Adoption Part 3: The Longest 24 hours of my life (aka, the longest post I have ever written)

Utah Law is that the birth-mother must have 24 hours and one minute post-delivery before she can relinquish the baby for adoption. 

24 hours and one minute. I've never had a longer day in my life. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Lets back up to Friday May 13th, 2011. Mike and were home together, cuddling on the couch going through the last things we needed to do before we had a baby. That morning is so very clear to me, though I'm not sure why. Laying there with my head against his chest I distinctly remember listening to his heart. Rhythmic. Steady. Strong. Calming. We were alone, perhaps for the last time in a long time. I heard my phone ring, but I decided to ignore it. Then I had a feeling I better hurry and check it. It was Casey- and Anna was in labor. 

We flew into action. As it turned out, our social worker had something come up and there was a chance he wouldn't be able to be right there at the hospital when we needed him. And when it comes to doing the relinquishment (the official/legal term for the birth mother signing over her parental rights), you don't take chances. So we had some paper work we needed to get sent over to our new social worker asap. 

Overdrive! Shower, breakfast, should we bring some snacks? Pack bags, grab the papers we can fax them on the way, call in from work...Mike was frozen. He looked panicked. Mike is not a huge fan of surprises and this caught us off guard. It was so cute, it really was. I'll never forget the look on his face. I think I just asked him to go start with a shower while I made some calls and wrote out a list (I just love lists). I called Anna, who was at her doctors office. The nurse got on the line to explain that she was having contractions but it did not appear to be active labor. She recommended we wait until Anna progressed further before we drove up, as it wasn't time to go the the hospital yet. 

So all day we waited. Waited for news. Waited for progress. Anna really hoped today would be the day. But it was not to be. I'll tell you what, our house went from clean (really clean actually, I "nested" like crazy the weeks before), to immaculate. Nervous energy drove me crazy as I tried to stay busy that weekend. 

Well a few days later, it was the 18th. Today was for real. And while a false alarm was super disappointing, now we were ready. Especially Mike. Our worst fear going into this is that Anna would change her mind when she held our baby. ("our baby"? yes, we all-even Anna-referred to this baby as "our" baby) Its not uncommon for that to happen. Although, its also not uncommon for birth-mothers to change their minds again weeks or even months later. I didn't know if I could keep myself together if she changed her mind. We worked out our plan. If anything happened, I would slip out as graciously as possible and Mike would take over. Its a crazy feeling. Installing the carseat and packing a diaper bag, while simultaneously discussing how to handle not coming home with a baby. Reflecting back on those gut-wrenching moments I can only be grateful they are past. But its what we had to do. And we were willing to do whatever we had to to bring home our son. 

We called our families to tell them we were on our way. We held hands the whole drive. We listened to our favorite music. There wasn't a whole lot of talking, but that was okay. Mike has a way of saying everything I need to hear, just by holding my hand. 

Anna had to arrive early, about 6am for paperwork and such. We opted to come closer to 10 so she would have time to get settled. Her father and step-mom were there. We had never met her parents before. 

I remember being nervous "meeting the parents" when I was dating. But it was nothing compared to this. I didn't know how they felt about this adoption. I had no idea what they knew about us. I could not have imagined more nerve-wracking conditions to meet them in. 

My heart was racing as we arrived at the hospital. Anna sent her dad down to meet us and take us back to her room. He was short (characteristic of their family, Anna is tiny), friendly, and seemed as nervous as we were. We talked casually, as though we had all done this before (which of course, we had not). Lets call him George. He introduced us to Lucy, his wife. She was also nervous, but incredibly friendly, and so glad to see us. In fact, they both seemed relieved when they met us. Lucy pulled me outside and held me close. "Thank you" she whispered in my ear, "You are the angels we have prayed for". We talked outside for a few more minutes. She told me how worried the family had been, and how grateful she was that we were going to adopt this baby. Grateful to us. I was shocked and humbled. It was us who were grateful, beyond measure. 

The nurses all but ignored us, though we were sure to make sure and introduce ourselves. The hours passed slowly. It was pleasant enough, but of course we were all a bit anxious, and tired (none of us had slept the night before), except for Anna. She seemed completely relaxed. I'll be honest, those hours were a bit of a blur. Her parents ordered pizza around 11, and we all ate together. We talked a lot about their family, their history. Mike and I slipped out later to "get dinner" at Wendy's. Mostly we just needed some fresh air. But we rushed back, determined not to miss anything. 

About 4:30 Anna's water broke. She was progressing beautifully. The staff started preparing for delivery, and the doctor arrived at 4:45. George, Mike, and Anna's boyfriend headed out to the halls to pace. I am forever grateful that Anna wanted me to be there for the birth of our boy. Lucy nudged the nurses, "let he in so she can see, this is his mother", and pulled out her camera. 

*I have to step away from this story for just a minute and talk candidly with you. I'm bawling my eyes out. The birth of your first child is a once in a lifetime experience that changes you forever. I know this is a long post, and I've tried to cut out a lot, but every detail of this day is engraved on my heart. There are just too many things I can't leave out. I've never put it all down in words before and this seems a trivial expression of such a momentous day, but its the best I can do*


Three pushes, and he was out. It was 4:58. A moment later he let out a loud yell. I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest when I saw him. He was perfect.  We have a picture of him peeing on the doctor and nurse as they held him up. Not that I need pictures. I remember it perfectly. I was overcome with a rush of love like I had never experienced before. 

Once they did his assessments, they inked his little feet and stamped them on a card for us. They drew a curtain around Anna, and pulled Mike back into the room. The nurse asked if Mike was the adoptive father, and, when he nodded, pulled him close. Before Mike knew what was happening, she stamped a perfect little "footprint tattoo" on his arm. That was the first moment I saw Mike choke up. 

The nurses bundled our little boy up, and took him to Anna. I wanted to cry, "wait, he is mine", but I choked it back. I felt almost desperate to hold him. Fear clutched at my soul as I watched her take him in her arms. I probably bruised Mike's arm I was holding it so tight. 

But Anna seemed surprised. She only glanced at him for a moment before asking nonchalantly "where is the menu, I'm hungry". Lucy, ever mindful of me, swept over and said "let's get this little guy to his mom, honey", and scooped him up. 



He was so beautiful, perfect. He felt so familiar, like we had already met. I love babies in general. But I can tell you, this was different. I had never felt like this before. He quieted instantly in my arms. And we just looked at each other. I was only vaguely aware of people coming and going. I could have stayed lost in that moment. Mike came to my side as soon as they let him back in the room. Watching him with our tiny son in his arms I felt the most complete happiness. 

  

Now the clock started on the 24 hours. We could not tell anyone, even our family, that he was here. We let our social worker know, and made plans. I stayed by our baby's side. Of course everyone held him. But I fed him, I changed every tiny diaper. I was so glad Lucy was there to take care of Anna so I could focus all of my attention on my precious baby. The minutes ticked by slowly. So slowly.  

Her parents left for the night, and we hugged them close and promised to love our son forever. Anna's boyfriend had ducked out earlier (but can you blame him? he wasn't the father, and he seemed a more than a little uncomfortable). Mike stayed for a while, but finally left to spend the night with my grandma, who lived close by. It was just Anna & me for the night. 

We had talked about it. She had asked me to be there. We had a mutual respect for each other, and I had worked hard to earn her trust. I had the pullout couch, you know the one usually reserved for husbands. But it was I who spent the night by her side. I helped her to the bathroom, got an extra pillow for her from the staff. The nurses forgot to give her something for pain, so I made sure they came back to give it to her. I tucked her in for the night. Once I got her settled I turned my attention to our son. "Baby Boy", no last name on his card. Just a room number. He was so small, so helpless. I held him close, and watched Anna sleep. I know Anna is not my daughter, and it was not she that we adopted. But I have always wanted to help her, take care of her. In this moment, more than ever, I ached to undo the heartache life had burdened her with. And for the first time I wrestled with the idea of adoption. 

I knew it would break her heart. I knew she loved him. We both knew she could not take care of him, she could barely take care of herself. But I didn't want to cause her more heartache-and losing a child is a terrible loss. 

I'm not sure I slept much. I just kept staring at my sleeping baby. It was a thoughtful and contemplative night. But by morning, I was filled with peace. 

  

I was excited to see Mike the next morning. He brought up breakfast and Jamba Juice. The second day was the hardest. Anna was expecting all of her family and friends to come. The first visitor was a vulgar, foul, and odorous man in his 50's. They had known each other from a homeless shelter they stayed at together. As I watched him roughly pick up my baby I felt a dragon-like fury. He wasn't gentle at all. When our sweet boy liked his lips, this man roared "don't you stick your tongue out at me you little &$#@($&#...", and I kid you not Mike had to hold me back. Everything inside of me wanted to protect my helpless son and banish this guy. But I bit my tongue and waited for my chance to snatch back my baby. 

The whole day I was guarded. The family was nicer. In fact, I was excited to see Casey and her daughter come. Still, it was hard to see all of Anna's family fall in love with a boy we couldn't even tell our parents about. But thus it was. I was relieved that most of Anna's friends flaked out. Even her boyfriend (who had promised to come first thing) bailed on her (which was ok, because when she called he was completely wasted in front of his xbox). But I could see the disappointment in her eyes. 

To take her mind off of it, I helped her wash and style her hair. She had never had a hair straightener before so I had brought her a spare I had. (lest you think me cheap, under no circumstances were we allowed to give her a gift, in case for legal reasons that be taken as a bribe). I just happened to have a few things I knew she would appreciate, so I brought them. (Who could argue with that?) I smoothed her hair, did her makeup, touched up her nails. I knew she would be going home to a skunk-drunk joke of a boyfriend (he lost any chance of me liking him when he offhandedly told her not to come home until she was ready to "sex up" their apartment, despite needing recovery time),  but I wanted her to feel beautiful, and important. 

Anna had asked the social worker to come by early with papers so that she could fill them out ahead of time. I was anxiously watching the clock all day. By noon, I was dying. George came back around 4 to help her go through everything. They worked on a medical history, and filled out stacks of paperwork. Time slowed even more. The only moments I forgot the time were taking care of my baby. Bath time, feedings. I held him as much as possible, feeling a protective claim that legally I had no right to make. Not yet. 

Finally our social worked came back. He explained everything to Anna & her father. We chatted. Waiting. We were all ready, and finally at 5pm she was able to sign papers. He was ours to take home. I almost felt like running out of the hospital, like it wouldn't be official while we were still standing there all together. We headed to the nursery to get our son. The new shift of nurses were not up to speed on our situation. It was funny to see their faces as I strolled in in my jeans. "Wow, you look great for just having a baby", I let it slide with a smile. For some reason I found it really funny and it was a nice break from the tension of the last day. 

Finally we loaded up the car and pulled away. But we weren't more than 100 feet away when Mike glanced back at the little carseat behind us. And he broke down in tears. He was my rock through all of this, and everything finally hit him all at once. We pulled over and cried together. 

Finally able to call our families, we let them know we were on our way home. Swept up in the most delicious happiness we left as a new little family. We picked up a Papa Murphey's Gourmet Vegetarian pizza (my favorite) on our way home. As we rolled in the drive I pulled out the video camera. We were like giddy kids introducing him to our home. Suddenly everything felt normal. Our family all came by to meet him that night. He was the first grandchild on either side, so yeah, he was an extra big deal. Watching our family tenderly take him in, I was so grateful. I knew that despite our imperfections he would have parents who would love & protect him, and family that would be loyal & spoil him like crazy. We made it. I looked around our beautiful little home and my son, proudly in Mike's arms. Beckett. We could name him now. B, for short. As I took him in my arms that night, I felt my insides lurch. But this time it was not out of anxiety. It was the tiny baby I carried within. Yup, I was pregnant. And our baby was more than excited about B too. 

Adoption Part 2: Two & a half months

* I want to preface my thoughts today with the following: This blog has been a lot of fun for me. It has been an outlet, and a lighthearted place to share my thoughts. And while this experience was incredibly blessed, and had joyous outcomes, by no means was it lighthearted in nature. My heart was raw from the disappointment of childless years. Our finances were tight from the strain of trying. We were busy, both working and in school. Mike and I drew close through our struggles, but they were struggles nonetheless. I am by nature quite open about most things. But I am fiercely protective of my family, and there are just some things that I hold close only to be shared at the right time, and with close friends. There were so many tender experiences as we tried for a child of our own, as we navigated the fragile relationship with our birth-mother, as the adoption of our son pended the agency of another. We have been asked lots of questions, and I'll try to answer them as we go. There are roughly a couple hundred of you who read our blog (which I realize is nothing in the blog world, but it means a lot to us), but I'm uncertain who exactly who you are so I'm hoping to reach those of you who have asked to know more. If I miss your question, feel free to reach me personally or comment at the end.*

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the wonderful people who are part of our story**

Two & a half months:

At first our only contact with the birth-mom was through her cousin Casey. Casey did a wonderful job of preparing us to meet with Anna, our birth-mom. She gave us some background on Anna's life, and told us about the progress of this pregnancy. 

Our first meeting was highly anticipated. As silly as it sounds, I was worried about every little detail. We only had one chance to make the right impression, and the stakes could not have been higher. What are you supposed to wear? I changed my outfit over and over as I went through possible scenarios in my mind. I had dozens of imaginary interviews, trying to anticipate what she would ask us. As we were ready to walk out the door, Casey called and said Anna was having a rough day, and we should reschedule. Of course we immediately agreed. But I was so worried. The decision to give up a child is probably one of the most difficult anyone can make, and I knew Anna had gone back and forth trying to decide what to do. 

A stressful week of waiting, and we finally got another chance. Mike & I went as "us" as possible. Nothing fancy. Of course we wanted to impress her. But I tried to put myself in her shoes, and we decided the best thing we could do was just to give her the best idea of who we were everyday. I knew she didn't have a lot of money, and I didn't want to make her uncomfortable by being super dressed up, so we came casual. Jeans. It was a Saturday. I remember every detail.  I still have the shirt I wore that day. And I think of that day every time I put it on. 

We met at Casey's house. I was holding on to Mike's hand as tight as I could as we walked to the door. Casey welcomed us into her home with a smile. I liked her instantly, and was grateful she was there. Anna was dressed all in black, and had done her hair and makeup. I can't tell you what was going through her mind in those first moments. I can't tell you what was going through my mind. But as I took her hand our eyes met. There was an unspoken, and indescribable moment as a million things that words could never convey passed between us. This girl could not have been more vulnerable, her swollen belly bulging though clothes that were not meant for maternity. 

And then I looked down. There he was, the most perfect bump I had ever seen. A bump I could not help but wish was my own. He was so close I could have reached him. But he was not mine. Not yet. I was dying to know him, did he move a lot? Did he like music, warm showers? Was he measuring okay? Had his ultrasound looked good? All of this and more passed through my mind. But I just smiled and followed Casey into her living room.

  

We were there for over an hour talking, but it only took a few minutes of Anna's questions before she seemed satisfied. We began talking about when he would arrive. She wanted to know what we would name him. Would we circumcise him? What about school? She asked us each a few questions about ourselves. I can't imagine having been more comfortable than we were, and the time passed quickly. She liked us. The decision was hers entirely. I have no idea what she was looking for, the criteria was all up to her. And somehow we passed. She was going to be our birth-mother. 

She told me when her next doctors appointment would be, and offered to let me come. My heart was so full I felt like I would explode. Of course I would be there, and anything she needed I told her to call me. I didn't know how to take care of my unborn son yet, but I could take care of Anna. And that became my goal for the next 10 weeks. 

Anna was scheduled to be induced on May 18th, at 39 weeks. I went to each appointment with her, picking her up at her apartment. I loved her. I respected her tremendously. She had a hard life. She was bipolar and allergic to lithium, making treatment near impossible. The birth-father was in jail, and had been very abusive. So much so that she had to run, change her number, hide from him. She had been on the streets. Life had been hard on her. 

I took her out to eat, made sure she had food in her fridge. I met her boyfriend, her neighbors, even her grandma. I saw her apartment, tried to make sure she had what she needed. 

We had some moments. She wanted us to name this baby after her father and grandfather. I wanted him to have his own name, and Mike's. She talked about having sleepovers, and taking him to family reunions. I feared she wanted to be his mother when it was convenient for her, and that she wasn't thinking about how this would affect our child. I tried to be gentle, and clear about what our boundaries were. I was afraid she would pull back, but I had to be honest with her. Through the whole thing Mike was my rock. Some days  Anna was all over the place, other days she was calmer. We road it out praying for the best.

Those two and a half months were intense. We told only our families, and a few of our closest friends. I was dying to talk to everyone, this was all new for me. But we guarded the privacy of everyone involved with great care. The expectations were high, our hopes were higher. But adoption is uncertain, and the decision of the birth-mom can change at any time. 

We cautiously prepared a nursery. Buying only essentials. Well, that was the plan. I couldn't help but get a few extra things for this boy I awaited. Mike was nervous when he came home from work saw my excitement and a small stash of baby boy clothes. He was as hopeful as I, but ever protective of me. He worried about if I would be okay if something happened and we did not get this baby. And with good reason. My heart was set, I was no longer objective. I was fully invested, and could not reign in my love for this boy. I dreamed of him. I thought about him all the time. Was Anna eating today? Please tell me she didn't get back on that motorcycle again. I hoped she was drinking or smoking too heavily, though I knew she was at least a little. I wanted to protect him so much. And so it went. As much as possible, Mike took care of me, I took care of Anna, and we waited. 

Adoption Part 1: How it all began

 *Let me start by saying, I know there are those whose experiences with infertility/adoption were far more than what Mike & I have gone through. This is just our story, condensed (for privacy & brevity), and as we lived it.*

    I have always wanted to be a mother. My family means more to me than anything, and I have always been excited to have a family of my own. Then I met Mike. He is my everything, and one of my favorite things about him is that I knew he would be a great dad. Starting a family with him became my life's dream, my most precious ambition.

   Our plan wasn't to have kids right away. But fortunately, Heavenly Father had a way better plan for us than I could ever have imagined. And about sixish months into our marriage we felt prompted to start trying for a little one. In fact, we both knew we were going to have a daughter. Emma. Thinking about her kept me going when it got hard.

    And it did get hard. Every 28 days I got my hopes up. I tracked everything. Every month in my planner I put the due date our baby would have if she came that month. But she didn't come. We tried everything we could afford, and finally after a few years decided to take a break. The strain and pressure was getting to us.

    Mike & I decided to take our struggle to the Temple, hoping to find hope and answers (to learn more about that, click here). In the course of our discussion Mike mentioned adoption. We had always talked about adopting, but way down the road. From what we had looked into, we were years down on the waiting list and it was way out of our price range. So, it was a nice thought, but I was still trying to figure out how to get pregnant.

    A few days later I had a slow day at work. I ended up talking to my supervisor in her office. She had been down the rocky road of infertility without success. She and her husband had a daughter they had adopted, and she shared her experience with me. Then she told me she knew of someone who needed a home for her baby.

   There are only a few times in my life my heart has lit on fire like it did in that moment. I knew. I absolutely knew. I got the number for the birth-mother's cousin, and the name of a social worker and lawyer. That night I talked to Mike. We knew we were going to have a baby.

    Talking to our birth-mothers cousin was nerve racking at first. I had no idea how to go about this. I wanted her to trust me, like me, and recommend me as a potential mother. We put a blog together with pictures and a letter to the birth-mother to help her get to know us. All my fears were pushed aside as she told me about this baby. A boy. I cried. Mike cried. I could not contain my love for this child. It was as real and powerful as any love ever could be.

    By the end of that week we had set everything in place with our social worker and lawyer. Now we were just counting down the days to meet our birth mother, and son.

 
 

The Imperfect Parent

   Parenting is so hard. One of my favorite things about being a mom is how much it has pushed and challenged me. I love talking to other mom's about our kids! Often I am impressed by their ideas, their hard work. I think it is so cute how hard we try to be perfect. Its really sweet. I'm not being sarcastic, I really do think that. And I totally applaud the efforts of dedicated parents. Since I have a pretty harsh intolerance of abusive or neglectful parenting/care-giving, of course I believe it is always of the utmost
 priority to continually strive to improve as parents.

   That said. Inside, I laugh. How often I have caught myself and others agonizing over should-have, could-have's. There is no such thing as the perfect parent. And IF by some miracle you are a perfect parent (trust me, you are not), can you imagine how hard that would be for your kids??

   Let me preface my thoughts today with the following. There is no ideal time to blog. I am always a bit tired, and always have a mile long "to do" list. But sometimes I just get the urge to write, and so I do. By no means do I claim to be at my most articulate at this, or any other time. Sigh. So take my opinion with a good dose of humor and salt and all should go well.

    Moving on. What I mean is this: your kids (as much as you love them) are not perfect. And it is frightening to realize how much they are watching your every move. I think a lot of people are terrified by this, and of course at times I too am flabbergasted. HOWEVER, how wonderful for them that you are imperfect. Because they have the awesome opportunity to watch you screw up and blow it on a daily basis- and if they are really lucky, they will have the opportunity to watch you fix it. And there is no greater teacher than example. (Believe me, they certainly could give a hoot about what you say, no matter how wise or eloquent!)

    Subsequently, when your kids inevitably make mistakes they will know how to handle it. They will know how to say "I'm sorry, I did the wrong thing". I have to apologize pretty often, and to be honest I think I am a pretty dang amazing mom. My kids know how to clean up a mess. They know how to say sorry and give a hug when they blow it. I'm really proud of them for not letting me screw them up. But lets be honest, its not like they were born that way. As an imperfect parent myself, they have watched me fix my mistakes hundreds of times by now!

    I have one other point to make in my case for the imperfect parent. I think my kids are the most adorable, funny, smart, entertaining kids in the whole wide world. I truly do. And if you are a parent, you probably bristle as you think, "cute, sure. but my kids are so much cuter..." and good for you. Every kids deserves parents who think the world of them. And I say the following as a lover of children, no one else thinks your kids are as cute as you do. Which leads me to this. When your fabulous, adorable children push you to the absolute brink of your sanity and you wish for greater patience and kindness remember this. No body thinks your kids are as cute as you do. The world will be much harsher to your tender children, it is better that you are the one to tell them its really annoying when they_____.  Kids do thoughtless  selfish, annoying things (to name a few)! Its a fact. So please, be the one to tell them. If you don't, someone else will (or at the very least your child will be the subject of disapproving glares and conversation).

    To summarize my case of the imperfect parent. 1)There are no perfect parents. But despite what we often think, this is a blessing to our kids. 2) Our kids are not perfect, so it is in their best interest to have up close and real examples from those they love most teaching them that it is okay to make mistakes, and how to fix them. I guess I just really believe that mistakes are part of life, yours as well as your little ones. So work hard, be the best parent you can. But at the end of the day, its not about being perfect. Also at the end of the day, eat ice cream. That's what I'm going to do right now. Not because it makes me a better parent, just because it tastes good and I like it. :)
  Happy Weekend!

Old Dreams, New Eyes

I know I just blogged about this. But I just have too so many thoughts on the subject today. Because today when I woke up, it was official. Over. Done. Which is really hard for me, even though its what I want most.

Remember a little while ago I talked about giving up nursing for my boy...well, I meant every word. But I was also still interviewing for a job. Two years out of school. And with absolutely no experience. I know, I know, I shake my head at myself too. But I had interviews with Children's Healthcare of Atlanta & Gwinnett Medical Center, and I was really excited about them. I though just maybe I could have it all. And I'm all about having it all.

"Having it all". That doesn't even exist. I am no stranger to wanting two things that don't exist together. Just stop by our house on Friday nights and Mike and I are eating ice cream and cuddling on the couch...and Monday night we are doing Insanity trying to work it all off. Sometimes I tell myself if I only have a little ice cream I can still have the body I want...but I've been doing that for, well, decades. And so far it hasn't worked.

Anyway, long story shorter, I didn't get any job offers. I didn't think I would take them, but for some twisted reason I still wanted the choice. Then again, I made my choice, its just been almost two years.

I'm sure my mom told me, I know she was the best example there could have been. But somehow I thought I wouldn't have to give anything up when I had kids. I guess today I just wanted to say, I did. And it is totally worth it. But if you are a mom and have ever wondered what you could have done outside the home, you are not alone. If you think the decision to stay home will be easy, and leave you feeling completely fulfilled, appreciated, and satisfied- I truly hope you have that, but in case you don't- you are not alone. In case there are days you think you are a maid, and a diaper changing machine, and all you do is cook and clean up food...and if ever that seems a little anticlimactic, you are not alone.

By no means do I resent being a mom. I am so grateful to be home every single day. But for today I don't want to pretty it up and say that every day is my wildest dream, because I had a lot of dreams. Some of them just don't fit anymore. And I hope I don't come off as being negative. I just mean to say that it is hard, and that you may have to give things up. And giving things up is not easy, or fun. That's all.

So. Today was the first day of my life that I knew this was it. The old dreams are just that, dreams. And now without having a split focus, and one foot out the door, I find myself looking around with new eyes. This is it! Mike comforted the bitter disappointment of yesterday. Today is new. Our routine hasn't changed. But my mindset has. Today is the first day I don't feel torn, like I am supposed to be in two places at once. Today instead of wondering where I could be, I am making my home with renewed love and appreciation. Surprisingly, it is a relief. And a burden I didn't realize was there, is lifted.

To sum:
Giving up old dreams=hard
Trying to hold on to dreams that don't jive=hard
Dedicating my life to my family & home=hard + liberating

I'm grateful for all of my family & friends who have been/are so wonderful and supportive. I love your comments, and knowing I'm not alone in all of this, so thank you. Here's to a new day, and a new dream!

Ice Fishing

These are my brothers. I have three, and they are seriously the best. They are all rugged, tough, fearless men. And I love them so much. Since these are the boys I grew up with, when I think of "ice fishing" I think of freezing (literally) lakes, drilling a hole, and remaining in this frigid condition for hours. Best case scenario, you get a fish. That's best case scenario. I love my brothers, and I have so many fond memories of things we did growing up, but I cannot honestly say that I ever loved this particular adventure. Of course I may have said I did to try to be the cool sister, but no, in all honesty it was just too cold. And all you get is a fish. And a cold, like the kind that makes your nose run. Such a bummer. Now I'm all grown up, and when I want fish, I just brave the frozen section of Costco or Walmart and buy some. I mean, I still get goosebumps but they don't last very long so its all good.

 








Anyway, that is what I used to think of.  Lately, something new comes to mind. I'm not sure how it all started, but Mike started telling Beckett that the ice chips in his glass were "ice fishies". See below:

Listening to the fishies

Saying "hi" to his ice buddies

Now when I think of ice-fishing, I picture Beckett's little hand fishing around in our glasses trying to "catch a fish". And how he listens intently to hear them say hi. I am crazy about my husband, who the kids absolutely adore. How could they not? He invented ice-fishies. And I can't stop laughing at the delight on Beckett's face at this game. And me and Emma? We are eating (have I mentioned that while she may look like Mike, she is all me), warm, well fed, and loving these boys of ours. If my kids are lucky, their awesome uncles will see to it that they have a proper ice-fishing experience. As for me, I won't trade the memories I have with my brothers for anything. But this new memory will be a treasured addition to my collection of "ice fishing" memories.

Realizing how cold his fish is

How much he loves his ice-fishies!