An update

Phew. It's been a long few months around here. I thought it was time to fill you in on some stuff I haven't yet talked about here.

I am pregnant and we are all really excited. This pregnancy had not been without its bumps though (no pun intended, ha ha). We decided when Patrick was about six months old we wanted more, so we began the process of just not trying to prevent pregnancy, but it never happened. So, when Patrick turned two we decided we might need to take some more intentional steps forward in the process. As I have mentioned before, I have what is called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. There are many many things that this affects, being able to get pregnant being one of them. When I talked with my Dr. in March he said he would suggest a few low dose rounds of a fertility drug called Clomid. He wanted us to try that first and then if nothing happened they begin to slowly up the dose. The plan was that once I began taking the Clomid that I would go into to see him on day twelve of my cycle for an ultrasound so they could check to see if I had ovulated. Our insurance does not cover one penny of that, so after talking with a friend of my sister's who was a nurse at an infertility clinic, we decided to just move forward for three months following all the steps except the ultrasound one. I have never peed in cups so much in my entire life. Each month was full of ovulation testing and pregnancy tests. It gave us a small glimpse into what people who deal with infertility go through and we quickly decided that if after three months it didn't happen we would stop, re-assess and continue our prayers. We also decided we would seek no further treatment if Clomid never worked. We know we could not pursue pregnancy down every path, exploring every option, and dealing with the crash that involves every failed attempt. We had come to some peace about the possiblity of an only child and continued to ask God to give us that peace around each corner.

I began my third and final dose, at least for the winter, of Clomid in August. I got my period a few short weeks later. While I was disappointed in that I kept asking God for peace and for His timing to be evident throughout all of it. One Sunday morning I was commenting to Brandon about how short and abnormal my period had been. He began his monthly ritual of telling me I was pregnant. I just couldn't deal with it anymore. I had told him many times to stop getting his hopes up and then crashing when it didn't happen. I was really upset with him that morning. I went to get ready for church and took a pregnancy test with the plans of shoving the negative results in his face. Well, you all know the outcome of that. It was positive. My heart stopped for a brief second and then I called his name. He came walking towards the bathroom saying, "I knew it, you're pregnant!" We discovered we were exactly four weeks along.

We decided that we would not be telling anyone for a while. It was super early and women with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome have almost a 50% chance of miscarriage. I was worried about it with Patrick and I was worried about it now. We did end up telling my sister Katie a few days later though. On Thursday of that week I began to bleed. Nothing about it looked good and I sort of lost hope. I bled for five days straight, at times heavily and at times lightly. I took so many pregnancy tests. Then, between weeks five and six I didn't bleed at all. My hope was restored. I bled with Patrick during the first trimester as well, from weeks 7-13, they never diagnosed what was going on and couldn't figure it out until week thirteen when they said it looked like I had a minor placenta previa, where the placenta attaches right over the cervix. Thankfully with Patrick it corrected itself. I talked to one doctor who said I couldn't be seen until week 8 anyway, so we just began praying like crazy and riding the roller coaster of emotions. I began to bleed again during week six and have bled off and on since then. I saw my midwife between weeks nine and ten and had a thorough ultrasound. Everything looked phenomenal. The baby measured right on target and had all the trademark signs for a healthy pregnancy. I am not sure at this point what they all are, but the ultrasound tech said it looked excellent. She also could find absolutely no cause for the bleeding. There was nothing alarming in my uterus, she looked at the ovaries and fallopian tubes and couldn't find any reason for the bleeding. So, we are moving forward. I hit week eleven this last Saturday and continue to count down the moments till we feel we are a little more out of the danger zone.

We have discovered the severity of the bleeding directly correlates to the amount of work I am doing. I have been advised to take it easy (HA HA with an active toddler) so am doing the best I can. I am not lifting anything over ten pounds, napping, and generally resting every chance I can. Brandon has been an absolute gem and has picked up all the slack around the house. I would have crumbled long ago without his encouragement and help.

The bleeding has significantly tapered off in the last five days. We continue to pray we are at the end of it and we will sail through week 12, but we are not out of the danger zone so any prayers are very appreciated.

On a side note, I started showing at week eight. I was quite upset by this because I expected to get a lot further along. But, have discovered with each consecutive pregnancy women show earlier. We have already had to dig out of storage the maternity clothes box and been shopping. It has been a bummer, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. With Patrick I was somewhere between weeks 17 and 20 before I had to wear them. Ah well, I really am not complaining, just did not expect it.

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As I have mentioned before, Patrick's speech is significantly delayed. We are really having a hard time working with him on this because he is very active and busy and doesn't work well with us on his activities. We plug them in where we can, but he is still struggling. We feel in the last month he has made some huge progress and we are excited about that. I wanted to give you a little glimpse into what he sounds like and where he is at with that. It's short, but you can hear some of his main words.

Show Us Your Life - Pumpkin Fudge

I decided to join in a blog recipe share this week. You check out more great recipes on THIS BLOG. The assignment is to share a Thanksgiving recipe. I make this every year and get rave reviews. I think it originated from Martha Stewart. It is yum, yum, yum. Enjoy.

1 1/2 Cups sugar
2/3 Cup evaporated milk
1/2 Cup mashed pumpkin
2 Tbs. butter
1/4 tsp. salt
1 1/2 tsp. pumpkin pie spice
12 oz. package white chocolate chips
2 Cups mini marshmallows
1/3 Cup pecans (optional)
1/4 tsp. vanilla

Using the butter grease the sides of the pan. Add the sugar, milk, pumpkin, salt, and pumpkin pie spice.

Stir constantly over medium heat until it boils.

Once it reaches a boil, boil twelve minutes stirring constantly.

Remove from heat and add chips and marshmallows until they melt. Stir in vanilla and optional nuts.

Pour into a foil lined greased (grease the foil) 8 inch pan. Cool overnight.

Remove fudge from pan by pulling out foil. Cut with wet knife and serve.

Some days are just blah days.

Today is one of them.

I am emotional.

I feel bad about everything I have done or will do in my life that isn't perfect or wonderful.

I need some perspective, but am struggling to pull myself up and get some.

Some days are just blah days...

Here's hoping tomorrow won't be the same as today. I am not sure I can handle two in a row.

One time

Last summer I was doing laundry. I know shocker!

Anyway, to get to our laundry room you have to go to a door in the back section of our apartment and it leads down a semi-steep flight of stairs into an unfinished basement room. The room has our furnace, washer and dryer, two storage closets, and a generally creepy old home feel. It also has cement floors and a four foot high pile of laundry. But all this is beside the point.

On the laundry room door is a chain lock and the door knob has a lock as well. When doing laundry I ALWAYS remember to unlock the lock on the knob and here is why.

Last summer when Patrick was one, I took a few loads downstairs to do (the pile was not four feet high at the time - the reason for the four foot pile is this pregnancy and a little complication with it). Patrick sometimes follows me down the stairs and sometimes doesn't. It was about ten in the morning and I was still in my jammies. My jammies consist of whatever old threadbare pair of jammie pants from college I am currently wearing and one of Brandon's old, thin, and maybe a bit see-through (depending on the shirt) undershirt. So, I am downstairs with the washer filling and the dryer running, thinking how much a needed a shower - how I was little too fragrant for my own liking and my hair was so greasy it probably looked wet. So I am putting clothes in the washer at this point and hear the laundry room door at the top of the stairs slam. I move over to the bottom of the stairs to see if Patrick is on my side or on the inside of the apartment. Patrick is coming down the stairs. I return to doing the laundry and about ten minutes later pick up the kiddo and head to the top of the stairs. I place my hand on the knob and realize with a sinking fear that the door is locked! "NNNNOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" I hear my brain loudy cry. Suddenly I begin to panic. I can't go outside in what I am wearing, looking like I do. I don't have a phone on me to call my Dad. I quickly assess my surroundings and see that the hinges are on my side of the door. I begin to frantically attempt to pull the hinges out to no avail. They are painted on. I have no tools. So I sit there. I cry a little. Patrick runs crazy in the laundry room. I seriously consider sitting there until Brandon comes home around 7PM that evening. But, I realize, I must take care of the situation. I begin to wonder, should I go to the fabric store next door and use their phone to call my dad? Should I attempt to break the lock on the front the door? I quickly decide both are out of the question. I can't go into a public store in my threadbare jammies holding my child who is only wearing a diaper. I know the lock on the front door won't break. I don't think there is much my Dad can do to help me anyway.

So I sit some more feeling desperate and frantic knowing what my only option is. I finally screw up my courage and march out the downstairs door, walk around to the front of the apartment in my scary jammies - bra-less to boot and set Patrick on the lawn and frantically begin to remove the airconditioner from our bedroom window. But there are major glitches. The window won't stay open on it's own and the air conditioner is heavier than I even thought. It is also higher up than I thought. I balance it in the window and race back around the apartment and grab a neighbors plastic lawn chair to stand on. I begin sweating profusely in the summer sun, I am yelling at Patrick to stay put, and I am attempting to juggle the huge air conditioner. I am also praying that no one in the office complex across the street sees me or feels like being a good samaritan. "Please, Lord, PLEASE let me get this out and in the house before anyone sees me, PLEASE LORD!!!" Suddenly a man is standing next to me. He says he saw me struggling from his office across the street, and asks if he can help. There I am, bra-less, smelly, sweating, and maybe even yelling at Patrick a little. I adamantly tell him no. I can't look him in the eye. Inside I am dying. I know the outside will follow soon if he doesn't walk away. But, he doesn't walk away. He scootches in between me and the air conditioner (close enough to smell me) and takes the air conditioner and sets it on the lawn. I thank him praying silently he will leave. He then offers to go in the window for me and unlock the door. At this point I have no other options. Crawling through the high window will leave me possibly exposing parts of me I should never expose to anyone but Brandon. So, in he goes, to our mess of room, and out of the front door he comes. I thank him again and continue my prayer. He then offers to help me reinstall the airconditioner. I am dying to scream at him, "Can't you see, I am beyond dying from embarrasment right now, all I want is for you to leave!" So, how do I deal with it? I heft up the airconditioner into my arms, tell him no, my husband will be home any minute and drag it inside the front door. I then return pick up my son, thank him again without ever looking at him and slam my front door in shame.

I have never gone to the laundry room again without checking and re-checking that door lock.

Halloween

Pumpkin Carving Party

In the leaves