In the still of the early morning hours, I am able to completely reflect upon the birth of my second son. As I sit quietly, I can conjure up the sounds and feelings of that early morning water breakage, the fear of leaving our home the mother to one child and returning as the mother to two young boys. I can remember the craziness of standing in the elevator with my husband at the hospital, conversing with an old man who got on with us about the beautiful Sunday weather as water leaked out of me and contractions squeezed my body. A child moving softly within my body for the last few precious moments together. I can remember how there was nothing to watch but televangelists on the TV. How Dave and my doctor went to lunch at the local chinese restaurant while I sat alone, contemplating the day as it progressed. I had my yoga instructor come and help me with labor. Her visualizations and soft music lulling my mind into a calm place, even as my body struggled to move my child down the birth canal. Her softly holding my foot as the doctor tried to give me an epidural which would not take. A sweet, smiling doctor who two short weeks later would be dead from lung cancer. Who lingered outside the door as I labored, wishing he could do something for my pain of natural childbirth, but could not. I can remember the tunnel vision feeling of telling the nurses I felt great pressure. How they suddenly became very busy, turning the chest of drawers where I put my clothes into a place where their tools of the trade were placed to help my doctor bring my child into this crazy world. How the camera stuck and my frazzled husband opened the back of the camera and exposed the film of my last days of pregnancy and our oldest son's first blackberry picking with my Mom. There was to be no pictures of this birth. I can remember focusing on Gloria through each contraction, realizing that pushing Cullen out was not the same as pushing out Kadin. I can vividly remember the look of fear on my OB's face as my child crowned. Sternly he made me focus on him telling me he had to get the baby out, now, and I was to listen to him. I can remember the look that passed between him and my husband when Cullen's head came out, but his little body would not. In the confusion of nano-second, I can see in slow motion my husband thrusting his body across my belly, pushing the nurse out of the way, as he and Dr. Thornberry silently communicated. One pushing, one pulling, to release our child into the world. I can remember the unbearable pain passing into euphoria as he was expelled and placed upon my chest only to have the nurse freaking out at his grey color and thrusting oxygen into his face and vigorously rubbing his back as my sweet Cullen stared wide eyed. I can hear my husband telling the nurse to stop, that his body was pink, and he was ok. Only to look down into my child's face and see a new soul. A baby who was smash faced, grey in color, and all my own. The love that comes when you stare into your child's eyes. 15 minutes later I was on the phone with the cord blood place to schedule pick up, the pain of childbirth a short path behind me. Poor Cullen looked like he had been beat up, and I was not any better off. Pushing him so fiercely broke the blood vessels in my eyes and I looked like the victim in a cheap horror show. Painful for all to look at.

As I watch my son sleeping now, nine years later, I am amazed at this child who came so dramatically into the world. My 7lb 3oz baby who litterally got stuck, has not been stuck ever again. A child who gave his older brother the courage to face fears. A little boy who had excema on his face and a ready smile to all he met. A baby who did not toddle, but ran. A child who still bursts forth head first into things in life. A sensitive guy who many people misinterpret. A little boy who is more like me than I sometimes want to acknowledge. I sit here, nine years later, and thank God for the lessons Cullen has taught me. From learning to love another child, to watching brothers grow with one arm slung around the other's shoulders. From early morning feedings where it is just baby and Mommy, to double stroller walks with Daddy. Somewhere along the way he potty trained in one day, learned to read, tie his shoes, and will be entering the 4th grade. His peaceful sleeping face reflects not only the child he was, but the man he will become, with God's grace.

Nine years ago, so much was unknown. And still, today, the future cannot be seen. But I do know I have been blessed beyond measure. By a small, energetic little boy who has captured my heart, filled my life, and given me more than I could ever give him back. Happy Birthday, Cullen McKee! I love you to the moon and back!

Nine Years Ago

Little did I know nine years ago that today would be my last day pregnant with my second son. Little did I know the trauma from his birth would stay by me for years to come. Little did I know how much a second child could weasle his way into my heart and expand it so much, we would want a third. 37 weeks into my second pregnancy, I'm sure this day was much like any other day with a 31 month old toddler on a Saturday. I can picture a tiny baby's nursery, his little bitty clothes, and my anticipation of carrying this child weeks longer than I had my first one. My mother was at our house in Alabama in anticipation of this small one's birth. Nine years is a blink of an eye, yet a lifetime for one small boy. Cullen McKee. The child who blazed into our lives, blue-grey from lack of oxygen. Who took that first gasping breath and never looked back. The child who has never met a stranger, never lacked for anything to say, and never sat still. A child our oldest son needed in the deepest sense of the word. A baby who gave an older brother wings, and his parents new eyes to appreciate the smaller things in life. A little boy who never ceases to make us stop and take note. I can sometimes glimpse the man he will become. On this day, I will cherish the last day of Cullen being 8. For tomorrow, a whole new year begins! We love you, Cullybug!

Awe inspiring

If you have never been involved in a huge run or walk, I encourage you to attend one just to see the masses of people. Unless you are the most hardened of heart, or first in the race, seeing the swell of people running through a narrow corral and heading in a huge circle is inspirational to say the least. There is every age imaginable, every body shape conceived, every stride, every shoe, every garment and gadget known to mankind. The commradery is amazing and will bring a tear to your eye. For one day, for a few hours, all is ok in the world. You are starting out on a journey that leads...well, back to where you started, but still, the journey within can be further than the miles traveled on feet. Many of you know I have struggled with my breathing in the past few years. After seeing a pulmonologist (I think it's asthma, not sure. Just in case, stop running! Who wants to run that far anyway?!), an allergist (you have a vocal cord dysfunction, see a speech therapist), a full pulmonolgist team (we have no idea what is wrong with you), a trainer (I can teach you to run with your vocal cord issues!), and many friends (their support is endless!)I slowly was able to start finding my groove back. After pounding the pavement and the treadmill on my own, I have discovered that I can control my breathing without an inhalor, I can control my vocal cord dysfunction (thank you Marijo!) but I still have some anxiety issues to deal with. Often in not a pretty way, hence running alone. :) Today was my final test. To run a half marathon with my safe person, my husband. To cast demons from my past and move forward. And even though I stopped and walked on occasion, and was worn out by 11 miles, we did it! The swell of people in front of us was amazing, as was the swell behind us. To read shirts about how pain is just an illusion, running for lost loved ones, running to run, people who have done 50 marathons in 50 states, the whole nine yards. It was amazing! With my Sole Sister shirt on, I remembered my new mantra: "I do not run to add days to my life. I run to add life to my days." And so I do. So I do.

A new beginning....

Today as we emptied out a small cabin we have only had for a few years, I am reminded how attached to our real estate we can become. This little cabin on a small lake in Illinois has embedded itself into my heart. A tiny one room shack on brick pillars with weeds growing through the painted blue floor, with it's tiny crooked bathroom, and it's non existent kitchen brings a smile to my face. Oh, the history of one small place! 420 square feet of memories not only for me and my family, but for everyone out at the Whippoorwill Club. Everyone knows who has lived there, who replaced what door, built the deck, added the curtains, upgraded the sink, made the walk, planted the hostas.....and we added our mark onto it's walls as well. In a few short weeks, that history will be a memory of pictures as a new cabin will take it's place. Only the ground will be sacred. I'm a little sad at that. As Dave was moving the fridge through the kitchen door, that used to be the main door because the kitchen area used to be the front porch, long, long ago, the folding door broke off. I cried! He just looked at me. How do you describe the attachment to a small place that held many a sleepless night with five people nestled in one room, practically on top of one another? He asked if we should stop the building of a new place. As tears ran down my face, I looked around. No, it's time to make new memories in a new building. To make our mark on the WWC visible. To have a place where my family can be comfortable. The walls we are in may never hear my family's laughter again, but the night air will. That building may never safely keep the critters out while we sit together, but the land will hold up another place that will. And although that small, wonderful cabin will only live on in our memories and in pictures, they will not be forgotten. Ever.

On the Eve of my 40th Birthday

We grow neither better or worse as we get old, but more like ourselves.

~ May L. Becker ~

I guess on every birthday I begin to pontificate about what the year behind me has brought. Have I grown? Have I righted wrongs? Have I been the best that I could be at any given time. Those are hard questions at times, and sometimes I do not like the truthful answer. Am I a good mother? A good wife? A faithful friend? A Christian in all the sense? Do I walk the walk of my talk? Again, sometimes I do better than others. But my New Years resolution this year was to be kind to myself. I have spent the last 40 years trying to prove something. To prove I could run fast. To prove I was worthy of love. To prove I could carry a fuller than full load in college. To prove I could diagnose and treat patients with the best of them. To prove I could obtain the things I wanted out of life. To be a good daughter. To raise good sons. Now I just want to breathe more and enjoy life. For the past few years, I have gone with the saying that if someone does not fill my cup, they have no place in my life. I have been brought down by people I gave more control to than they deserved. I'm sure in life, others have given me that control as well. I am more apt to see both sides now, where in my younger years, there was just a black and white side. If you didn't agree with me, you were against me. I no longer feel that way. I enjoy friends who are like minded, but friends who make me think out of the box I seem to gravitate to as well. Friends from all walks of life. All religions. I want to know them all.

But mostly I want to be kinder to myself. To realize life is not about losing those last five pounds. Or if my stomach is not as taunt as it used to be. Or if my car is not the newest. My house is not fanciest. My kids are not perfectly dressed at all moments. Or me either. But that my door is always open to those who need something. That my arms are always willing to hug and to help. That my heart is open to those who may not be like me. That my children always know how important they are to me. That my husband knows that we are a team. That life can be taken at a moment's notice and I never want to live with an "I wish" on the horizon.

So on this eve of my 40th birthday, I want to be excited about what the next 40 years will bring. The growing of my children, the deepening of love, the grandchildren that may come. Daughter in laws to adore. Life being lived to the fullest. Not with stipulations. But for the sheer joy of living this life God has given me. It's been good so far. I only expect it to get better! Because after all, you're only as old as you feel. And I feel GREAT!

For the child of my heart.

Eleven years ago, I was transformed from a mere woman, to a mother. The object of that transformation was a 35 week, 5lb 8oz little boy who captured my heart long before I ever laid eyes on him. I vividly remember wanting so badly to be pregnant. Trying desperately month after month to conceive a child only to be disappointed time after time again. In February 1999, my dreams were answered! Only weeks later, at 9w 2days, to have a horrible bleed and thinking I lost that dream. It does no good at that point, to know that 7 out of 10 women miscarry their first pregnancy. I wanted THIS child. I know the fear of calling an OB/GYN and being told that there is nothing they can do. To wait and see. I bleed and pass clots all the while thinking you are losing your child. Luckily, for us, we had access to u/s machines and quickly knew that our little one was still alive and kicking. That I seem to grow polyps outside of my cervix that grow and pop. And bleed a lot. But comfortably growing inside was a small gift from God. I never took a day for granted. At that point, I knew we were having a son. In my gut, I knew that this baby was a child for me, a child of my heart. I would name him Kadin. It is arabic and means companion, friend. For that is how I felt. It was he and I. At 17 weeks Dave and I went to the maternal fetal medicine doctor to check him out and make sure things looked healthy. Just as I predicted, our baby was a boy! In the car, I handed Dave a small outfit that was green. On the front it had snips and snails, on the back, puppy dog tails. How I loved that outfit! :) As time went by and I got huger than life, the miracle of growing a small life was never far away. Even for the neighbor man who quiety stood by the ladder I climbed when I painted the outside of our house at 5 months pregnant, to the neighbors across the street who checked on me during the eyes of hurricanes. I was surrounded by people who felt invested in this small life, even though my family was so far away, and my husband worked long hours. A few days before Halloween, I was in Kmart and felt like I needed to go to the bathroom. I had on white shorts and a red top. It felt like the bathroom grew further and further away the faster I walked towards it. With what I thought was urine leaking from me, I made it, only to realize the horror show that awaited me. My white shorts were now red. Blood ran down my legs. The child I had felt blissfully tossing inside me, not felt like dead weight. I quickly cleaned up, and waddled out of the store. I did not have a cell phone so the drive to the hospital felt like 100 years long. Luckily, my OB was coming into the hospital the same time I was and took me straight to labor and delivery where my husband was working. Again, God showed his mercy and even though I was dilated and contracting, my baby was alive!! For the next week I walked around at 5 cm, 80% effaced and 34 weeks. I worked every day and rested every night. Life was a blur. Then one day at work, I got a call from Dave. He asked me to leave work and come to the hospital. It was time. An attending doctor had gotten ahold of my u/s of Kadin. He saw something that others did not. He acted like he was presenting a case to Dave. He gave my stats. He gave the details of what happened with the bleed. He asked Dave what he would do. Dave said without hesitation that there had been an abruption and to get the woman in and deliver her baby. The doctor firmly looked at Dave and told him. "Then call your wife!" As I drove to the hospital, I had no idea. I got hooked up, my water was broken. Port red wine fluid. I had abrupted partially. The next day, I pushed out at 5 am, the sweetest little guy ever! With his dark hair and his small body, the NICU team was on call in case he needed to be sent off. But at first gasp, my little man screamed! A healthy little boy born too early with a calcified placenta and an umbilical cord the size of angel hair pasta. There are all kinds of medical reasons on why this child should not have made it. But he did. And he came home the next day. From the moment of conception and before, he has been a dream of mine. That remains the same today. Kadin was always a watchful child. We learned cues from him on what people to trust, which to stay away from. He intuitively knew others feelings and could calm a sad heart with a touch. When we volunteered at the Nursing Home in the Alzeihmer's unit, this small child could warm the hardest of hearts. Never did any one of the residents become combative with him. Those that seemed lost would gather his small body close, listen to his jabber, and tell him stories of long ago as he stroked their faces. This is a child who not only eased my soul, but he does others. He has always been older than his years, an old soul. A child who reacts to my emotions before I even know what I am feeling. A child who sees what needs to be done to help, and does it without question. A companion. A friend.

On this day, November 4th, I once again thank God for the safe delivery of one of his angels. A child given to me for a short time. Every day that I watch this miracle grow, I am reminded that life is not in my hands. And that there is a greater purpose for Kadin in this world. I can't wait to continue to watch the story unfold.

Happy Birthday to the child of my heart. I adore you more than you can ever know. You are more than I deserve.

Happy Birthday, Liam

Tomorrow, my baby will be four years old. These are the days I usually reflect upon the desires I had before we conceived a child, the dreams I held during my pregnancy, the pregnancy itself, and then the quickness of the births of my sweet boys. Liam is no exception. That desire for a third child when socially, two children is the norm. How my whole life I said I would NEVER have three children. I was the middle child of three. So is Dave. Why would I do that to a child? But yet, at the ripe old age of 36, I ached for another baby. Ten days after I turned 36, we conceived our third son. Week after week I bled horribly, always thinking this was the last that my body would cradle. My friends that read this that walked that walk with me, time after time, as my older boys learned by the look I gave, or the tone of voice I used that they needed to get their shoes on quickly as we drove to the doctors office to see if I had lost the baby. I spent months in fear. Fear of losing a child I loved dearly before he was brought into my womb. A child that at 14 weeks we knew was a boy. A child that completes our family.
Tonight, as I stare at my baby on his last day of being three, I remember those days. Not the sadness of never having a daughter, but the fear of losing a child I adored, even though I didn't realize it. The gift I was given just for asking. How unworthy I felt. Tonight, as I kiss the last three year old from my womb, I will thank God. I will thank Him for giving me the opportunity to parent such amazing children. I will thank him for people who have come into my life before Liam was born; mothers of all sons, mothers wishing for a daughter, and for a woman who unselfishly gave pumpkin pillows from a far away Cracker Barrel just because a friend asked. To a sister who was present for the birth of a nephew. Who loved this child when I wasn't sure I could. For a family who supported me. For children who already existed who showed me that love is all I needed. For friends who offered their ears, their arms, and their daughters. And finally, to a little boy who is the answer to prayers I didn't know I prayed, but am so thankful I did.

Liam is not what I expected in my life, but he is the child my heart called for. Liam is not what I prayed for in the physical sense, but he is the child that fits all of the requests I asked for in personality, health and temperment. Liam is not what I thought I needed, but he proves every day how wrong I was to think I knew best.

So tomorrow, October 15, I wish a Happy Fourth Birthday to one of the best gifts ever unfolded before my eyes. From a hard pregnancy, to a scary delivery, to a reflux filled little boy that has shown me every step of the way what love means. Proving once again that unanswered prayers are the best gifts. I thank God for my Liam Fisher. For the joy he brings, for the laughter he supplies, for the smiles he gives out as freely as his hugs and kisses, but most of all, for a little boy that taught me that dreams come in all shapes, sizes, and genders.

Happy Birthday, Liam. My dream come true.
Love, Mommy