this thing lately.

And if I were fearless, 

then I'd speak my truth

and the world would hear this

That's what I wish I'd do, yeah.

~Sara Bareilles~

I've been doing this thing lately...
I've been working on learning to speak my truth.
I've been regularly going to sit on "the couch of angst" as the person I pay to talk to, listen to my story, and provide some guidance, likes to call it. I'll just call her a mentor of sorts - that has a nicer ring to it than that other word.
It's been hard work. Some days I just want to call it quits. I'm so tired of thinking about it and talking about it and ruminating... That couch of angst gets me angsty. It makes me nervous, and I get all red in the face and my social anxiety makes it's appearance again. It'd be easier to just not go.
Speaking your truth isn't easy for a people pleaser / "tell them what they want to hear or just shut-up" person like me. It's scary stuff. To open your mouth and speak truth that might hurt others (okay, that will knowingly hurt others) isn't fun. But it's necessary.
After almost 40 years of living, I've just figured that out: it's necessary.

I know plenty - plenty - of people who just say what they want to say.
No holds barred.
People who unapologetically just speak their truth.
These people amaze me to no end. They sometimes often make me feel really uncomfortable because - oh my good Lord above, did you really just say that in that tone of voice to your husband?! And did you really just call your daughter a brat in front of me?!...
Just saying what you want to say - outloud - is so foreign to me.
I wonder why that is?... I suppose sitting on the couch of angst might help me figure that out. Only time will tell.  I have my suspicious it boils down to that end-all, be-all need to be loved and liked and accepted and wanted and all that teenagey-like stuff. Yada, yada, yada...
Don't get me wrong, I am a master at the internal dialogue.
Oh if you could hear the conversations I have in my head. If you could hear the verbal sling-shots that go unsaid. You'd likely be appalled. You might not even want to be my friend, or read my blog, or friend me on IG or FB. I don't know how you'd react.
And for now I guess I'll never know.
And really how the collective "you" would react shouldn't even matter, right?
Someday. Someday, I hope to be the master at speaking my truth - out-loud.
Even if it stings a little.
And I guess a part of me really hopes that I'll be loved even more for doing so.

But for now, I'll continue to sit on that couch of angst and see how this all unfolds.

(And sometimes just hitting that publish button is scary stuff.)

epilepsy: the fear

So a few days ago I told you all about my most recent seizure, which I experienced back in February.
I've been asked by a few people, "How do you live with the fear of having a seizure?"
So let's talk about the fear.

My typical answer to this questions is, "I just don't think about it. If I thought about it I wouldn't get out of bed in the morning. I wouldn't be able to live my life. And I can't live my life in fear."
Yes, that's the answer I will give 99% of the people who ask, 99.9% of the time.
But I'm going to go out on a limb here and tell you what's really going through my head:

What I fear most, every.single.day is having a seizure while driving. That's kind of an obvious one, right? I regularly get behind the wheel of a decent sized pile of metal and plastic, with my one and only favorite person in the entire world buckled into a plastic carseat in the backseat. I fear hurting him or anyone else on the road the most. I'm not that concerned about myself. I mean, I know I should be, but I'm almost 40 - I've lived some life. But my six year old... sheesh...I can't even go down that road. That's fear, friends. So why do I get in the car and drive - you might ask? Tell me how you'd manage your life if you couldn't drive. Hello, I'm not wealthy enough to take a cab everywhere. And I can't be constantly calling friends and neighbors to run my errands. Living in the suburbs requires that I drive. I take precautions - I take medication every day to hopefully prevent a seizure; I avoid driving on the freeway if I can; and as of late, I really avoid driving my little, two-door Honda Civic. I don't drive other peoples' kids in my car - ever - and my family and most of my friends know about my seizure disorder and know they are taking their chances when they get in the car with me behind the wheel. That said, any one of the drivers out there on the road at any given time could have a stroke or heart attack or seizure behind the wheel and cause an accident. And we all know how many people go have a few drinks and then get in the car and drive. So, the way I see it - I'm taking medication to control my seizures - I'm being proactive.

This past seizure experience was a little more scary simply because I was on medication that was controlling my seizures. It had done it's job for almost five years. So why did I suddenly have a seizure? Who knows. No one will ever know. The fact of the matter is that meds can suddenly stop being effective at preventing seizures. Plain and simple. It's called a breakthrough seizure. When I initially went on meds after having my two seizures in May of 2008, I just naturally assumed "I'm on meds, I won't have a seizure." Okay, so I knew deep down inside that wasn't a sure-fire guarantee, but it seemed simple, and it was an easy way to get over the fear and move on with living my life. Taking meds = no more seizures. So now that I know that equation isn't realistic, yes, I'm a bit more fearful. I didn't think my meds would stop working for me. I wouldn't be that person I had heard stories about. I would be the exception. It changes things. I guess it puts me back to square one in some ways in terms of thinking, "Okay, you could really have a seizure at any time." My meds have been adjusted and the hope is that will keep any more seizures at bay, but the reality is that I will have another seizure or two or dozen in my lifetime.

I don't take baths and I don't swim. Overboard? Maybe. But folks, I already live with enough risk when I get in the car everyday. I tried taking a few baths over the years, but five minutes in I start thinking, "I shouldn't be in here. What if Max or Eric comes in and finds me blue and not breathing?" It happens. People with epilepsy have been known to drown because they seize in the water. I'm afraid of water and don't know how to swim anyway, so this isn't any great loss for me.

I tend to avoid activities that are physically risky. I broke my shoulder-blade when I had my seizure in 2008. I couldn't pick-up my 18 month old for two months. I don't want to go through anything like that again, where I can't take care of myself or my child, and I have to depend on others to care for me.

I had my first seizure in the fall of 1994. My mom found me face-down, unconscious in my pillow. Had she not found me when she did, I might not be typing this right now. And I'm not being dramatic. People can have a seizure and suffocate in a pillow. It happens. Am I scared to sleep? No. I love my sleep. My bed is one of my favorite places to be. But I did lay awake worried about going to sleep after I had my last seizure. You can't help but go to the place of wondering, "If I fall asleep I sure hope I wake-up in the morning."

Besides the driving, my second biggest fear is that the meds will change (have changed?...) my personality. Any medication you take for the sole purpose of changing the way things function in the brain is going to affect more than just what you want it to. It's an "all or nothing" thing. The first med I was on (when I was sent home from the hospital back in May of 2008), Dilantin, left me feeling buzzed to slightly drunk all the time. (No, not as fun as it might sound.) And after a few days my feet itched like crazy (allergic reaction). The next med, Gabapentin (which I was on for nearly five years), wasn't too bad - I was tired all the time though. I was ready to take a nap at any point in the day. I tried Topamax and was a complete and utter, crying and depressed mess - every single day. Additionally I lost my appetite on that one and had a bad taste in my mouth all the time. Oh, and carbonated beverages no longer have that carbonated feeling when you drink them on Topamax. Next I tried Lamictal - which really was really good other than the headaches and hair loss. All the while I was trying new meds, I was still taking the Gabapentin three times a day. Since the fall I've been on Keppra XR. And after a few months on that I was able to wean off of the Gaba. Keppra has been okay so far. I think the hair loss I'm experiencing is related but my neurologist disagrees. I'm a little depressed, but that really just comes with the territory of anti-seizure meds. Most of them slow down the brain and have that affect. And the sucky reality of it all is that at some point I will likely be on more than one of these lovely medications.

Am I the same person I was back in May of 2008 before I started taking medication everyday? No. I know I'm not. I'm not sure how my personality has changed, but I know it's changed. Those that live with me and interact with me a lot might be able to tell you more. I feel like I've aged a lot in the past four and a half years. I'm a lot more doubtful, and insecure, and reserved than I used to be. I don't get quite as excited about things anymore, and I tend to keep people at a bit of a distance. I'm sure it's all some sort of wonky coping mechanism of sorts. If I can maintain a quite, little, simple life with people at arms length then I won't have worry about breaking-down about all of this at any point in my life.
Because yes, I'm afraid if I let an ounce of all these fears come to the surface it might just consume me. And really, what's the solution?... There is none. It is what it is.

People have used words like brave and courageous to describe how I handle living with epilepsy.
I suppose I put on a brave and courageous face mostly for the sake of my child, and simply because I don't really have any other choice.
The other choice would be to crawl back in my bed and pull the covers over my head and wait out my life.
And even though that's tempting to do some days - that's not the life I want to live.

4 years, 8 months and 21 days.

Four years, eight months and 21 days.
That's how long I made it seizure free this time.
I was OH so close to that five year mark, which I was looking forward to celebrating.

A month ago today (well, tonight really) I had a seizure while home alone, getting ready for bed.
Eric was in California. Max was still wide awake and playing with his LeapPad in our bed at 11pm (don't judge...) with the lights on. And Sammy was lounging on the bed since dad was gone.

I looked at the stuff sitting on the edge of the bathtub, grabbed a couple of things to put back under my sink and WHAM! Deja vu hit. I acknowledged it and went about putting things away, and as I opened the drawer in the bathroom to get out my toothpaste the deja vu intensified and I thought "I wonder if this is what it feels like before you pass-out?" I remember bracing myself on the counter and thinking I need to get on the floor just in case.
And I was too late.

Next thing I knew I was picking myself up off the floor and grabbing my head which hurt like no tomorrow. I didn't even question why I was picking myself up off the floor until Max said from the bed, "What just happened?" Good question, kiddo, good question. Thank goodness he didn't see me fall, but he clearly heard it.

All sorts of panic set-in at that point.
I knew what happened. The deja vu was the truth teller. Even though I didn't bite my tongue to pieces and my body didn't feel like I'd been hit by a semi, the deja vu was my clue.
I called Eric twice, to no avail.
I called my parents (nothing like getting a call at 11:30 at night from one of your kids, right?...)
I didn't know whether to dial 911 or not. I had clearly whacked my head and my right side and hip hurt.
But if I dialed 911, what in the world would I do with Max. With still-awake, he-needs-to-get-to-sleep Max.
I called the on-call neurologist and then called Eric one more time (yes he answered this time!) on my cell while I waited for the on-call doctor to call me back on the home phone.
And then I was a panicky, crying, little kid mess.
I pulled it together when the doctor called. And let's thank the good Lord above he was a nice doctor at 11:45 at night (come to find out he had a new baby at home as well... But he gets paid nicely for what he does so I only felt bad for a nanosecond.) He asked if there was anyone who could come watch me while I sleep. I laughed. I have friends, but I don't think any of them really want to stay awake all night to watch me sleep in case I have another seizure. But thanks for the idea, doc.
I took an extra Keppra XR, a tylenol for my pounding head and some Zofran for the nausea that had set-in by then.
I convinced my crying child who had gone back to his room (and anyone who knows me, knows my child hasn't slept alone in years...) to come get back in bed with me. That I was okay (Um...yeah that was a lie) and that he should come sleep with me.
Eventually we were all back in bed. Max zonked out while I lay awake panicked about sleeping.
I think I was more concerned I had a possible concussion then I was of having another seizure.
And eventually, sometime after 2am, I fell asleep.
All the while praying I wake-up in the morning.

*****

So now it's been a month.
I've been on a doubled-up dose of Keppra for a month now.
I've been asked numerous times by people - How do you live with the fear?
I will answer that question tomorrow.

*A happy light spot of color and new growth photo (edited solely in LR4, I might add!)
**You may wonder why I'm sharing all of this with you. I'm writing it out more for me and my family, really. As a record of events as they happened. I never have had the best memory and I feel like seizure meds have robbed me of that a little more. I'm not looking for pity or sympathy. It is what it is. 
I have epilepsy. It's part of who I am now. It doesn't define me, but it's part of my story. 

love will show the way.

You say you see no hope, you say you see no reason

we should dream that the world would ever change

You're saying love is foolish to believe

'cause there'll always be some crazy with an army or a knife

To wake you from your day dream, put the fear back in your life

Look, if someone wrote a play just to glorify

what's stronger than hate, would they not arrange the stage

to look as if the Hero came too late?

He's almost in defeat

It's looking like the evil side will win, so on the edge

of every seat, from the moment that the whole thing begins

It is...

Love who mixed the mortar

And it's Love who stacked these stones

And it's Love who made the stage here

Although it looks like we're alone

In this scene set in shadows

Like the night is here to stay

There is evil cast around us

But it's Love that wrote the play

For in this darkness Love can show the way

So now the stage is set.

Feel you own heart beating in your chest.

This life's not over yet.

So we get up on our feet and do our best.

We play against the fear.

We play against the reasons not to try

We're playing for the tears burning in the happy angel's eyes

For it's...

Love who mixed the mortar

And it's Love who stacked these stones

And it's Love who made the stage here

Although it looks like we're alone

In this scene set in shadows

Like the night is here to stay

There is evil cast around us

But it's Love that wrote the play

For in this darkness Love can show the way

 ~show the way~ david wilcox

(you can listen to the song HERE)

leaving.

I am leaving this space for now.
I might be back someday. I'm not sure.
Thank you all for all of the wonderful comments on my photos and words over the past (almost) two years.
I will still be posting my portrait series from time to time.
But for now...I don't really feel like I have anything to say  here anymore.
So I'll say thank you, and see you in the blogosphere for now.
xo
a

half-empty.

Somewhere along the way in life I gave-in to being a half-empty kind of person.

I don't like to admit it much more than most people like to hear it. There is shame to be had in being the half-empty gal.

"Half empty? That's no way to be."

"Half empty? But your life is great. What do you have to be so half empty about?"

I've heard it all. I've heard people laugh about it. I've heard people tell me I'm not grateful enough. Unless you've ever for a moment in your life seen the glass above as half empty, then you will never understand. I could talk till I was blue in the face and you would still sit there wondering what I just said.

I am not going to go into some long-winded discussion to justify why I see that glass as half-empty. I can sum it up in saying that I hate getting my hopes up about things because my experience has been that I am usually let down. And what kills me the most is that I still get my hopes up even though I try so hard not to. I get my hopes up because I care, I know that much. I may be a half-empty gal, but it doesn't mean I don't care. In fact I'd like to think that means I care a bit more than the half-full gal. I'm guessing that the half-full person can see the good in all of it, whether things go the way they had hoped or not.

Being let down by people or the outcome of something hoped for never gets any easier. Each blow can hurt just as much as the last. And though the bruising eventually goes away, all of the little hurts just seem to add-up, thus reinforcing the half-emptiness:

"It will never change."

"Things just don't go as planned for you"

"God doesn't listen."

"I must be doing something wrong."

"People don't really care."

"I need to pray more"

The little whispers paving the road to hopelessness.

I just wish I could make the caring about it all go away. I know there will be days where it all bubbles-up and catches me off guard like while driving home from dog training class last night in tears, the entire, long route home. It wasn't really all about Sammy whining the entire class and not paying attention to me, or making me look like the bad owner who doesn't know how to control her dog. It was more about the second child we don't get to have. And a move back to our home town that isn't going to happen. And the people I work so hard to reach out to only to feel as if they have no desire to know me. It was all about those things little and big that I hoped so much for that didn't go as planned. A long list of disappointments.

These moments will come, I'll be angry that I succumb to the unkind whispers in my ear, the self-doubt, the feeling of being alone and unable to count on anyone, the tears, and then it will pass. Leaving me with a headache, puffy eyes and a glass a few sips emptier.

The interesting thing about that glass above - in any other context, I think we'd all say that glass is half empty and offer to fill it to the top.

And those are my deep thoughts for the day.

how motherhood wrecked me.

The title of this post sounds completely awful. I am well aware of that. But it's honest. And before you jump to conclusions and decide, "Well now, she's not the gal I thought she was" - hear me out...

A few weeks ago my friend Tracey posted this blog post, and asked us share about the good and bad of motherhood, and what we are learning to value. I read through the comments and was almost finished with writing my comment when it occurred to me that what I was writing sounded really awful and downer-like compared to the other comments. So, I highlighted and clicked delete. Instead I told Tracey that everyone else said it better, and that I had written something and decided to delete it. She replied to my comment and said that she still would love to hear what I had to say. 

And this is what I told her (my exact email back to her)...

I'll try not to ramble on too much... ;)

Having a child wrecked me. I know that sounds awful. Horrible. But it sums-up how I felt and still feel at times. I had horrible PPD. I was so lost. Still am really. It's called Maternal Depression at this point - when it lasts this long. I read an interesting book about it called The Ghost in the House. Very good. I could relate to just about everything in it.
Motherhood has shown me that I'm not all of the things I thought I was - like patient and calm and nice all of the time. I had no idea I was a screamer until I had Max. It brought out a lot of negative characteristics in me. A lot of things that make me hang my head in shame like I've never done before. And not a day goes by that I don't think, "You aren't mother material. You never should have been gifted this wonderful child. He deserves more than you could ever give him." (that's why my struggle with not being able to have a second child hurts so much - because even though I want another, I don't think I'm deserving of another one.)

That said, I think it wrecked me for the good. I think He is working in me more so now than ever before through Max. He is showing me unconditional love, and to look at the world with wonder, and to ask questions about everything and anything, and to laugh at the silly stuff that we learn to not laugh at as we get older. He is showing me His grace every single day.
And the greatest thing He is teaching me is that I am worthy of love. I am loveable. He is teaching me - through the depths of Max's love for ME - to love myself. To love myself through all of those things that make me feel ugly and make me hang my head in shame.

Yes, the greatest lesson motherhood is teaching me is to LOVE MYSELF.

(And now I am crying while I drink my Coke and eat my fries...)

I thought long and hard about sharing this with all of you out there.

My words aren't pretty. I'm almost ashamed to have written them out and sent them to someone (whom I haven't even met in person) to read.  But having been one of the many moms who attended regular meetings for moms with PPD, I know there are a lot of women out there who suffer in silence. It's the elephant in the room that moms are so darn afraid to talk about or even acknowledge. And that kind of makes me mad and sad all at the same time. 

Being pregnant for nine months and giving birth to a child is life-changing for a woman. Sure, men change when they become fathers, but it is nothing compared to the change that women endure. It's hard, it's painful, it's exhausting. The Andrea that went into the hospital and gave birth to Max five years ago is not the same Andrea that is sitting here typing this. That Andrea was left at the hospital and is wandering the halls. The Andrea that went in those doors did not come out. I used to jokingly tell my friends this after I became a mom - when we would complain about missing our former selves before kids. There was really a lot of truth behind those words for me though. Within hours of coming home from the hospital with Max I was in full-on identity crisis mode. I had no idea who I was anymore or who I was supposed to be. I was thrown into the role of mom where I had no idea what I was doing. I longed for the old me - the me who knew exactly who she was and what she did. I still long for the old me some days - the me who was settled and comfortable with who she was. The me who was confident and independent and knew what she was doing. She's still in there somewhere. I just have to find her again, and I have a feeling that may take awhile.

There is so much more of my story I could tell, and I do plan to tell it one of these days when I get my thoughts in order. Of course I hope my honesty here hasn't shocked any of you. I think every mom worries that other moms will think she isn't a good mom, or doesn't love her child enough. I love my son to pieces. So much so that it hurts sometimes. I have one child. One. I get to devote every ounce of my being to just him. This one little person with the 'stache is teaching more than any other person has about how to love myself just as I am: through the good, the bad, the ugly, and the shame.

***I have to say thank you to Tracey for reaching out and asking to hear what I had to say, even if it wasn't pretty. Thank you for listening, friend.***

i don't want it anymore.

Won't somebody come on in and tug at my seams?
Oh, send your armies in of robbers and thieves
To steal the state I'm in I don't want it anymore.

Sara Bareilles

Last night, after a not-so-great, not myself, past four days - I almost pressed the delete button on this space, and on FaceBook. The arrow hovered over the icon. My heart heavy with feelings difficult for me to articulate, except to say that I go through periods where I just want to walk away from it all and start-over. Let me explain (if I can...)

I'm a bit hyper-sensitive. Always have been. Probably always will be. Fifty percent of the time I love that about myself. I love that I can feel so filled-up with love and happiness that it spills over into tears. The other fifty percent of the time I hate that about myself. It causes me much undue distress and worry and fear. I can feel so deep in a well of hurt that it seems I will never get out. When all I want to do is dig myself out, and run as fast as I can away from that deep well. But not knowing what to do to dig myself out, I just sit in it. Full of self-doubt, full of feeling incapable, full of feeling unworthy of anything I have, full of feeling "what's the point?" I tend to keep to myself. I hold just about anyone I meet at a far distance, for fear if I let them in they won't like me or they will hurt me. I get my feelings hurt far too easily because I take everything very personally. Very. So when I'm down in that deep hole, I don't trust anyone else to help me out. They might throw me a rope, but it'll probably be frayed or not long enough. No, only I can dig myself out.

When I get like this; when my thoughts are consumed with this in-explainable questioning (for lack of a better word) I just want to escape to a place where I won't feel this way. I want to leave the places that leave me questioning myself. I want to walk away from everyone I know. I want someone to take the crazy, self-doubting feelings away. And that's usually when I tend towards doing something drastic to make a clean break from feeling so bad - delete FaceBook, delete my blog, chop my hair (as I did today.) Maybe the physical act of a big change will bring about the big change I so desperately need in my heart and mind. If I can distance myself as far away as possible from everyone else, I can help to keep these feelings at bay.

And then a few days pass, after many tears, many sleep-less nights lying awake just worrying and wondering what to do, and suddenly I find myself looking down in that deep well wondering how I even got down there, and why it took me so darn long to climb out. I've climbed out too many times to count. I should have it down pat. I should be able to just pull-myself out within a matter of hours. But oddly enough, the older I get, the longer it seems to take.

Friday I was in that deep, dark well. Today I am almost out. I know in a few more days I will be just fine and I will shake my head in shame, thinking, "Who is that girl? And doesn't she realize she has it all?"

(Sorry I don't have any photos for this post. No pretty picture could make this post not-so-gloomy. And don't worry, I doubt I will ever delete this space. I may walk away from time to time, but it will always be here. And speaking of drastic things, I almost deleted this entire post after I wrote it. Instead I just said a little prayer and hit publish.)

a beautiful mess.

{Some pretty photos to go along with the long post I knew was coming, but just didn't know it was coming today.}

Today I was in Target looking for supplies for Max's birthday party. I looked up and saw another mom from preschool standing beside me doing the very same thing for her Max who is in the AM preschool class. We've chatted before and we were in Kindermusik with our Maxs a few years ago. Anyway, we were discussing our parties and party supplies, when she motioned to my stomach area and asked, "Are you pregnant?" Every non-pregnant woman's greatest fear. I laughed and said no, and told her we had been trying for about three years now, and that we did the whole IUI/IVF thing, and spent thousands...yada yada yada. We chatted awhile, she apologized again and again, I apologized for telling her our lengthy trying-to-get-prego journey, and then we went back to chatting about our parties. And then I spent the next few minutes getting the rest of the things I needed to get, desperately trying to keep it together as I wandered the aisles. And then I got to my car, started my drive home, and started crying.

I wasn't neccessarilty crying because she asked if I was pregnant when I wasn't. (Though I will remember not to wear any clingy tops anymore. And I guess I need to step-up my working-out) I was crying because I had come face to face, once again, with the fact that I'm not pregnant. After all the money and time and emotion - I didn't get pregnant. It took me a good month or so after we found out I wasn't pregnant to get back to having normal days where I didn't cry everyday. I had it all under control. I had buried it deep down in the depths of my being, shut and locked that door and threw away the key. Or so I thought. I don't want to go into some lengthy re-hashing of what I went through and what I'm feeling and how I'm coping. I don't want to be Debbie Downer. And I know I sound like a broken record. But I will be honest.

 It hurts a little everytime I hear someone is pregnant, or see someone who is pregnant.

It hurts a little when I walk by the baby section at Target and realize I will never get to shop in that department again (at least not for myself.) And I'm sure lots of other moms with older kids feel sentimental when they pass the baby section at the store, but it's not the same as passing it with a heart that feels robbed of a dream.

It hurts a bit as I go through Max's old clothes to give them to Goodwill. The clothes I had saved in case we had another boy. The clothes I won't be needing now.

It hurts a little every time I see families with more than one child, which is pretty much everyone I know. (I think I know two friends that only have one child.) It feels a bit like not being part of the "club"; that I don't get to be part of something special that these other families are part of. They get to see their kids playing and fighting together. They get to take photos of their kids together. (I can barely get my one to let me take his photo.)

I know I sound petty. I realize it's only been about four months since we got the bad news, but I really just want the hurt to go away now. Not in another six months or another year or five years, but now. And I want it to go away for good. I don't ever want to feel all of this sadness and anger and disappointment again. I'm tired of it. It's exhausting. Between that and losing our dog last August, I'm just sad and spent. I think it's drained it all out of me. I don't care about blogging or taking photos or running or setting any goals. I really just want to zone out for a long time until I can re-enter my life without the hurt there following me around. I know that'll never happen. All that I experienced last year is part of my story. It's a sad chapter in the book that is my life. It has molded me into the person I am today. I'm not the same girl I was before we started this journey. How could I be? Anyone who has successfully or unsuccessfully taken that journey through IVF knows that it changes a core part of your being. It pushes you to the emotional edge. It deepens your longing. It ignites fear and anger. It tests your patience. It creates a great sense of wonder and amazement in the creation of a life. It is life-changing. 

My head tells me I will get through this slump. I always get through the slumps. But my heart tells me it's going to take a lot longer than I thought it would to heal. And even then there will be a little scar. A reminder of the heart-wrenching little chapter in my life. But for now I just want the hurt to go away. Just for one day I'd like to not think about it at all.

That's me being honest. That's me being me. A beautiful mess.

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah

-Amy Grant

my one and only, you.

(Maxwell, nine days old. January 2007)

He is my one and only.
And I'm learning to be okay with that.

After three years of waiting and hoping and praying, I finally received my answer: One.

Believe me, it took a lot of time and a lot of tears.
I had to visit the "what ifs"...
What if I had been in better shape and weighed what I did when I got pregnant with Max?
What if I had done acupuncture?
What if I hadn't been so stressed and full of anxiety about the whole IVF process.

And I had to visit the "maybes"...
Maybe I'm not a good enough mother to the one I already have, and so I don't deserve another one...
Maybe my seizure medication is to blame... Maybe if I went off it I'd be able to get pregnant...
Maybe the three seizures in the span of 17 years is to blame...
Maybe if we hadn't waited two years after we got married to start our family...
Maybe if I wasn't so old...

Secondary infertility is tough one. I have one perfectly healthy, happy, loving boy. Am I greedy to want another and then feel such sadness that I can't have another? Do I have the right to even be sad when I know there are people who have tried, unsuccessfully, for years to have their first? I wasn't sure...and then my aunt said to me, "You are grieving for a baby you dreamed of having and the loss is real...a sweet baby - unknown but wanted and loved with all your heart. Max is your joy that makes you want another child."

And so I must let go...
of the dream of someday watching Max play with a brother or sister..
of the feeling that I failed Max as a mother in my inability to give him that brother or sister...
of the feeling that my body failed me...
of the feeling that I also failed my husband and his dreams of having two kids...

I know some of my thoughts may sound a bit ridiculous, but as a constant worrier and over-analyzer these were a few of the thoughts that crossed my mind. I think we all like to have firm answers to the questions in our lives and will search every nook and cranny of our minds to find something that brings us peace.

Am I over it all and fine now? Far from it. I have moments when I feel sad and angry and hopeless every day. Will it get better? At this moment, as I type this I can say yes, but there are definitely moments when I doubt it ever will; when I think there will always be someone missing from my family.

This experience has taught me that I can think I'm in control of planning my life all I want, but really He is in control and has much better plans than I can even begin to envision. Even in my sadness I realize this is true. Do I know what they are? No, I can't even begin to think of what's next. I always planned I'd be home with another baby for another five years. So, not only is it a little disappointing things didn't go as planned, I'm also sitting in limbo wondering what's next. Do I make plans to go back to work? Do I go back to school like I've always wanted? Do I just stay home for another five years?...I don't know. Time will tell. That's for Him to slowly reveal to me. A new friend emailed me about a week ago and said, "He does not waste an inch of your life Andrea. Not an inch. This includes the grieving part." I have held tight to those words in the past week. When I am sad I remember that this is part of the creation of my life; this experience is shaping me right now, in this very moment. He will not waste an inch of my life.

I'll end this long post with my favorite quote, which has even more meaning to me these past few weeks: "We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." - Joseph Campbell

My life is waiting for me in the form of one, little, almost-five-year-old boy.

released.

Pure exhaustion - the work to create the perfect life, home, child, self.
Reading extra books at bedtime because that's what good mothers do, right? Making my son a different meal just about every night because he has to eat something...he's skinny. Giving-in to buying that bag of candy or book or toy at the store because you don't want to be the mom with "that" kid. Crawling into bed with him night after night after he's come to get me because its more important that he get a good night of sleep.
Sweeping every little crumb, wiping every little spill, washing every little dish. Picking-up every toy and putting it in its place. Making the house look "normal" again at 9pm knowing all to well it will be a mess by 9 the next morning.
Putting on my face and straightening my hair, every. single.day. Struggling to say just the right things to the right people. Telling them what they want to hear. Keeping my thoughts and words to myself so as not to offend. Fighting back tears. Searching for that pre-mommy piece of me that was left wandering the halls of the maternity ward that snowy day in January. Looking for something that is mine - all mine. Frustration when my pictures fail to look as spectacular as my blog friends' photos. The pressure of constant comparison and constant disappointment in myself...
Welcome to the inner-workings of Andrea. Exhausting, isn't it?
The quest for perfection will tie you in knots and leave you feeling less-than-perfect every. single. time. The higher we raise the bar, the more tiresome it becomes to stand on tip-toe in our attempts to reach it.

The good news is this: We have been released from the burden of perfection. God doesn't expect us to be perfect. And additionally, we shouldn't expect anyone else in our lives to be perfect. Divinity is an awfully heavy burden to place on our shoulders and the shoulders of those we love.

magnolia.

I had a nice little post all ready to share for this fine Friday.
But I'm just not feeling it today...not even this week... And I'm not going to attempt to fake it today. I don't have the energy. And you fine friends of mine deserve more than me faking it. I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm worried, I'm questioning. And all I really care about is making it through the day so I can rest in the comfort of my retreat when I feel this way - which is my bed. Sleep is my escape. And if I could, right now, I'd sleep this whole weekend away. Far, far away.
But that's not an option.
So, I will have to make do with the little things. Like this song, Magnolia, by Ellie Holcomb. Seems that I always find a little solace in the craziest of places (I was on iTunes downloading a Lady GaGa song for my son), just when I need it. And I can usually find a song to sum-up just how I'm feeling on any given day. This song says it all today.

Enjoy your weekend, friends.

the end of an era.

This was the day that I knew would eventually arrive at my doorstep...

Not sure I have the words to express how I feel just yet. I think the tears I shed today say it all.

She will be deeply missed. She was the epitome of unconditional love and a loyal companion.

And as one friend so aptly stated: it's the end of an era.

I love you Maggie Lou.
Miss you...

{I will have more to say later - when I've composed my thoughts & have stopped crying.} 

things to come.

It's 10:30 on a Friday night and I really don't have a lot to say. My heart is a little heavy with thoughts of things to come next week. So tonight I will let this photo speak for me. I saw that little maple leaf laying on the grass on a bright, summer's day and was reminded that fall is just around the corner. Soon days will grow shorter, nights longer. The leaves will begin to turn and float gracefully from the trees. And while I'm just beginning to enjoy the summer and our (finally) warm weather, I know it will come to an end. Seasons must change. As hard as it might be for this little heart to bear.

for Stacey...

For my best friend, Stacey, on what would have been her 39 birthday.

Please watch. And feel free to re-post.

Dear 16 year old me,

If I knew then what I know now:

I would not have used tanning beds to get that glow or try to get a "base" tan before going on vacation.

I would not have used baby oil to bake in the sun.

I would not have spent hours trying to get a dark tan, which my pale skin was never meant to have.

I would have applied sunscreen daily, even on the cloudy days.

I would have covered up and sought shade.

And while it may be 22 years later, I now vow to wear my sunscreen, to slather it on my son, to nag my husband to wear it even though he may get tired of the nagging.

I vow to cover-up and take cover if I can.

I vow to teach my son that while the sun is nice, too much of it is a very bad thing.

I vow to keep the memory of my dear friend, Stacey, alive.

Dear 16 year old me - You are smart. You are beautiful. You are dedicated. And you are loved.

Never forget that. And don't let anyone ever tell you different.

XOXO - Me.

mustache max.

I know you all have been eagerly awaiting my mustache photos, right? (I know you all missed me so much last week. Or maybe you didn't even notice! LOL.)








And there you have it! I took these before my trip to Seattle. Max actually sat still for me (well, ok, I told him he had to let me take photos if he wanted to play with the band-aids.) I processed in Picnik. Didn't have much time to play around with Elements last week.
The weekend was long, but ok. Max was having a bad day of sorts on Saturday and I'm sure I wasn't the greatest mom that day. Got a few stares at Safeway when Max wouldn't stay with me and I grabbed him, scolded him in the store, and promptly left with him under my arm. Yea...not my finest moment. Funny thing is that I always gave "those" moms the stink eye for scolding in public before I had a child. And now I get it. In that moment I was in my own little world dealing with my child. And I didn't care one iota about the stares (well, I noticed them, but didn't care till later. We live in a small town and the likelihood of running into someone you know at the store is quite high.) It's been a difficult few weeks with Max. He's been testing his boundaries and independence, and thus my patience. I always thought I was a fairly patient person until I had a child. Not so patient after-all. It's the one thing I really need to work on. And work on a lot harder.

On another note - I think I picked-up my camera three times in the past week. I just wasn't feeling inspired. It's so hard for me to see the everyday with new eyes. I don't have the most creative mind in the world, so I tend to look at things around me and think, "That would be a boring photo." And so I don't take photos. And then there is my lack of models. Sigh... Max doesn't really like me to take his picture these days. Oh, and the golden hour light! There were a few days late last week that were just gorgeous! But alas, I was getting Max ready for bed. And who knows if he would have sit still for me to experiment with that golden light. It is so softly, beautiful though.

The husband is doing ok. He is back to work after three days off plus the weekend. He had surgery Wednesday and now has a titanium plate and some screws in his left collar bone. He would like to be called Titanium Man now, just so you know. No matter what the circumstances he always knows how to make things funny. I think he had a nice Fathers Day despite his set-back. I know he really would have liked to have run the Vancouver Marathon, but there is always next year (and he can run the Portland Marathon in October!)

Look at me rambling again...
Well, happy Monday, friends! I do plan to play around with the above photos in Elements. So don't be surprised if you see them again.
A

a break.

Seattle was fun. I shopped, ate at a couple of favorite restaurants, had a few tasty margaritas and a couple of delicious cupcakes.
It was a great two days off from mom duty.
But by the time my friend and I arrived in Seattle Friday night, dropped Max off with Omi and Opa, and arrived at my parent's house (about four hours later) my husband called with good news and bad news. The good news was that he wasn't going rafting the weekend before my birthday, so I wouldn't have to find a sitter if I wanted to go out with friends. The bad news - he wasn't going because he broke his collar bone.

And not only did he break it, he broke it in two places.
I feel really awful for him. He had big plans this summer - running the very first (and his very first) Vancouver Marathon (on Father's Day), riding the STP with his dad, doing the things he enjoys doing in the summer.
His plans did not include surgery, or not being able to pick-up his son or play with him.
Having an immobilized arm is not easy. I've been there. It was just three years ago that I had a fractured shoulder-blade and I was that person who couldn't hold or pick-up her 16 month old for two months.
So after a long drive home, and an afternoon and evening with a very, very whiny boy who told me I was a "blockhead" (too much time watching Charlie Brown), and told me he didn't like me anymore (I know, I know...don't take it personally, but it still hurts a teeny bit) I have decided to take a break.
Just for a week or maybe two. I'll still be reading all of your wonderful blogs and drooling over your gorgeous photos. And I may even find some time to pick-up my camera and learn a little Elements. We'll see...
A.
(P.S. - Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about those super cute mustache photos. They are still tops on my editing list. It'll be worth the wait. I promise.)

random tuesday...late night edition.

I don't have anything super exciting to say today. I don't even have any photos to share. I think I've only picked-up my camera once in the past week.
Today I helped out in Max's class while the teacher tested students for end-of-the-year evaluations. It was interesting watching the kids play. Girls and boys play oh-so differently. Amazing to observe. And very fun to watch Max in his element.
The end of the preschool year is upon us. I'm not sure why it ends on May 24th when most of the schools around here don't end till near the end of June. But oh well. We will start our summer early - if the weather ever cooperates. Max is signed-up for Vacation Bible School and one summer camp through the city.
Speaking of weather - it actually cleared-up today. Blue sky and sunshine. And at 8:22pm it was still 60 degrees out. Max and I went for a walk...well, I walked and pushed his trike. We ran into our neighbor's (also my OB - so VERY convenient after having a baby!) mom and her grandkids (does that make sense?...the neighbor's mom watches her kids...I digress...) We all walked around the block and we finally delivered the little girl's long overdue birthday present. From January, folks. Yes, very late. The kids hugged goodbye and the little girl even gave Max a kiss on the cheek.
As we enjoyed the sun, sitting in the driveway drawing with the big chalk, my thoughts were with my neighbor who tragically lost her adult daughter on Sunday. On Mothers Day. In that same house, a little boy had also lost his mother. On Mothers Day. While I was enjoying just another regular Tuesday afternoon, hearts were breaking just right next door. I thought a little bit more about everything I did today. And I couldn't help but wonder what my neighbors were doing while I made dinner and let the dog out and gave Max a bath and read him stories and watched him sleep. Later this week I will bring them a meal and flowers. I will do my best to find some words of comfort. Until then I will pray.

That's all I've got today. I will now drag my tired, sore throat, self to bed.
I promise to have some photos soon.
Goodnight, friends.