Thursday, March 6, 2014


So my little Selah Faith is TWO! When did this happen?!

From this:

To this!

Cupcake Daze at her birthday party
Selah is currently about 25lbs and 34.5 in tall. She has all of her teeth with the exception of her two year molars. I think. We never know when she is teething so they may be in or coming in. As you can see, she has blue eyes and blonde hair that you can usually find in pigtails. No first haircut yet, but probably soon. Selah never meets a stranger. Everybody is an immediate friend to this little social butterfly!

Selah likes:
  • My Little Pony
  • Curious George
  • Making muffins and topping them with sprinkles
  • Pink
  • Doggies
  • Playing drums
  • Babies (aka dolls)
  • Bedtime kisses on her elbows
  • Roaring like a tiger
  • Minnie Mouse
  • Animal from the Muppets
  • Tea Parties
  • Bath time
  • Eavesdropping
  • Knocking down towers
  • Balls
  • Story time at the Library
  • Playing Fetch with Ellie (though she pronounces Fetch with a B)
  • Flowers
  • Dresses
  • Swinging at the park
  • Seeing her friend Holden
  • Singing and talking to herself everywhere and anywhere. Even as she falls asleep.
  • Getting in your face while speaking Selah-ese, just to end with nodding of her head like she has convinced you of something.

Selah dislikes:
  • Vacuums
  • Bubble wrap
  • Being told No and to Sit Down

Favorite foods:
  • Cheese
  • Applesauce
  • Pretzels
  • Strawberries ("Strawbees")
  • Popcorn (aka Bubbles in Selah-ese)

Favorite phrases:
  • Ha-cha-cha (a la Shirley Temple)
  • Whoa!
  • _____, Where ah yoo?
  • Jah Ta dore.
  • Ah-mmy? Ah-mmy? Ah-mmy! Hi, Ah-mmy!
  • I wuvwooo. (From us saying "I love you" silly like that)
  • Night night sleepy? Go night night? 
  • (while patting you on the back) Good job! Awesome! Nice job!

Favorite songs to sing:
  • "A B C D A B C"
  • "Happy day to you"

All in all, she is a pretty awesome little girl that is growing more and more amazing everyday. These past two years have been some of my absolute favorite and I look forward to so many more with her.

Happy Day to You, little bunny. Happy day to you!

Friday, February 21, 2014

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Birthday Cards and crying in Target

I saw a card in 2008 or so while picking up Valentine's Day cards (or Mother's Day or something) and I immediately knew that it was the perfect birthday card for my stepfather. However, I couldn't buy it at the time, perhaps due to finances or fear of losing it before his birthday. I figured it was a card. I could find it again as I got closer to his June birthday.

I should have bought it when I first saw it.

I have looked every spring since then for that card so I could get it for him. I never saw it again.

Well, until I was at Target buying T a Valentine's Day card and a couple of birthday cards for other family members. While looking in the father section, a card caught my eye. It was the card! I found the perfect card for my stepfather! My joy turned to tears pretty quickly (seriously. I had to wipe tears off my face in Target's card section).

You see, my stepfather died a year ago today. I can never give him that card again. I can never ask him home repair questions again. I can never hear his laugh again. I can never hear him say that I make a better door than I do a window when I stand between him and the TV. I can never see him wave to Selah again. There are so many things I miss about him. Still.

I miss him.

Spare a Rose, Save a Child

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Pretty spot on

 I found this article online and I found it hit pretty close to home.

"Losing the Baby: My week of gestational limbo. By
"Last month, I decorated a Christmas tree, baked holiday cookies, and wrapped dozens of presents. All the while, I was having a miscarriage.

On TV and in the movies, a miscarriage involves an unsuspecting mother-to-be suddenly clutching her gut, discovering some worrisome blood, and rushing to the hospital. A few hours later she lies wanly in bed while her loved ones whisper that she has “lost the baby.” Parenting websites explain the causes of miscarriage and encourage you to be optimistic about your future chances of conception. They tell you it’s OK to grieve. But like the TV shows that cut quickly from the sudden cramping to the sad, hushed aftermath, they don't tell you anything about what a miscarriage is actually like.
Let me tell you about my miscarriage.

When my pregnancy should have been about nine weeks along, my husband and I headed into the doctor's office for my first ultrasound. It was a Tuesday, Christmas Eve. We were looking forward to seeing an amorphous gray blob on the screen and trying earnestly to see in it our future baby boy or girl; we were eager to hear a heartbeat. But the image that popped up on the monitor was far less encouraging: a dense black patch containing no tiny pulsating heart, no cryptic but exhilarating gray squiggles.

Here’s the primary thing they never tell you about miscarriage: When used by medical professionals, the word refers to the entirety of a nonviable early pregnancy, a period that can span weeks. It starts when cell division in the embryo grinds quietly to a halt; the blood and the passing of tissue that we think of as “a miscarriage” are but the final phase. It is a lingering process. For a full week I was in a sort of gestational limbo, feeling neither pregnant nor truly unpregnant.

This ambiguity left me painfully confused about the most mundane of situations. Hours after the ultrasound disappointment, my sister was ordering sushi for our family and I nearly cried when she asked what I wanted. There was no longer any real need to restrict myself to cucumber rolls and spider maki, but a spicy tuna roll—raw and potentially mercury-laced—just felt inappropriate, callous. Before Christmas dinner the next night I actually did shed tears trying to decide whether a glass of sauvignon blanc would help me relax or, after more than a month of temperance, simply throw my situation into painful relief.

Confusion was just one emotion. There has been the sadness, of course, like a mineshaft boring down behind my ribcage. There have been understandable, if unfounded, pinpricks of guilt as I wonder whether I could have done something differently to stop this from happening. These feelings are well covered by the baby blogs.

There have also, however, been unexpected and pervasive feeling of foolishness, the sense that I was being stupidly naive whenever I daydreamed about my future child. It is almost embarrassing to remember the light-hearted conversations about baby names, the nursery decoration ideas I saved on a secret Pinterest board called “Baby Rooms.” It seems that when I told my best friend, “I’m pregnant!” I already wasn't, not really, and I feel ridiculous and slightly ashamed whenever I think of that cheerful declaration.

At the same time, however, I can't help but wonder if I have grieved enough. On pregnancy websites and discussion boards, I read stories of women who cried for days and mourned for months after their miscarriages. That has not been me. I have cried and might again (a rack of onesies in Target the other day pushed some emotional buttons), but I confess it didn't take me long to begin healing. It took less than a week to start re-adjusting my expectations for the coming months so that they no longer included watching my belly slowly swell and feeling the kick of new life. Today, my lost pregnancy is a bittersweet might-have-been, not a gaping hole.

Occasionally, I even feel a bit relieved, though I know I’m not supposed to admit such a thing. My husband and I dearly wanted this almost-child, but we also worried whether we were ready, financially and emotionally, to expand our family. So, threaded through the heavy curtain of our mourning are a few silver threads of comfort. At least we no longer have to plan an expensive move. At least we’ll have less debt by the next pregnancy.

Among this whole assortment of emotions, however, the most burning feeling was anticipation. I found myself eagerly awaiting the one thing most pregnant women fear: the pain and the blood. I did not get the quick cut to post-miscarriage grieving. I started bleeding ever so slightly on a Thursday, two days after we received the crushing news. From that point on, I made every trip to the bathroom with a vigilant eye, assessing whether there was more blood this time than the last time. Every appointment I put in my calendar for the following week had a mental asterisk next to it: *as long as I am not curled up in bed, wracked with cramps.

Still, I wanted the worst to come. I wanted out of the confounding state of neither-nor, out of knowing the end was inevitable but still carrying within me some genetic fragment of my previous dreams. I wanted something physical and visible to give shape to the formless fog of unhappiness around me, something I could point to and say, “That. That is why, sometimes, out of the blue my hand starts shaking a little and why the tears pop up at the strangest of times.”

On Sunday, the slow trickle of blood escalated into the painful cramping and heavy bleeding that finally ushered the nonviable tissue from my body. I laid on the couch and watched football and crime dramas while my husband fetched pizza and made me hot chocolate. I was quiet and somber, but I did not cry. Over the following days, the bleeding ebbed, though it did not disappear completely for nearly a week. My body was still wrapping things up, putting the final touches on my brief brush with pregnancy.

Exactly one week after that first, sad ultrasound, I called the doctor's office to update her, as instructed, on the progress of my miscarriage. When my doctor was unavailable, the receptionist tried to determine where to route my call.

“Are you pregnant?” she asked.

“No,” I answered. “I am not.”"

While I didn't write the words above, like I said, they were so eerily close to what I have experienced it. Sarah's words were so perfect I wanted to share them with you.

Friday, January 24, 2014

Only 97

I did it. I let my thoughts go there. I assumed the worst because, hey, what reason do I have not to let my thoughts go in that direction?

I tested my (almost) 2 year old daughter's blood sugar, due to a quickly filled diaper.

Being diabetic has ruined my thoughts. Where most parents would say, "Hey. She has had a lot to drink today because of dehydrating meds and stubbornness of eating the solid foods placed in front of her, leading to a quicker emptying bladder.", I think "Omg. Omg. She's chugging liquid. A sign she has diabetes too! Her diaper has filled too too quickly. Frequent urination? Another sign! Omg. My baby has diabetes." Why must stupid diabetes force my mind into immediate assumptions?

So I did all I know to do (other than worry). I got out my blood sugar tester and pricked her tiny, unblemished fingertip. I squeezed out a drop of blood and put it on the strip, as she said "Ouch, mommy! Sugar, mommy? Ouch!" I waited that long agonizing 5 seconds for a result to pop up on the screen.

And I prayed.

I prayed that she wouldn't have diabetes this young. I prayed that she wouldn't ever have to understand first hand what I have to understand... to live. I prayed that the number that popped up on that screen would at least be between 90-120. I prayed. Oh, God. I prayed.

97. Her blood sugar (an after dinner one, at that) was only 97. Perfect. Not the extreme, telling high number I was fearing. Her drinking? Just because she was thirsty. Huh. Imagine that. Drinking to quench a normal thirst only and not to quench a high blood sugar induced thirst (yes. They are different.). And a wet diaper because she just had a lot to drink because of that previously mentioned normal thirst.

Not diabetes. Not my baby. Not this time.

Though this was the first time I've felt the need to act on these thoughts, I'm sure it won't be the last.

Damn you, diabetes.  We need a cure.

Saturday, January 11, 2014