Photo courtesy of Crista Ballard Photography 
Originally published in the July 2015 edition of 605 Magazine

At the time of this writing, I am a mere seven days away from meeting our new baby boy. This will be our second child, our first boy, and our first baby we were able to carry to full term. To say we are wildly excited would be a gross understatement, but as we have reached these last several days of waiting we also find ourselves … wildly bored out of our minds and beyond ready to look upon the face of our baby boy.

While I consider myself Procrastinator Extraordinaire — to the point I should probably list it on my resume under “Skills” -- preparing for this baby I have been body snatched and transformed into Patty Prepared. The nursery was done weeks ago. I planted my garden. Blankets have been folded and refolded. All baby gear has been purchased and stored and to top it off, I even started sewing. People, that’s how real it is: I’m so bored that I am sewing. I’ve sewn curtains, baby things, baby blankets, and I was just looking at a Youtube tutorial on how to make a tie for my dog.

I know what you’re thinking. And I know. I don’t even know myself anymore either.

Then, of course there is the cleaning. I feel like I have been reduced to a cleaning robot. In efforts to provide a sterile environment for a newborn, I feel like almost every moment of my day involves some sort of tidying. But, I have to to tell you, it’s the damndest thing: While I keep cleaning, these people I live with! They just keep eating. They keep wearing clothes. They keep dropping stuff on the floor. And with a gigantic baby subsiding directly in my abdominal cavity, at this point if it’s on the floor, it might as well be in Cuba because this pregnant gal can’t pick anything up.  It’s almost as if nesting has become futile because the nesting efforts are constantly being undermined by a toddler, a dog, and a grown man.
Thus, in these last days, I’ve given up on the cleaning aspect. My mother arrives tomorrow and I will more than appreciate the extra hands and able body as my body in this state of pregnancy — well, it is just not able. So instead of cleaning, sewing, and all the other insane things I have found myself doing to pass the time these last few weeks, I have taken to just soaking up these precious moments with my daughter.

We only have seven days left together just her and I during the day so I want to truly make the most of our time. We have spent long days at the park and pool and yesterday we spent a long rainy day inside baking. Foolishly thinking baking is a good idea with a fervently independent toddler, I had grand notions of several dozen cookies and a fresh baked cake awaiting my mother when she arrived. Instead, I found my kitchen looking like a scene out of Twister with only one dozen edible cookies, a broken bowl on the floor, a scared dog cowering in the corner because of the commotion, and a half eaten cake. Sorry, Mom.

But in the end, there was my daughter: Standing on her stool wearing an apron, silly happy with chocolate smeared all over her face and extremities shouting “I can’t wait to show Daddy cookies!” This is it, I thought to myself. These are the moments I’m going to remember forever. 
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Much like my toddler, I don’t do very well with boredom. But, I could not be more thankful for these 40 weeks of grueling high-risk pregnancy. For what feels like eternity, I have prayed, hoped, and begged for a full term pregnancy and now to be so close to the finish line and to still have time to sneak in priceless memories is more than I could have ever asked for.
As long as it feels, it is obvious God knew what he was doing when he made pregnancy 40 weeks long (don’t stone me for saying so).  Not only is it the perfect amount of time for a baby to be perfectly grown, but it’s also the ideal timeframe for all of us to get our heads wrapped around the fact that we are physically bringing a baby into the world. Wild.

So, while you’re reading this and you’re making your Fourth of July plans or scheming your epic road trip to some epic adventure, think of me dear friend and any other expectant mother. Drop us a line. Because we’ll just be here; holding it down on the prairie trying to stave off anxious boredom while doing our part to populate the earth. Now, back to waiting … Seven more days …

Photo Courtesy of Crista Ballard Photography.

This article was originally published in the January 2015 edition of 605 Magazine. 

The New Year has blown in from time’s north, ushering in a feeling of new and a sweeping sensation of fresh. We draw from year’s past to inform the untouched 365 days spread out before us and I as stand on the precipice of a new year filled with limitless opportunity, I can’t help but feel excited. Hopeful.

Last year I talked about the fear we have associated with going forward with more children due to our complications in getting our first child. But, as we looked at our only daughter and the miracle that she is, the fear seemed to dim and the light of potential life shined bright.

So, we did what anyone would do when thinking about having more children … We went to Mexico. Olé!  We swam in the ocean. We ate tacos. We did not drink the water. And we had the best time of our lives with some of the best friends we could ask for, all the while speaking horrible Spanish. A few weeks later, I found myself staring at a positive pregnancy test. Life was on track.

But, what started out as a dream come true tumbled into a nightmare 10 weeks into the pregnancy. We saw the heartbeat at six and seven weeks, but at our next appointment we found ourselves trapped in a sad scene out of a movie. The ultrasound tech went silent and left the room and returned with our doctor. “I’m so sorry,” she comforted. “But there is just no heartbeat this time, your baby has passed on.”

In that moment, time stalled. The air felt thick and suffocating. All I could do was keep my eyes on my husband and breathe. Now, for me, crying in public is akin to the humiliation of forgetting to put on pants before speaking to a large crowd. But in that moment, something in me crumbled. My heart. My heart crumbled and I began weeping like never before in front of everyone.

Thus began my walk on a road that unfortunately many women have walked before me and a road in which I am terrified to ever have to walk again.

Today, I have the vantage point of being six months away from that moment, and I can honestly say that somehow I’ve emerged feeling grateful. Because every since that day in the doctor’s office and the harrowing ride in the ambulance two days later when I developed complications associated with the miscarriage; my heart became opened, sensitive, and acutely aware of the entire subculture of women that have experienced similar and more dramatic loss in their pregnancies.

In my own tiny little world within just three weeks of our own nightmare, two of my closest friends had miscarriages and yet another experienced an ectopic pregnancy. Not to mention one of those dear women had already experienced the excruciating loss of her infant daughter. I also have several friends that are currently navigating through infertility issues and, on the flip side, I also know many women who sneeze and are pregnant and their delivery reads more like a spa day than actual labor.

But no matter the story, the reality is the road to pregnancy, pregnancy, and the aftermath is an epic odyssey laced with heartbreak and indescribable joy. And as I said last spring; no matter what, life is always worth the journey. So,  all of you women out there trying to conceive, who have suffered loss in the past, or are just fellow sojourners on the trek for children; I salute all of you. Your bravery to desire to love and care for a child is so wondrously sacrificial and the epitome of beautiful. In this new year, I pray for all of us that hope and life would grow and flourish.

As for the child we lost, while I mourn for her (we think it was a girl), we also rejoice. Because when we get to the point where all our journey’s end, I know I will see her again. And I won’t even have to be told who she is or wonder where she is. Because I know she’ll be there. I’ll recognize her and her me, because we know each other. What a sweet reward.

This article was originally published in the March 2014 edition of 605 Magazine. 

It's as if the heavens have opened. Bursting forth in the form of budding trees, blossoming florals, and sweet celestial sunshine; a new day has dawned.

Springtime.

If you read my last column in March, you know to say it has been a long winter for our family would be an understatement of the millennium. When the winter bullies spring in arriving late or not at all, there is something that panics inside of me. As if the the entire universe is entirely off course.

The late bizarre, but ever ingenious word artist Ernest Hemingway writes in his memoir "A Moveable Feast" about his love affair with spring and he said "In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed."  I've been going over this quote in my mind lately — marinating in the truth of what he was getting at. It is frightening when springtime, along with all the new life that blows in with it, feels like it will never arrive. And not merely because of the much-needed temperature change, but because Spring's arrival innately tells the beautiful story of the natural course of all of nature and humanity: Rebirth and new life.

New life.

New life is heavy on my heart this spring as this was always the year and season we "earmarked" (as if you can really plan for something that is largely out of your hands) for taking the plunge in thinking about adding another tiny human to our ever chaotic family. But as we are in the throes of the terrible twos with our current daughter, the winter was the 10th worst in state history (so sayeth the news), and not to mention the serious complications with preeclampsia we experienced with our first pregnancy; I've been struggling with whether or not this is the right season for us to think about baby number two.

I recently took my daughter sans husband to see my sister-in-law and niece in California. I was gone for a total of 10 days and in those 10 days I got a small taste of what it would be like to be a caretaker of more than just one child.

That being said, I would like to pause here and say to all you parents out there with multiple children: Did you ever know that you're my hero? I'm not kidding. Give your self a gold star for life and get your angelic little bottom to the spa for a massage. You deserve it.  

As one may imagine, 10 days with my niece, age five, and daughter, age two, was truly an memorable adventure. My sister-in-law and I, both with husbands working during this "vacation", played one-on-one coverage with the children but despite our best efforts; we still found ourselves annihilated at day's end mumbling mildly coherently sentences to each other like "we did it."

To better illustrate, by the end my sister-in-law had dubbed my daughter the "tiny tornado" and after too many broken items to count, spills galore, and potty accidents I don't ever want to talk or think about again; I think the name will stick. And to top it off, we decided it would be fun and flew with both children to Las Vegas to see my sweet grandma for her birthday. And without going into too much detail, Vegas with a potty-training toddler and a bed-wetting school-age child: Probably not the best idea we've ever had. However, on a positive note, I do think we did a tremendous civic duty when the children made such a spectacle at the gliteratti Vegas pool that we are pretty sure we scared the horrified bronzing 20-somethings into celibacy.

You're welcome, America.

But as the trip wound to a close, and I began thinking about returning home, what I thought in the moment felt like pure chaos I started to ache for and actually miss before it was even over. Watching the children learn to get along, help each other, laugh carelessly and blissfully over nothing at all, and hold hands when they didn't think anyone was looking did something to my heart.

All the worries I had in even thinking about having another child seemed to pale. I suddenly feel like I am spring pushing against winter. No matter the complications that may arise, no matter adversity we will undoubtedly face; new life is worth the risk. And like spring that sometimes gets bullied into coming later than expected or begins and then is delayed by the harshness of winter, new life doesn't always come when and the way you expect. But when and if it does, we know the fight was worth it as there is nothing greater on earth than new life.