For Madelynn on her 6th Birthday

My Dearest Madelynn,
Oh how I cannot believe that you are six!  I swear it was just yesterday that we welcomed you earthside and you began teaching us how to be parents.  I can still clearly remember your soft baby skin, your warm baby smell, your tiny baby fingers and toes, and your ability to turn my heart to mush with your baby smile.  You started school this past Fall and now you're all long legs and boisterous energy, and you you still have the power to melt my heart with a smile - simply just by being you.

I sit in awe every day of this amazing little girl that you are, and are becoming.  You are incredibly intelligent and I am so proud of how you are loving school, and how quickly you have learned to read.  I am thankful that you inherited my love for reading, as books can take you anywhere that you want to go - and you don't even have to get out of your pajamas!  You have the funniest, wittiest sense of humor and I love to laugh with you.  It makes my day.  Your creativity and imagination are limitless, developing this beautiful artistic part of you that I cannot wait to watch as you grow.  You have the most amazing relationship with God and connection to spirituality, so much so that I often think that you are an angel - that you have one foot here on earth and the other in heaven. You are so kind and nurturing - so willing to help others, so patient with your baby sister, and so desiring to shine your light for the whole world to see.  I am in awe of your grace and your beauty, inside and out.

I have to admit that sometimes I struggle as your mother.  You are so sensitive and so wise beyond your years that I forget that you are still a little girl.  I love how I can still help you feel safe and grounded - how you can climb into my lap and I can hold you tight ,and for a few minutes everything else in the world disappears.  My unconditional, undying love is all you really need to feel supported and understood.  I honestly pray that it is this way when you are 16 or 26 or 36 or 46 - that you can come to me from wherever you are, I can hold you and stroke your hair when life feels too hard for you.  I know that you will be able to handle anything that comes your way, but I do want you to know that I am always, always here - that no matter where you are or where I am you will always have a home.

Oh Miss Maddie, it is so hard as a mother to watch your babies grow up!  It's so hard and yet it is so wonderful because I am so certain that God has amazing plans for you.  While I may always miss the days when I could snuggle every square inch of your tiny 8 lb body against my chest and watch you breathe as you slept, I know that each new stage has its beauty and I cannot wait to see what is next for you.   

I love you so much Madelynn Hollis - forever and always no matter what!  Happy birthday precious girl!  May God bless you this year and in the many years to come.
Love,
Mommy

You mean you used NO DRUGS for childbirth?!?!?

I get this stunned question all of the time when I tell people about my birth stories. Many people are shocked to find that anyone would choose to go all natural in today's "modern" society. Feeling inspired by my oldest daughter's upcoming 6th (yes, 6th gasp) birthday, my sister's pregnancy, and a friend sharing her birth story on Facebook, I thought I would blog about both of mine.

Madelynn was born on March 8^th 2007 at 8:14 PM, weighing 7 lbs, 13 oz, and almost 21" long. I had done a lot of research and I had decided to use Hypnobirthing for comfort during labor. There were several reasons for this choice: 1.) I really wanted to have a natural birth (I was very educated on the waterfall effect and dangers of interventions) and I knew I would need something more than funny breathing techniques to get me through it; 2.) I knew that some women have difficulty with flashbacks to past sexual and physical trauma in birth and I wanted to try to avoid that if possible; 3.) As a therapist, I knew about the power of relaxation and visualization so I figured it was definitely worth a shot in trying to use it during birth. I started the class in early November when I was about 24 weeks pregnant and from that time on, I was practicing what I learned. I would sit on my exercise (birth) ball every evening while watching Friends reruns and I also frequently listened to the birth affirmations and “Rainbow Relaxation” CD. I will admit that I did not listen to the CD every day and there were even a few weeks where I maybe only listened to it once or twice. I did, however, keep my favorite affirmation (“My body was made to birth. It does it easily and well.”) posted on my bathroom mirror so that I could see it and say it out loud every day. In addition, I bought Steve Halpern’s "Effortless Relaxation" CD and I would often fall asleep at night listening to it and visualizing my “perfect” birth.

I had an appointment with my midwife (I had chosen a team of midwives that deliver in the hospital - I wasn't quite brave enough then to do the homebirth thing) on March 8^th . I was 41ish weeks pregnant and was getting a bit anxious. I wasn’t worried or fearful of birth, but I knew that my providers would start talking interventions if things didn’t happen soon. My appointment went well, but as I suspected, my providers mentioned that if I did not have the baby by Monday, I would need to return to the office for an NST and a BPP. If I did not have her by the following Friday, we would need to consider induction. Like I said, I was not fearful of birth at all, but WAS afraid of being induced. I knew that it often led to other interventions that I really wanted to avoid. I asked my provider to check my cervix to see if anything was happening. I had been having occasional contractions but nothing regular or even really noticeable. To my excitement, I was 4 cm and about 80% effaced! I finally agreed to let my provider sweep my membranes, thinking that this was a much more minor intervention than others that could come in the very near future. I decided to go on to work that day. I knew that if I went home I would just sit around questioning every sensation and I wanted to work as long as I could in order to save my "paid time off" for after the baby arrived.

I had some cramping throughout the day, but nothing major or real regular………until about 3:30 PM. I was in a meeting when, what I call a “real contraction", happened. I wouldn’t really call it painful, just sort of uncomfortable, and I felt a strong sense of pressure. (Keep in mind that when we did the "fear release" exercise in HypnoBirthing class, not only did I work with releasing any fears I had, but I claimed that I wanted my labor sensations to feel like pressure and for my labor to last 6 hours or less.) I decided to wait out the meeting, through which I had a couple more of these “real contractions”. I didn’t want to alarm my colleagues and I wasn’t in pain, so I thought that waiting it out was best. I returned to my office and sat at my desk at a little after 4:00 PM. I continued to have “real contractions”, and I decided to leave at about 4:30 PM. During my commute home I had several more contractions about 3 or 4 minutes apart. The pressure was getting more and more intense and I occasionally had to breathe through it. I thought about pulling over a time or two and even calling my husband to meet me and pick me up (thinking it probably wasn’t wise for me to drive while breathing through contractions lol). I think I still was kind of in denial that this was really happening. I thought I would go home, get in my bathtub, and it would go away. (I call this healthy denial lol!) I called both my husband and my mom to let them know that I was probably in labor and that I was heading home. I made it home (I don’t really remember some of the drive) and my husband met me in the garage. I told him how far apart my contractions were coming and that I wanted to go in and get in the tub. I called my midwife and she listened as I experienced a few contractions. Since I was managing them so well, she encouraged me to relax and eat a bite and call her in about an hour (or sooner if need be). I got my "Rainbow Relaxation" CD and got into the tub. That is when things really started moving along. Within minutes of my being in the tub, I started having an interesting contraction pattern. Every minute and a half, I would have a longer contraction that started off gradually, peaked, and then went away like the textbook contractions you hear about in standard childbirth classes. However, about 30 seconds after that, I would have a shorter contraction that started off very intense, at peak, and then went away as quickly as it began. Time distortion really started kicking in at that point, so I am not real sure how long I actually stayed in the tub. My husband called my midwife back to let her know about this pattern. Because I had not eaten, nor had I had much to drink recently, she advised me to get out of the tub, eat a bite and drink some water, and see what happened. I got out of the tub and put on some clothes, stopping to kind of sway back and forth and breathe during contractions. I attempted to eat but that pattern continued on and the short, intense contractions were getting more and more intense (still felt like pressure, but more intense). My husband noticed some sort of change in me in the way I was going inside of myself and focusing on my breath and he made the decision for us to go to the hospital. He called my midwife and my mom to let them know to meet us there.

Managing my contractions was more difficult in the car. I felt over stimulated by the combination of contractions and the motion of the car. When we were about a mile from the hospital, I started feeling the urge to "push" when the shorter, intense contractions came. My husband hurriedly drove to the hospital, parked, and walked me to L&D. (We arrived at exactly 7:00 PM so really not much time had passed since I started having contractions in my meeting.) I met a nurse that I know well in the hall and told her that I was feeling the urge to push. Nurses started scurrying around in every direction. There was not a triage room ready so they had me change clothes in one room while they readied another. When I got into a triage bed, they hooked me up to the monitor and checked my cervix. I was a little more than 7 cm and almost completely effaced. They started my IV (I was GBS positive so despite the fact that I didn't want an IV I didn't have much choice) as they ran through a gamut of questions (which completely annoyed me as I was working so hard to stay inside myself and relaxed). I am not sure how long I was in triage when they wheeled me on over to my L&D room (where my mom was already waiting). I remember waiting for a contraction to pass before my husband and my mom helped me climb into my L&D bed. At that point I really felt an urge to push and my nurse checked my cervix to find that I just had a tiny bit of it left. She encouraged me to relax and go with what my body was telling me to do. A few minutes later, my midwife arrived. She noticed that I was sort of bearing down (trying to do "birth breathing"). I was still having the longer then shorter contraction pattern and my body was telling me to “push” during the short contractions (which actually felt kind of good) and gently nudge with downward breaths during the longer ones (which I continued to follow even though everyone was doing the stereotypical “push cheer” at me). I was focusing so hard on my baby and my body that much of what else that was happening around me at the time is very unclear. I do remember the intense burning sensation when my baby was crowning and I think I still had some fear left about tearing because I remember not wanting to push or even do any birth breathing at that time. I asked for a mirror to be able to see my baby crowning which helped me to release that fear. At some point my midwife suggested that she break my water. I was so inside myself that I vaguely remember just nodding my head. I just wanted it all to be over. I remember my midwife saying that there was meconium, and they called for the NICU, which scared me, but also motivated me again to focus on my baby and finish bringing her into the world. My mom said later that she was amazed at how I was confident in my body and allowing it to do its work. Very soon after that, my provider asked my husband to come over to help "catch "the baby and my mom helped me unfasten my gown so that they could place her on my chest, skin-to-skin. There was such a release of energy when she was born and was placed on my chest. I cried. My mom cried. My midwife cried. My big tough husband even cried. Everyone was hugging. It was absolutely amazing. The nurses did need to suction and inspect my baby within a few minutes of birth since there was meconium and since I had only had time to get part of one GBS treatment, but they returned her to me very quickly and we began nursing right away. She latched on very well almost immediately and took to nursing like a pro. My husband and I were given some time alone with our baby to bond as a new family. We both just sat there holding on to one another and looking into the eyes of our precious baby girl. It was so beautiful; a moment I will never ever forget!

 I stopped working to become a SAHM when Madelynn was almost 3. That next Fall, the Hubs and I decided to try for another baby, thinking it would take us awhile to become pregnant. (It had taken almost 4 years, including a miscarriage and some time off to regroup, to conceive Madelynn.) We were absolutely shocked when we became pregnant during our first cycle trying. On the morning of June 13th, 2011, I had an appointment with my midwife (the same one that had cared for me when I was pregnant with Madelynn). By my dates, this was my “due date”. I had been having contractions off and on for several days and had been having a lot of pressure but, due to some family emergencies, I had refused all cervical checks, trying to avoid prompting labor to begin. I decided to go ahead allow a cervical check at this appointment and was excited to discover that I was “a good” 4 cms and that my bag of waters was bulging a bit. I went home to alternate walking/activity with rest to prepare for my baby’s arrival. All day I had contractions that would vary from 3 minutes to 45 minutes apart. Occasionally I would have to stop and focus and do some slow breathing through them, but they really were not painful or regular and they felt different from the ones I had with my Madelynn so I didn't really expect that we would be having a baby that day. I sat outside and stuck my feet in the kiddie pool while Madelynn played and even helped the Hubs write a paper for school. At about 11:00 PM, just as hubby and I were settling into bed, things began to feel a little different. I could not get comfortable in my bed and I felt like I needed to be upright and rocking/moving when a contraction came. Isabella was not quite posterior but was a bit sideways and so I had a lot of pressure in my back. I had to really go inside myself and breathe during the contractions and I decided to get up and rock on my birth ball. While on the ball, I used imagery of my body smoothly and easily opening. The contractions were now coming between 3 and 8 minutes apart and I was making very frequent trips to the bathroom. I was wondering if my bag of waters had ruptured and was leaking because I would have very intense contractions and pressure in the bathroom and a lot of fluid would come out. I called my midwife and we decided for me to go to the hospital to see what was happening. As soon as hubby’s grandparents arrived to stay with Madelynn at about 11:45 or so, we left for the hospital. As we neared the hospital, I started having intense contractions that were only about a minute to two minutes apart and I was feeling a lot of pressure in my back and rectal area. My midwife met us in L&D at a little after 12:00 AM and took us to a room off of triage since there were no triage rooms available (funny how this was the case with my first birth as well lol). She checked my cervix, which was now about 7 cms, and did a couple of tests to determine if I was leaking water, which I was not. I walked to my L&D room, used the restroom where I had a very intense contraction with pressure, and was then told that I needed to get into the bed to be monitored. I have to say that I was not thrilled with this idea as I was having so much back and rectal pressure and was much more comfortable standing, leaning over supported, and swaying. This is where I now wish I had gone with my instincts and had Isabella at home. I finally agreed to get into the bed, though I refused to be flat or to lie on my back. I stayed semi-upright on my left side with my hubby rubbing and putting counter pressure on my back, doing light touch on my right arm, and talking quietly to me. Just minutes after I got into the bed, I could feel my body bearing down with each contraction and the contractions were coming one after another. I announced that I felt like I was pushing and nurses suddenly started hurrying in and around the room. I began following my body’s lead and bearing down with my breath almost continuously since I had no time in between contractions. I wanted to be upright and squatting, but I did not feel able to adjust my position due to the contractions coming so fast and being so intense. I still had a lot of rectal pressure, which is where I felt my baby most as I was pushing and she was crowning, and then as she was born. I did not have the burning “ring of fire” that I expected (maybe that is because I spent a lot of time releasing this fear in my hypnobirthing practice since this was a fear I had left over from Madelynn's birth). At this point I asked for a mirror so that I could see my baby come into the world and a nurse went running from the room to find one (she didn’t make it back with the mirror until Isabella was already born). It was then that I grabbed my right leg, gave a bigger push than I had been doing, and my beautiful baby girl was born. I reached down to help catch her. It was 12:47 AM. I did my best to pull blankets and clothes away so that Isabella could rest directly on my skin on my abdomen to wait for the chord to stop pulsating. She was so perfect and looked just like her big sister. Once daddy cut the chord and I got her snuggled on my chest skin to skin with warming blankets on top, we were really able to meet one another in person, and nurse a little as the placenta was delivered and I received a stitch for a small tear. Isabella weighed 7 lbs 12 oz and was 19 ½ inches long. While I will say that since my labor was so incredibly fast this time, I did not have the “serene”hypnobirth that you see on TV (though it might have been a little different had I had a home birth and/or water birth). Hypnobirthing did help me feel confident about my birth and remain relaxed and positive throughout. It also gave me the tools for breathing correctly and effectively, visualizing my body opening, and using mother-directed “pushing” to both support my baby’s birth and my body's ability to do its work. It really supported me all through that day since my body was likely working when i didn't even realize it. It was another amazing experience that has left me feeling strong and empowered!

People are often amazed at the level of detail in which I remember my birth experiences. I am often amazed myself because, at the time, I was so inside of myself that everything else seemed like a fuzzy dream. I think that this is part of the beauty of hypnobirthing. I am also still so amazed at the power of the "fear release" visualization. Not only did I have no trauma flashbacks - not even a stray thought - in either of my births, but I also felt exactly how I claimed I wanted to feel and labored for exactly the length of time (or less) than I claimed. I admit that this could very well have happened on its own, without the "fear release" exercise, but it seems an awesome coincidence.

So if you have read all of this, thanks for indulging me! If you are pregnant or planning a pregnancy at some point in the future, I hope this inspires you. I am the girl that often faints when getting blood drawn, but I was able to birth two perfect little girls without anything but the power of my own body! Blessings to all!.

Too Much?

With Christmas weeks past and resolutions made (sort of), I have had minute or two to reflect on the holiday season.  From Thanksgiving to New Year's day, life is hectic, to say the least.  There's food to make and consume, weight to gain, parties to attend, shopping to do, gifts to wrap and give - people to see and things to do.  When it is all said and done I like to sit back and reflect on the whirlwind that just passed.  As I am reflecting, this year I am almost painfully aware of the over-abundance.  Maybe it is because we are currently renting a house (while our new house is under construction) that is much smaller than anything we have ever lived in (since we have had children, that is).  We are crammed in like sardines and there is stuff, particularly lots of pink girlie stuff, everywhere.  Minnie Mouse and Barbie take up more space right now than the Hubs and I combined.  I'd like to think, though, that it's not just the size of our humble abode right now (and that in and of itself is a problem as I tell myself and my kids that it is not the size or quality of the home but the people - residents and guests - within that matters).  I'd like to think that my growing relationship with Jesus is changing my perspective.

My little family attended four large family Christmas gatherings where my children were showered with gifts.  Then, of course, there were gifts at home from each other and from Santa Clause.  The money spent on my children (and on the Hubs and me) combined is outrageous, likely well into the thousands, and the paper, bags, and bows that are simply torn up and thrown away resembles a small mountain.  After Santa Clause had arrived at our house, the Hubs and I sat looking at the small arrangements for each of our girls and we briefly had a moment of ............. well I'm not sure how to describe the feeling ............... sort of a sad-angry-jealous-bitter-shameful-ish feeling.  Santa had spent quite a bit of his hard earned and often hard to find cash on these precious girls, but the results looked pretty pitiful, especially next to the stash that the girls had already received elsewhere that was still stacked and creeping out of our dining area.  In my mind, Santa is supposed to be the best - the top present-giver, and so my heart hurt that he had been outdone again.  After a few minutes of self-pity, I then felt frustrated and angry at myself for thinking this way.  What I clearly realize above all of this is that my heart is really hurting because Christmas has become a gift-giving frenzy - more, more, more, MORE - and this is not what I want Christmas to mean for my daughters.

Now people please listen, before anyone gets angry and shoots me a message, I am very grateful that my children have so many people who love them and want to lavish them with gifts.  I feel so blessed that I wouldn't have to spend a single penny and my girls would have everything they could imagine in the way of toys and clothes.  I don't want anyone to get the idea that I am not thankful because I really, truly am.  Here's the thing, though.  I am afraid that in the midst of the party-going, food-consuming, gift-giving extravaganza, we have lost the true meaning of Christmas.  Sure, we all give lip service to Christmas being all about Jesus' birthday and spending time with the people we love, but I wonder if we look deep within ourselves, though, if our actions match our words. 

The Hubs and I tried really hard to make Jesus' birthday and giving to others our focus this year.  We spent a lot of time at church and in prayer, we made tons of crafts that we gave to people, and the girls and I had a "random acts of kindness day" where we did things like sticking change on drink machines, leaving small gifts for service people, and collecting shopping carts at the supermarket so that the store employees wouldn't have to go out in the cold and do it - small things that made people's day (which is something we want to continue year round).  But there we were on Christmas Eve, staring at the gifts we had for our girls, and feeling inadequate.  There is something seriously wrong with this picture!  Christmas should be about joy and love and the innocence of childhood and the birth of our Savior, not the amount of presents under a drooping tree!

So what in the world am I supposed to do about this?  Now it feels so much bigger than me and it resembles a freight train speeding down a mountain with no brakes - and I don't like where it is heading.  Do I have a heart to heart conversation with the family and ask them to limit their gifts and extravagance?  I don't want to take their joy away but maybe that's the whole problem.  Maybe we as a family need to create a new kind of joy through traditions that do not involve 5 million gifts that get lost or broken and forgotten by the end of January.  Maybe Christmas should become more about exchanging a few gifts (i.e. the rule of three - something they need, something they wear, and something they want) and then spending the rest of our time and resources truly enjoying one another and serving others.  Maybe Christmas should become more about going together to volunteer, to see Christmas lights and live Nativities, and to watch Christmas parades and shows.  After all, as I look back on my childhood, these are the things that I remember and that warm my heart, more than the gifts.

I know that I do not know it all and I certainly do not want to take away anyone's enjoyment of the holidays.  I love Christmas!  I love the colors, the lights, the decorations, the weather, the family time, and of course the true meaning of the whole shindig!  The Christmas season is my favorite time of year!  This year I just felt a little like Cindy Lou Who in Jim Carey's version of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.  I was left wondering "where are you Christmas" and I have concluded that "maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store.  Maybe Christmas - perhaps - means a little bit more".

Off to School!

I would be completely remiss if I did not blog about my Madelynn starting school - 5 Kindergarten - this week.  I have been putting off writing about it, thinking about it too much, because in my brain that somehow makes it more real.  It is so bittersweet.  I. SENT. MY. BABY. TO. SCHOOL!  Seriously!  I swear I just gave birth to her yesterday!  Yesterday I was just struggling with PPD and wondering if I would ever sleep again!  Yesterday I was nursing her around the clock and cuddling her while we both figured out our new lives.  Yesterday she was a beautiful little 7lb 12oz baby who was utterly and completely dependant on me.  Yesterday......

But no......my Madelynn just went off to Kindergarten - all day long - and she is so amazingly smart, and kind, and funny, and beautiful - and she absolutely loves school!  When I picked her up on the very first day she protested, saying, "Mom I don't want to leave!"

I often call my children MY children - MY Madelynn, MY Isabella - but I realize more and more each day that they really aren't MY children.  They belong to themselves and they belong to God, and my 2 greatest and most important jobs are to first give them roots and then give them wings.  That is hard for a mother (or at least a mother like me) to admit, let alone be fully comfortable with.  Everything in me wants to hold onto them tightly and never let them go.

But I watched my little girl spread her wings a bit this week - and oh are they glorious wings - full of love and light and energy and creativity!  I guess I spread my wings a little bit too because I was able to let her go with just a few - OK more than a few - tears.

    

Broken Plate

I know......I'm sorry........It has been forever since I have posted.  Things have been hectic, as life often is, and this just hasn't been a priority.  I have lots to catch you up on but first I must write about something that has been weighing on my heart and mind.  God gave me a sort of wake-up call the other day.  First a bit of background.  I have been struggling a bit, as usual, with my Type A control issues and my fighting to let go of that has stirred up a bit of anger, which is sort of a new feeling for me.  Grief, sadness, depression, hurt, anxiety I know well, but real anger has always been something I push down and don't allow myself to feel, for whatever reason.  I suppose lately it is catching up with me because nearly everything has surfaced as anger and I have caught myself "losing it" far too often.

Anyway, a few days ago I was diligently scrubbing away at some dishes when suddenly a loud crash startled me from a few feet away.  I turned to see Isabella sitting on the floor wailing with fright in the midst of about a million shards of broken ceramic.  As i carefully picked her up I immediately noticed what the now shards previously were, and I felt a sense of panic and anger knowing that one of my great-grandmother's heirloom plates was beyond repair.  The plate had been one that I received when "Nanny" had passed away and it had been very special to me.  

I tried not to think about the loss, to push my anger aside, as I examined Isabella for any sign of injury.  Seeing that she was fine, I cuddled her until she stopped crying, and then began to clean up the mess.

Madelynn, who had come running at the sound of the crash, looked at me with anxious eyes.

"Mommy, I'm sorry about your plate," she said.  She knew well about Nanny's plates.  "Are you sad?"

"Yes I am sad," I answered.  In a tense sort of quiet, she and I cleaned up what was left of the plate.

"Mommy are you mad," Madelynn asked after a minute, almost in a whisper,

I stopped what I was doing and reflected on my answer.  No, Isabella should not have been playing and pulling up on the curio, but she was not being disobedient.  After all, she is only 1 and does not know better.  By the look on Madelynn's face and the anxiety I was feeling from Isabella, I wondered how often lately I had not stopped to think and had yelled at them unnecessarily.  I felt God's gentle presence and a reminder to breathe.
  
"No baby I'm not mad," I said with a loud sigh.  "She didn't mean to do it.  Yes I am sad that my plate is broken but I'm glad baby sissy wasn't hurt."  I looked at both of my precious girls and thought about how much they mean to me.  "I want you both to know that you are more important to me than anything in this house.  You are far more important to me than that plate.  I love you both so much!"  I gave them both huge hugs and soon they both went off to play.  How different things would have been if I had started yelling and screaming at Isabella!  I would have crushed her little spirit and I would have taught Madelynn that when you make a mistake, you deserve to be yelled at and treated harshly.  If I had taught her that, I would have taught her the exact opposite of what our Father God has taught us.  Our sins against God were/are much worse than the innocent mistake that Isabella had made but instead of screaming and yelling at us, God came down and cleaned up our mess Himself!  Just as Isabella was incapable of cleaning up her mess, so are we incapable of erasing the sin from our lives.  We had taken the beautiful life that He gave us, shattered it into a million irreparable pieces, and then sat anxious and wailing in the middle of our mess.  Our gracious and merciful God lifted us out of the debris and held us close, reminding us of just how important we are to Him and how much He loves us.

There is one important difference between what God did and what I was able to do.  I wasn't able to repair my plate.  I had to sadly gather up all of the pieces and throw them away, sending up an apology to my Nanny.  God didn't throw anything away.  Instead, He took all of the tiny broken pieces and remade a new plate, more lovely than the original.  He took the mess and created something beautiful from it - something that is fabulous, even though there are cracks and blemishes, because those blemishes show where God's healing love repaired us.

I am so thankful that I am no longer a broken plate!  I might not look the same as I would if I had no sin in me or if there were no sin and ugliness in the world, but I try hard not to see my repaired places as imperfections, but as beautiful illustrations of God's amazing power to heal and restore.  God is not angry with us.  His anger disappeared when His Son Jesus died on the cross for us.  Instead of punishing us He wraps us in His loving arms and says, "You are far more important to me than the mess you have made of things and I love you."       

Where did the last year go?

I know.  I'm a day late with this post.  Seems like I'm always late for everything these days.  My precious Isabella turned one yesterday and I sit here, a little sad that the year went by so fast as well as happy and proud that we survived the first year and can move on to the next part of life in our little family.  It is such a crazy thing to feel such conflicting emotions all at the same time.  Since Isabella is our last baby (unless some miraculous act of God occurs), I am grieving never having an infant again - those newborn sounds and smells and cuddles - but then I am relieved that it won't be long before the bottles, the diapers, the teething will be a thing of the past.

The Hubs and I were talking about the last year, wondering how in the world it could have gone by so fast, but as we discussed all that transpired, it made a little more sense.  Where did the last year go?  Well..........

• A little more than a week before Isabella was born, the Hubs developed a kidney stone that became lodged and darn near caused his one kidney (he was only born with one) to fail.  He was in the hospital for several days and ended up with surgery to remove the stone.
• At this same time, my maternal grandfather, Poppi, who lives here in SC, had open-heart surgery, and then the arduous recovery process that came along with it.
• Just three days after the Hubs' stint was removed, Isabella arrived and we were on that joyous, yet exhausting, adventure of the 4th trimester - learning our new baby and adjusting to being a family of four, which wasn't real easy for Madelynn, or the rest of us at times.
• When Isabella was  two-ish weeks old, my mom's side of the family came in for a family reunion for the 4th of July.  It was chaos at its best, but we had fun.
• That Fall Madelynn decided to cheer lead for the local youth organization, which led to practices and games 2 to 3 nights a week.
• Also that Fall, in September, the Hubs' youngest sister got married.  Madelynn was the flower girl and I was a bridesmaid....or matron......whatever I might've been called lol!
• That October, the Hubs' great grandmother passed away.  Granny Cooper was an amazing woman, strong and loving and a powerful figure in the family.  Isabella was named after her.
• Of course then you have all of the Fall and Winter excitement and holidays: Halloween, Fall festivals, Clemson football (GO TIGERS!!!!), Thanksgiving, and Christmas.
• Around mid-December was when Isabella began getting sick and proceeded to spend the next several months with one illness or another.  In February, she was hospitalized in the PICU for a few days, which was one of the scariest times of my life.
• Madelynn's 5th birthday was in early March and of course we had a fabulous Barbie extravaganza!
• As Spring began to arrive, my paternal grandfather unexpectedly passed away in mid/late March.  He had only begun to fight the cancer that had taken over much of his body.  So, the Hubs and I packed up the girls and hopped a plane to KC for a few days to be with the family and participate in the funeral.  Honestly, I still have days that I can't believe he is gone.  I half expect him to answer the phone when I call my Grammy.
• As the weather got warmer, we had more and more playdates with our new "mommy and me" group, which has kept us busy and running in all directions.  Madelynn loves the time with other kids and I love the time with other mommies.
• In April we began attending NewSpring Church which has kept my heart and mind full and busy.
• In May we took our family "vacation" to Myrtle Beach - boy was that fun (insert eye roll and dripping sarcasm)!  It was totally our fault - we chose a terrible week to go (college week and bike week) and we let Madelynn sort of drive us instead of insisting on periods of rest and such.  It was chaos and we had two very tired and very irritable girls on our hands by the end of the week.

And so here we are, back in June, with a boatload of events under our belts.  When I think about how fast the last year went and reflect on all of these things, it is no small wonder that it flew right by!  I am thankful for each and every joyful moment and life lesson, and I am reminded to stop and smell the roses a little bit, as we all know that that can be a challenge for me.

Happy 1st Birthday my precious Isabella!  Mommy loves you to the moon and back a bazillion times!

Enjoy Every Moment!

It seems like almost every time I am out and about with my girls, an older woman stops us, puts her hand over her heart and says something like, "Oh your girls are so precious!  Enjoy every moment - it goes by so fast."  I know that this message is a good one and I am already painfully aware of just how fast time flies, but I have finally allowed myself to admit that this just doesn't work for me. In fact, it’s kind of annoying. This “carpe diem” message makes me sort of paranoid and anxious, especially during this phase of my life while I am raising young kids. Being told, in a million different ways nearly every day to “carpe diem” makes me worry that if I am not in a constant state of intense gratitude and delight, I am doing something wrong.


I think parenting young children (and old ones, I have heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave souls try it because they have heard that there is magic in the climb. They do it because they believe that finishing, or even merely attempting, the climb are major accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the discomforts, the views are breathtaking. They do it because even though it hurts and it is hard, there are moments that make it worth it. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning to climb again, even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous and exhausting.  My guess is that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers -- "Are you enjoying yourself?!? If not, you should be! One day you’ll be sorry you didn’t!  Trust us!! It will be over way too soon! Carpe diem!" - those well-meaning cheerleaders might be thrown from the mountain.


Now I am not suggesting that the sweet old ladies who tell me to “enjoy every minute” be thrown from a mountain (well some days maybe some of them – just kidding – not really), but just the other day, a woman approached me in the grocery store and said the following: "Hun, I hope you are enjoying these moments. I loved every single second with my two girls. Every single moment. These days go by so fast."  At that particular moment, Madelynn had just pushed half of the canned vegetables to the back of their shelf, causing the ones nearest to them to surge forward and crash onto the floor. She also had just asked me for the 12 millionth time to buy her some candy, or cookies, or a toy; and somewhere she had found some pink feathers and had stuck them all in her hair, making her look just like a contestant from “Toddlers in Tiaras”.  This after we had just spent another hour plus in the pediatrician’s office with Isabella, who is still not “over” her bout with pneumonia/RSV and is now on yet another round of antibiotics plus a round of prednisone.  (Anyone who knows anything about prednisone and/or has children knows the joy of the drug’s impact on people, especially little ones.)  So, I just looked at the woman, smiled and said, "Thank you. Yes. Me too. I am enjoying every single moment. Especially this one. Yes. Thank you."


That's not exactly what I wanted to say, though.


There was a writer who, when asked if he loved writing, replied, "No but I love having written." What I wanted to say to this sweet woman was, "Are you sure? Are you sure you don't mean you love having parented?"


I love having parented. My favorite part of each day is when the kids are in bed and the Hubs and I sink into the couch to watch some quality TV, like “The Big Bang Theory”, and congratulate each other on a job well done. Or at least a job done.
 
Now I know some people will read this and might even post a comment that I am being negative or that I chose to be a mother, not once but twice, and that I also chose to stay at home.  The fact is, though, parenting is hard. Just like lots of important jobs are hard. Why is it that the second a mother admits that it is hard, people feel the need to suggest that maybe she is negative or is not doing it right?  Maybe the fact that she is willing to admit that it IS so hard means that she IS doing it right...in her own way...plus she happens to be honest.  I am reminded of the scene from the movie “Sex and the City 2” where Miranda and Charlotte are in the bar, talking about motherhood and how incredibly difficult it is.  “Drink!”  I got misty-eyed during that scene while most of the other women in the theater were laughing.  I got misty-eyed because I got it – and like Charlotte, I felt terribly guilty about admitting that sometimes motherhood just isn’t too fun.


The Hubs is a fireman and because it pays peanuts, he owns and operates a construction business on his days “off”.  His jobs are hard, especially in this economy, and he comes home each day and talks a little bit about how hard it is. I don't ever feel the need to suggest that he is not doing it right, or that he is negative for noticing that it is hard, or that maybe he shouldn't even consider taking on more responsibility. I doubt anybody stops by a jobsite to make sure he is enjoying himself.  I seriously doubt any of the senior firemen come to him and say, "This career stuff...it goes by so fast...are you enjoying every moment of it???? Carpe diem!"


My point is this: I used to worry (and honestly still do at times) that not only was I failing to do a good enough job at parenting, but that I wasn't enjoying it enough. Double failure! I felt guilty because I was not in parental ecstasy every hour of every day and I wasn't making the most of every moment like the mamas in the parenting magazines seemed to be doing. I felt guilty because honestly, I was tired and grumpy and ready for the day to be over quite often and because I knew that one day, I'd wake up and the girls would be gone, and I would be the old lady in the grocery store with my hand over my heart. Would I be able to say I enjoyed every moment? Nope.


The fact remains that I will be that lady one day. I just hope to be one with a clear memory. What I hope to say to the younger mama gritting her teeth in the grocery store is, "It's really hard, isn't it? You're a good mom, I can tell and I like your kids, especially that one stuffing candy into her pockets. Carry on, warrior goddess! Six hours till bedtime."  Hopefully, every once in a while, I'll be able to add: "Let me pick up that grocery bill for ya, sister. Go put those kids in the car and pull on up.  I'll have them bring your groceries out to you."


Anyway, clearly, “carpe diem” doesn't work for me. I can't even carpe fifteen minutes solid in a row, so a whole diem is pretty much impossible.


Now that I have thought about it, here is what does work for me:
A little Greek lesson: there are two different types of time. Chronos time is what we live in. It is regular time, it is one minute at a time, it is staring down the clock until bedtime time, it is ten excruciating minutes in the grocery line time, it is sixty-ish minutes at the pediatrician time, it is four screaming minutes in time out time, it is two hours until daddy gets home time, it is 72 more hours of prednisone time. Chronos is the hard, slow passing time we parents often live in.  Then there is Kairos time. Kairos is God's time. It is time outside of time. It is metaphysical time. It's those magical, almost miraculous, moments in which time stands still. I have a few of those moments each day and I cherish them.

Like when I actually stop what I'm doing and really look at Isabella and how much she is growing and changing each day. I notice how perfectly smooth her baby skin is. I notice the perfect curves of her tiny mouth and her brownish-greenish-goldish eyes, and I breathe in her soft baby smell. In these moments, I see that her mouth is moving but I can't hear her because all I can think is -- This is the first time I've really seen Isabella all day, and my God -- she is so beautiful. Kairos.

Like when I quietly watch Madelynn work hard to read a “beginning reader” book to her baby sister, showing her the pictures, and changing voices for each character, when neither of them knows I am in the room.  Kairos

Like when I'm stuck in chronos time in the grocery store and I am anxious and annoyed. Then I look at my cart and I'm transported out of chronos. Suddenly I notice the piles and piles of healthy food I'll feed my children to grow their bodies and minds and I remember that most of the world's mamas would kill for this opportunity - this chance to stand in a grocery store with enough money, albeit barely enough sometimes, to pay. Kairos.

Or when I curl up in my cozy king-size bed with the Hubs by my side and I listen to him breathing.  For a moment, I think - how did a girl like me get so lucky - to go to bed each night surrounded by this love, this peace, this warmth? Kairos.

These kairos moments leave as fast as they come, but I note them.  At the end of the day, I don't always remember exactly what my kairos moments were, but I do remember that I had them and that makes the pain of the daily parenting climb worth it.


So, fellow frazzled parents, follow me and carpe a couple of kairoses a day and try not to stress over the chronoses!  After all, it does go by fast! 


Until next time, peace, love, and (((HUGS)))

Talking to fish

Why yes, yes we are lake people, and yes, yes we do like to fish (some of us more than others), but this post is not about the little brownish-greenish things that swim in the lake and sometimes end up on our hooks.  This post is about my Isabella and the name that Madelynn bestowed upon the nebulizer because the mask is shaped and painted like a little fish with hopes of making the nebulizing process easier on little ones.

There is nothing more scary or more helpless feeling than when your child is very sick or hurt and there is nothing you can really do to fix it. 

One week ago today I was terrified. 

Isabella had had a cold (or something) pretty much nonstop for about two months.  She was on and off meds, she would get better for a few days, then she would be sick again.  One week ago today, she woke up congested - sniffling and coughing and throughout the morning she found it more and more difficult to breathe.  When she started gasping for air, even seemingly not breathing for seconds at a time, and panting, I packed everyone up and after dropping Madelynn at her grandmother's house, rushed Isabella to the ER.  Four excruciatingly long hours (a chest x-ray, a breathing treatment, a shot of rocephin, an inhaler, a follow-up appointment with the pediatrician for the next morning, and some prescriptions) later, we left with a diagnosis of "atypical pneumonia, RSV, and severe ear infections in both ears".  After going back and forth about admitting her, the doctor decided to release her to my care.  I was terrified, exhausted, and questioning his sanity.  This baby was still struggling to breathe and she was refusing to eat or take a bottle.  She had not had a wet diaper all day.  I knew she was on the verge of dehydration.

So we trudged home, and I rocked and held her all evening - all night really.  I shot her with the inhaler every couple of hours.  I watched her like a hawk.  Several times, I almost took her back to the hospital.  I even stayed in clothes all night in case I had to rush her to the hospital or even, heaven forbid, ride with her in the back of an ambulance.  I didn't feel safe.  I felt as if she might die.

Somehow we survived until morning and I took her, still struggling to breathe, still not eating or taking a bottle (I had forced a couple of teaspoonfuls of Pedialyte into her by syringe), and still with no wet diapers, to the pediatrician.  

Three hours (another chest x-ray, another breathing treatment, and more prescriptions) later, we were sent home.  I almost begged the pediatrician to hospitalize Isabella.  I was increasingly concerned about dehydration and her oxygen level only went from 94% to 97% after the breathing treatment in the office.  97% isn't awful but it is not the greatest either.  I was even more exhausted and still terrified.  The pediatrician did send us home with the fish, however, and the fish and its magical potion became my new BFF.

That afternoon, Isabella's breathing started to improve and she started to not be so lethargic.  She also started taking an ounce or two of her bottles.  By the next day, her appetite was still minimal, but she was smiling and even laughing and playing a bit with her silly big sister.  A few days later, she was taking solids again, though still only drinking a few ounces at a time.

Now, a week later, she is sleeping well, eating/drinking almost normally, and almost completely back to her usual self.  She still has a runny nose and has some coughing spells, especially in the morning, but she is a different baby than she was a week ago.  She still talks to the fish two or three times a day - and she hates it - either screaming her head off the whole time or resigning herself to it and passing totally out - but that noisy, ugly fish saved her life - that and a whole lot of mommy love and prayers!

(((HUGS))) ...............especially to my babies!    

Introducing........

Before, I go any further, I need to introduce two very special little people, especially because they will probably be a big part of this blog.  They are my world, my everything, and knowing them has changed me in ways I never knew were possible.

All rise for the Royal Highnesses: Princess Madelynn and Princess Isabella!

This photo was taken in November 2011: Madelynn age 4 and Isabella 5 months.

Obviously, these two precious little girls are my daughters and while they challenge me in every way, they bring so much joy to my life.  Let me tell you a little bit about them.  I will try to be brief, but like most moms, when I get started talking about my kids, I can go on and on.

Madelynn will be 5 in March.  I call her my little miracle.  I found out I was pregnant with her on my 29th birthday, just when I had almost given up hope of conceiving a child on my own.  We had been trying for a few years, off and on, with a couple of breaks to regroup, especially after a devastating loss in January 2004.  As a matter of fact, the Hubs and I were vacationing at one of our favorite places, Seabrook Island, and had spent the morning, first on an early morning beach horseback ride, then on a beach stroll discussing our options - our next steps - for having a child, on the day I got a positive home pregnancy test.  Needless to say, I was shocked when I saw those two pink lines and I proceeded to take countless more tests over the next several days, just to be sure it wasn't a dream.

Nine-ish months later, after a 4ish hour all-natural labor, Madelynn arrived.  I never knew such love, such strength, such exhilaration, such agony until that day.  Birth was an amazing experience for me - one I might talk more about later - one that showed me how much power I really have as a woman.

Madelynn was a challenging baby from pretty much day 1.  She had "colic" - she cried pretty much 24/7 for 3+ months, she didn't sleep, she constantly needed to be held, and pretty much any new situation or person or stimuli in general completely freaked her out.  Caring for her as an infant showed me again how much strength I truly possess.

To keep it brief, we will fast forward a few years.  We have had some easier roads with Madelynn.  She spoke her first word ("look") and then words and then sentences very early.  She walked right at 12 months.  She learned baby sign language at 12-ish months.  She very easily learned to potty on the big girl potty at 2.  She knew her shapes, colors, ABCs, numbers (in English and Spanish), and more before age 2.  At 3 she began writing letters, including her name.  At 4 she is beginning to read and writing more and more sight words.  I could go on and on about how incredibly smart and talented she is, as well as how caring, courageous, strong, and hilarious!  

Because of the issues Madelynn had as a baby, as well as continued difficulty with sleep, agitation, hypersensitivity, difficulty controlling herself, and high energy, the Hubs and I decided to take her to a doctor and psychologist for some testing this past Fall.  Long story short, Madelynn received a "diagnosis" of being extremely intelligent/gifted (*surprise surprise*) and of ADHD.  After my own exploration, I have decided that while she may in fact have ADHD, I believe she really has a Sensory Integration Disorder - which, by the way, is not a "real" diagnosis just yet and seems to be quite controversial in the medical world (which I don't usually fit into - will probably post more on that at some other time).  Because of this, we likely have a long road ahead of us with school and such, but I am prepared to support her and advocate for her any way I am able.

On to Miss Isabella, who was born in June 2011.  (I must note that the Hubs and I find it fascinating that Madelynn was born exactly a week before his birthday and Isabella was born exactly a week before mine!)  When the Hubs and I decided to start trying for another baby, we really didn't expect to be blessed with another one, after all of the difficulties we had before conceiving Madelynn.  At the very least, we expected it to take a long time.  We took the "if it happens, it happens" attitude and stopped birth control in the beginning of September 2010.  I saw those miraculous two pink lines again on October 2, 2010!  Again I was shocked beyond belief.



My belly - April 2011 (photo taken by Mandy Clyburn)

Today Isabella is 7 1/2 months old, she is doing the typical 7 1/2 month old things like starting to sit up on her own, and her little personality is beginning to blossom.  She is pretty much the polar opposite of her sister: laid back (though watch out if she is hungry or tired or not getting her way) and kind of lazy.  Where Madelynn has blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, Isabella has dark hair - almost black - and brownish-greenish-goldish eyes.  Like her big sister, however, Isabella is hilarious and beautiful, and she has the power to melt her mommy and daddy's hearts with her big smile and bright eyes! 

I never knew love until I knew these two little girls.

Well, I guess that is enough for now.  This is longer than I wanted it to be, but it is impossible to really abbreviate a description of the most precious gifts one could ever receive.

I close with another quote, authour unknown, until we meet again:

"No One Else Will Ever Know The Strength Of My Love For You After All, You're The Only One Who Knows What My Heart Sounds Like From The Inside."
(((HUGS))))     

On the great debate

I have always been intrigued by the great debate between women who believe that mothers should stay home and women who believe that mothers should work outside of the home.  Women on both sides are so passionate and the debate often becomes quite heated, even vicious, even among friends. 

I have been both a "working" and a "stay-at-home" mom and therefore, I have experienced both sides of the debate that moms endure all day, every day, both in the world and inside their own heads.  As someone who strongly believes that women should be empowering and supporting one another, regardless of choices, I felt compelled to comment on this great debate here. 

When I worked outside of my home, "Mommy Guilt" rode shotgun with me each morning, chiding me for dropping off my daughter at daycare instead of keeping her at home, and for rocking her the night before instead of preparing for work. When I got to work each day, "Mommy Guilt" whispered that a good mom would still be at home with her daughter, and when I returned home in the evening, she'd insist that a better Counselor would have stayed at work longer. When I would talk to girlfriends who stayed home, "Mommy Guilt" would say, "See this lady is doing it right. Her kids are better off than yours are." "Mommy Guilt" certainly had a lot to say when Madelynn's daycare teachers admitted that she had taken her first steps while I was working. Every night when I finally got Madelynn to sleep, finished cleaning the kitchen, read the latest counseling journal, and collapsed on the couch, "Mommy Guilt" would snuggle up next to me and sweetly say "shouldn't you spend some quality time with your husband instead of crashing?" Finally, before I fell asleep each night, "Mommy Guilt" would whisper in my ear, "you know the only way you will ever be a good mother is if you quit your job and stay home with Madelynn."

So now I'm a stay-at-home mom with not one, but two daughters. The thing is, though, "Mommy Guilt" stays home with me. These days I experience it less as a drive-by-shooter and more as a constant running commentator. Now it sounds something like this:
"Did you spend all of that time and money on a Master's degree just so you could clean the kitchen and play Candy Land all day? And how is it that you don't even do those things very well? Can you concentrate on nothing? Look at this mess! A good mom would clean more and play less. Also, a good mom would clean less and play more. Also a good mom would clean more and play more and quit emailing or facebooking or blogging altogether. Additionally, I've been meaning to ask if you're sure you feel comfortable spending so much money when you don't even make any. Moreover, when was the last time you did any volunteer work? What about exercising - shouldn't you be setting an example for your kids by eating right and exercising?  What kind of stay at home mom doesn't go to library story time regularly or know how to make a good meatloaf? Furthermore, nobody in this house appreciates you."  My favorite, though, is that when I finally do sit down, concentrate on one of my kids, and read a few books all the way through, instead of saying "Good job!" "Mommy Guilt" says, "See how happy your daughter is? You're home all day - why don't you do this more often?"  Of course, before I go to sleep every night she whispers, "you know, maybe you would be a better woman if you just got out of this house and got a job."

"Mommy Guilt" is like that scene from the movie Liar Liar in which Jim Carrey enters a bathroom, throws himself against the walls, slams his head into the toilet, and rubs soap into his eyes. When a confused observer asks what on earth he's doing he says, "I WAS KICKIN' MY ASS! DO YA MIND?"
I understand the act of kicking one's own ass. I do it several times a day.  What I don't understand is why some women insist on making everything worse by kicking each other's asses.  Don't we do this to ourselves enough?

To the women who argue vehemently that all "good mothers" stay at home: Are you insane? If you got your way, who would show my daughters that some women actually change out of yoga pants and into scrubs and police uniforms and power suits each day? How would my girls even know that women who don't feel like carrying diaper bags can carry briefcases or stethoscopes instead?  How, pray tell, could I tell them with a straight face that they can grow up to be whatever they want to be?

To the women who argue that all stay home mothers damage women's liberation: Are you insane? Aren't you causing some damage to women's liberation by suggesting that we all must fit into a category, that women are a cause instead of individuals? Doesn't choosing to spend your limited time and energy attacking "us" set "us" back? For argument's sake, though, what if you got your way and every mother was required to work outside of the home? What would happen then? Who would volunteer to help coach my daughters' cheerleading squads, host their class parties, go on field trips or wait with them in the parking lot when I am running late to pick them up? Who would watch my older daughter while the baby gets her shots? Who would knock on my door and tell me that my keys are still in the front door, the doors to my car are open, and/or my purse is in the driveway?  If every woman made the same decision, how would my daughters learn that sometimes motherhood looks like going to work to put food on the table or stay sane or share your gifts or because you want to work and you've earned that right; that other times motherhood looks like staying home for all of the exact same reasons.

I believe that no matter what decision a woman makes, she is offering an invaluable gift to my daughters and to me. So I would like to thank all of you because I am not necessarily trying to raise an executive or a mommy. I am trying to raise a woman - and there are as many different right ways to be a woman as there are women.

So, angry, debating women out there, here's the thing: my daughters are watching me AND YOU to learn what it means to be a woman. I would like them to learn that a woman's value is determined less by her career choices and more by how she treats other women, in particular, women who are different from them. I would like them to learn that their strength is defined by their character and their ability to exist in grey areas without succumbing to hiding their insecurities behind generalizations or accusations. I would like them to learn that the only way to be both graceful and powerful is to embrace the endless definitions of the word WOMAN - and to refuse to organize women into categories, to view ideas in black and white, or to choose sides and come out swinging.  Really - being a woman is not that easy, and it's not that hard.  I also feel the need to note that usually when someone yells about how much peace they have with their decisions, it just doesn't ring true. The thing is, if someone is yelling, I don't believe that they have it all figured out. I don't even believe that THEY believe that they have it all figured out. I think the truth might be that they are as internally conflicted as the rest of us about their choices, but instead of kicking their own asses, they have decided it would be easier to kick ours.

Which is tempting, but not too productive or healthy.

So, maybe instead of tearing each other up, we could each admit that we are a bit torn up about our choices, or lack thereof, and we could offer each other a shoulder or a hand.  Then maybe our girls would see what it really means to be a woman.

Peace, love, and (((HUGS)))