaac and said "I'm pushing! We need the nurse!" Isaac looked at me with a panicked expression and said "I called, she's coming, she's coming!" Melanie came in and checked me and said "Oh! You're complete!" and ran back out of the room to call in reinforcements. It had only be 30 minutes since she had checked me previously. I had gone from a 4.5 to complete in 30 minutes.

After Melanie checked me and ran out, I had another strong contraction and pushed out Emerson's head. I looked at Isaac and said something like "He's coming! I just pushed out his head! He's coming!!" And then a final contraction hit and out came his shoulders and the rest of him... straight onto the bed. One of the nurses that had been called had just come into the room, put on her gloves, and ran to the bed as Emerson flopped out. She picked him up and began working with him and he began to cry a little. 

I was so excited to be done laboring and I felt so good. The pain just instantly stopped and it was awesome. I just kept smiling and laughing. 

4 or 5 other nurses, including Melanie, ran in and realized that Emerson was already born. They all put on their gloves and started rummaging through the cabinets trying to find everything they needed. The clamped his cord and began running newborn procedures on him. Melanie just kept laughing, saying "What the heck? How did that happen?! I just barely left you! And I didn't even hear you screaming!" haha All of the nurses were laughing and the one that came in first and "caught" him was proud of herself. It was her "first time" to catch a baby and she was excited that she got to experience it. We all laughed at how crazy that had all been. Then, the on-call doctor arrived. (In the time it had taken for Melanie to call him, for him to wake up and come down the hall, Emerson had been born.) He took one look at Emerson on the bed and said "Well... ok then." lol He stitched me up a bit and then went over to the computer to make a report. As he was typing, he turn and said "Wait, did you have a boy or a girl?" haha It was just such a surreal experience. 

My poor doctor didn't arrive until everything was already cleaned up and we were waiting to be transferred to the postpartum area. She apologized profusely and said that usually she has the nurses call when moms are at a 5, but since I was only at a 4.5, my nurse hadn't called her yet. And no one expected me to be complete 30 minutes later! 

After processing through that birthing experience, I realized a couple of things: 

1. I am so glad we had such a great nursing staff. They took care of everything. When birthing in the hospital, the birth experience really comes down to the nurses. Your doctor may make the final calls, but the nurses determine your experience. Ours were awesome and I was really grateful.

2. I'm so grateful I prepared for a natural birth. I realized after everything was said and done that if I had planned on getting an epidural during this birth, I probably would have requested it after Melanie told me I was at a 4.5. I would have wanted to make sure I was progressing enough that the epidural wouldn't slow progress, so a 4.5 would had been a good indication of that. But if I had requested it then, there is no way I would have been able to get an epidural in time. I would have gone through that half an hour completely terrified of the pain I was experiencing and it would have been a much scarier, more harrowing experience. But because I was already prepared for the pain and accepting of it, I was never scared. Even when the pain got super intense and I didn't think I could physically handle it anymore, I wasn't scared. I knew that this was part of the deal and that my body was just doing what it was supposed to do. That's what preparing for a natural birth had done for me- it had taken the fear out of the equation. Because of that, instead of scary and traumatizing, my birth experience was really cool. I was able to experience my body doing its job super efficiently and that was neat for me.

In the end, I don't feel like I love Emerson any more than I love Sam. My recovery has been pretty similar to the way it was with Sam (other than not having my legs be numb after I gave birth which was nice). Breastfeeding is going better with Emerson, but I have awesome lactation consultants to thank for that. So when I think about how I birthed Emerson naturally, it's not like I wear that experience as a badge of honor or find it at all superior to Sam's medical birth. Both experiences were so awesome and exactly what I needed them to be and I am really grateful for that. I feel like I was prepared for this birth by feeling drawn to natural birthing methods early on and I am incredibly grateful for that. 

It's kinda cool for me to have experienced both versions of birth and to realize the value in both of them. 

Now that Emerson is here and we've spent a lot of time snuggling, I am sad that I ever worried about bonding with him. He's the sweetest, most precious thing. I love him immensely and he feels like a missing piece to our family puzzle. This whole pregnancy and birth has been so different than I expected, but maybe that's the point. I learned to listen to the Spirit and be ok with the unexpected and I feel like I am stronger because of that. 

I'm so glad Emerson is a part of our family. Though, one of our family members is taking little more time to adjust. :)