Weight loss after pregnancy is really nothing like weight loss before pregnancy - at least it hasn't been for me.  Maybe it should have been obvious to me, but it wasn't.  I was not prepared for this.  I had no clue that it would be this hard.  It seems like other women lose at least 20 lbs as they exit the hospital... I lost 5! 

I breastfed expecting the weight to fall off, and I gained back the 5 pounds I lost after birth.

And now... here I am, with a baby that turns 11 months (how is that possible?) next week.  I find myself planning her first birthday and I'm still 20 pounds over my Weight Watchers goal weight.  While I'm sure that Weight Watchers is loving making money off of me I'm sick of paying... again!

Initially in the process, I was frustrated.  I aired my complaints several times.  I went through periods of trying really hard with very minimal results.  I kicked, I screamed, I whined.  I glanced over at the rows of pants that didn't fit me, the ones that just hung there - mocking me!  I finally packed up all of my clothes, and bought new ones. 

And then... glorious acceptance came.  Yes, I was over my goal weight, but there was a beautiful miracle in my life as a result of it.  I stopped beating myself up, after stepping on the scale.  I stopped hating myself when I looked in the mirror.  I started sleeping better, and enjoying the small moments, and reminding myself about the bigger picture.  I told myself it doesn't matter if this takes a month, a year, or a decade - down is down.  And you know what?  A funny thing happened.  I started losing weight just a little better than I was before. 

No... it's not fast, and I do some see-sawing, but I am seeing progress.  I am now less than a pound from being down 25 pounds since I started back to Weight Watchers, and I am officially less than 20 pounds away now from being back to my goal weight.

As I see Lily's first birthday looming in the not so distant future, the initial goal I set out for myself is definitely unreachable.  But that's OK, because I am making progress, little by little.  I've decided to enjoy the journey, enjoy life, and focus on the progress, not the struggles.  Focus on the pants that do fit me, and not the pants that are boxed up in the basement.

I am happy - with myself, with my life. 
And some days I feel like I am the luckiest girl in the world to have a cheering section like this.

YAY Mommy!

This is a small snapshot into my head during an actual day last week...  These events are non-fiction.  All of them!  I like to call it the Puke-filled adventures of a working mom.  Enjoy!



I groggily get out of bed.  I've only had about 2-3 hours of sleep.  Lily has been up on/off throughout the night coughing and crying.  I took her temperature in the night, and it was low... scary low - like 96 degrees.  We bundled her up, and for the 2-3 hours I did sleep it was fitful as I was worrying about my baby girl.

I manage to get dressed, and get "L" some breakfast.  He wants a pancake, no no, cereal, no no, a waffle.  Indecisive 4 year old.  I'm irritated.

I grab the phone and watch the clock.  2 minutes to 7:30, 1 minute.  I press in all of the numbers except the last number of our pediatrician's phone number and at 7:30 on the dot, I am on the phone with the front desk.  "Yes, yes.  Me again.  Coughing, low temp.  9:00 am, is that your earliest?  OK, I'll make it work." 

I dash off an email to work, about being late because I have to take Lily to the peds office.  I play over in my head of how I will make this work, as I have a conference call looming at 10:00 am, and another one immediately following at 10:30 am.  OK, go to the doctor - they shouldn't be behind yet as they take their first patient at 8.  Assume I'll be there until 9:30, quickly (but safely of course) drive to daycare.  That takes 10 minutes, Drop off Lily - 6 minutes.  Then still have 10 minutes to make to work.  If I'm behind I can always pull over and do my conference call in a parking lot.  I write down the numbers I need on a sticky note, and paste it to my phone.

I get Lily up, and attempt to feed her a bottle between coughing.  She is NOT happy.  I change her, and get her in her car seat.  I grab a cereal bar, because I haven't had breakfast... or coffee yet.  Drive to the ped's office.  They know me.  Lily?  They ask when I walk in.  Yes, yes, $25 copay. 

We see the doctor.  I assume she is wheezy, but she's not.  I'm terrified of whooping cough, but not that either.  Ear infection.  My world stops for a moment, and I want to burst into tears right in front of a grown man.  She has tubes, I mutter.  I want to scream about the cost, and how just 2 days ago I paid the final bill for everything.  But most of all, I don't want to be back on the crazy train of ear infections we were on 3 months ago.  I ask about doing ear drops vs. antibiotics, but I'm assured that won't work.  He prescribes Augmentin.  We leave.  After leaving the pediatrician's I cry in the car. 

I stop at Caribou, I don't care if it makes me late.  I NEED coffee.  It is not optional at this point.  I drop Lily at daycare.  I have 6 minutes to spare.  I hedge my bets that I can make it.  I drive to work, and dial in - 3.5 minutes late.  Not too shabby.  I would have been 1 minute earlier had I not been stuck behind "Lawn Boys" driving 10 under the speed limit.

I spend the next 4 hours attending meetings.  With 10 minutes in between to quickly grab some lunch.  I make a bad choice - BLT (hold the mayo) and fries.  I instantly feel guilty, and take off 1/2 the bacon, all while scooping some ranch on to my fries.

I finally have a couple of hours after meetings to prep for more meetings tomorrow.  I leave at 4:15 and drive straight to the pharmacy.  They know me there too.  Sad, I think.  I find out that Lily's prescription was not sent to them.  I want to scream, but the overly kind and helpful pharmacist is a saint, and making 1 phone call she finds out somehow the ped's office sent it to a different pharmacy.  GRRRR.  She spends the next half hour trying to get the prescription transferred.  Finally, she has it and I'm outta there.

I pick up the kids.
I drive home, and make snacks and drinks for everyone.  I think about dinner.  I ask "L" what he wants.  Scrambled eggs he cries.  And so, scrambled eggs it is.  I start to make them, and Lily is mad.  So I stop.  I hold her.  My husband finally comes home, and he takes her, and I make scrambled eggs.  I feed Lily some dinner, and give her the first dose of Augmentin.  About 5 minutes later, just as the eggs are done, and I'm ready to eat, she violently projectile vomits all over the dining room table, carpet, and kitchen floor.  There is vomit on her, me, my husband, and all over the house.  I run a bath, and strip her down, I take my shirt off and throw all pukey clothes in the hallway.  I give Lily a bath, while still in my bra.
I get her cleaned up and dressed in pajamas.  I eat cold eggs and toast.  Blech! 

My husband gives her a bottle.  She fusses, and moments later, more vomit.  This time it covers the chair and both of them.  Sigh.  I cry.  I quickly think about the crazy amount of work I left undone at my office today.  I cry again.  I help him clean it up.  I scrub the beige carpet in her room on my hands and knees.  The whole house smells of vomit.  I gag a little myself.  I clean her up and put her to bed.
I get my son ready for bed.
Its 9:00 now, I work for 45 minutes.  I think about writing a blog post.  I have nothing more in me.  Not tonight.  I do the dishes, I wash bottles, I make new bottles.  Lily's crying again, I pop her paci back in and tuck her blanket around her. 
It's 10:45.  I check facebook.  11:00 pm.  I collapse into bed.
I'm a mom of a 4 year old and a 10 month old.
I work at a job outside of my home.
I work at a job inside of my home.
Some days it's amazing that I can manage to make it all happen.
Some days... some days are really hard.

I can do hard things!

I think I first read about this saying on Ann's blog.

This past week, I LIVED this saying.  I did hard things.  Several times I felt like I needed a Valium, but I survived.

Last Saturday morning I boarded a plane... alone... with a 6 month old baby.  She was amazing on our flights and as we switched planes in Chicago.  Several times I wondered what I was thinking trying to do this trip alone.  It was hard, I won't lie, but I did it.

Lily and I spent Easter with my cousin and her family, and then Monday and Tuesday of last week Lily participated in a Turner Syndrome study at UNC Chapel Hill.  We visited with Dr. Davenport, a pediatric endocrinologist, who is one of the leading researchers on Turner Syndrome, then Lily had a brain MRI, full developmental assessment, and blood taken. It is because of Dr. Davenport's research that girls with TS are starting growth hormone earlier and earlier. Lily and I were honored to meet her.

We are doing this #1 - to be able to meet with Dr. Davenport and gather as much information and get another set of eyes on Lily, and #2 - because it might help other girls with TS in the future, just like some of her previous work is going to help Lily now. We are not doing this because there is a cure, or something will change Lily's syndrome. Lily is missing a chromosome - it is not coming back. There is no cure for Turner Syndrome. It is just management of symptoms and challenges along the way.

During the appointments I found out some information related to Lily's height.  Lily is projected to be 4'11-1/2" if you use Dr. Davenport's formulas using my husband and my heights. I was told that about 90% of girls will fall very close to their projected height based on using the genetics of their parents. Almost 5 ft... that would be great! That is without growth hormone injections too (which a lot of girls with TS take). But... as with anything else with Lily, Lily is not falling in the majority. Right now if she continues to track on her current curve (On the TS growth chart she is only 10th percentile - and she is not on the regular chart), she would only be 4'4" or 4'5" tall! 

My biggest concern for her at that height would be the limiting factors making her life really difficult. She would need special equipment to drive a car, she would need to live in an adapted house to be able to do some of the "regular stuff" that most of us take for granted. She wouldn't be able to shop in a regular store. Because of this Dr. Davenport has recommended that Lily start growth hormone injections early - around age 1.   We will be back at UNC in early Oct, and will consult with Dr. Davenport again to see if anything has changed with her curve.  At that point we will likely begin growth hormone unless something changes dramatically.

After we were done with all the appointments I flew home on Tuesday afternoon. 

Sometimes when I stop and think about this it all seems like a blur.  There are so many times that things present themselves and I stop and think "I can't do this, its too hard!"  I thought that at my 19 week ultrasound.  I thought that as I was preparing to fly to North Carolina and have these appointments, I thought that as I was starting to run for the first time, and as I recently started running again.  I thought it today as Lily was sick for what seemed like the millionth time since starting daycare back in January.

But you know what?  Every single time I made it through.  I can do hard things!  I rock at hard things!  And you know what else?  SO CAN YOU!

What hard things can do you?

No Menu Monday today... sorry!  We are just surviving over here.  Its all we can do right now.  There is nothing exciting on our menu anyways.

Where to even begin... Last week "L" was home for all but Friday from daycare with a high, high fever. 

Thursday my weigh in revealed a loss of .2 (just that's a point in front) of a pound.

Then on Friday, Lily had her 6 month endocrinologist appointment.  I had been hoping and praying all week that she would finally be at 11 pounds.  Nope... she was only 2 oz bigger than a week prior - 10 lbs 12 oz.  I'm going to tear my hair out over this child not growing.

The doctor is definitely concerned about her lack of growth, even for a Turner Syndrome girl.  She was also concerned with her reaction to rice cereal, and so we've been referred to a pediatric gastroenterologist, to see if we can figure out how to make my girl gain weight.  This is so ironic to me in so many ways!

After the doctor on Friday, we decided to stop by Smashburger for dinner.  I had points to spare and ordered the grilled chicken.  I barely made it in the door of my house and I knew I was going to be sick - throw up sick.  I spent the next 24 hours laid flat by the stomach flu. 

Just mere hours after the plague laid me flat, it took out my husband.  Now think about it.  2 kids, under 5, alone with 2 parents that can't even get out of bed with the stomach flu.  Not a good scene!  I put the 4 year old in charge... uh yeah, not even kidding.  I was half way through feeding Lily a bottle, and I had him take over.  He did a good job.

We survived to see the much too early light of day (given the time change) on Sunday morning.  I was able to clean myself up and head out for supplies.  As the day went on things did get better and better.  Today I just feel run down, and still iffy about whether food is my friend or not.

Hopefully we can make it through a week without anyone in this house being sick - which would be a first in over a month.  Crossing my fingers and toes!

Needless to say, I think my obsession with Smashburger is officially over!

I posted the following on Facebook midday on Sunday (What!  You're not following me on facebook? ):

"My boys went to Smashburger for lunch and I'm laying here feeling sorry for myself that I don't have enough Wwers points to go there today :( people who can eat whatever they want without it effecting their weight suck! I am tired of this life long battle!"

Yep, the cold hard weight loss truth.  I missed out on something because I made a choice to not eat that type of food.  It sucks!  Its hard!  There are so many days when the "I don't wannas" come out to play.  Yesterday was a day like that.  I moped, I cried, I screamed, "It's not fair!"  And you know what?  It's not fair.  But life, life is not meant to be fair, of that I am 100% sure.

And I am tired.  Really tired.  Really tired of this weight battle, but not just of this battle, but of everything lately.  I feel crushed under the load of more.  More stress, more stuff, more to deal with, more kids getting sick, more doctor appointments, more battles to fight, more prescriptions that get screwed up.  Crushed under more.

And sometimes, it doesn't feel worth it.  To give these things up.  To give up Smashburger, when I really wanted it.  I sit here wondering why I even try.  Why I even do this.

And then this happens:
My sister posts:
"I changed my profile pic so you would be inspired and be GLAD you gave up Smashburger today!"

And she changes her pic to this:

And I cry... because we look so dang hot, and I can't even fit my right toe into that dress right now, and that hurts. 

And I cry... because I'm crushed under more, and in this picture I was not!

And I cry... because its a special thing to have a sister that would change her profile pic and post that. 

And I smile.. because she believes in me, and apparently so do other people, even if I don't believe in myself.

And I know, that giving up Smashburger was the right choice, even if it sucked. 

And I know that I will get my entire body - not just my right toe - into that dress again!

And if I for one minute feel like whining about my progress and where I'm at.  I will think of the time that I so graciously received an attitude adjustment.


But... I will work hard to get where I want to be, because it is worth it.  Sometimes, it is worth it more that Smashburger.

I We made it!  It’s the last day of February and Turner Syndrome Awareness month is officially coming to a close.  I first want to thank everyone for reading!  Putting together 29 days of posts has been a challenge, but one that I enjoyed immensely.  I’m certainly glad that February only has 29 days though!  I am so grateful to all of those that helped by guest posting.  My hope is that you learned something new, and that you will be able to use that knowledge, either now or in the future, to help someone else.

In conclusion of this special month, I wanted to talk a moment about what it has been like for me to be Lily’s mother.  It is the new identity that I've taken on over this past year, and it has shaped me and changed my life in countless ways... both good and bad.

This time last year a tiny bean was growing in my belly.

Tiny Bean- 6 weeks

I had amazing hopes for my pregnancy, amazing hopes for her.  I was as healthy as I had ever been, and I was convinced that my pregnancy would go swimmingly.  I was anticipating with joy a normal birth weight baby – after my preemie son was born 3 lbs 4 oz, 4 years earlier.  Innocent friends and family joked that I’d probably have a 10 punder this time.  I actually wanted that!  And yes, I was having a repeat C-section so that was easier for me to say. 

Deep down though I had some fear.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was always something in the back of my mind I was unsettled about.  Call it intuiton, or maybe call it PTSD from my previous pregnancy, but whatever you call it, that fear was rationalized at our 19 week ultrasound.  I remember first hearing the term cystic hygroma that day.  For days afterwards I couldn’t even remember how to pronounce that stupid word, let alone begin to understand it.  I also first heard Turner Syndrome that day, was offered an amnio, and was told I could make a decision to terminate my pregnancy if I wanted to.



Despite  being dragged to this place (sometimes kicking and screaming) I am convinced this is my calling.  I am certain of it, and I am validated nearly weekly now.  Last week it was the early invention nurse commenting on what a strong advocate I seem to be for Lily – even though we had only been talking for 5 minutes.  It was the doctor that listened to me about the medication interfering with her reflux, and spending an extra minute with me to let me educate her on some Turner Syndrome aspects.



Now, I’m not saying I’m a patron saint – far be it!  But I do think that God made me with laughter, barely any patience, a strong sense of independence, and yes, some (ok, maybe a lot) of selfishness.  I’ve always been what I’ll lovingly refer to as “feisty”.  I now know that many of my experiences in the past 34 years of life have been grooming me for this moment, and while I never chose this for myself, I accept it, because even in the hardest of times, it is still an honor and a blessing that I’ve been chosen to be Lily’s mom!

So Lily... all of this past month is for you.  I love you... Love, your Mom

Princess Lily - 5 months

Final Note:  I'm tired!  Really tired.  Lily's been sick twice this month, and "L" once.  After blogging for the past 29 days straight, I'm going to be taking a minor break - a week or so - away from blogging to love on my sweet family, and catch up on sleep ... and life.  I'll be back next week!

Don't you hate those people... those women?   You know the kind I mean... the kind that lose 10 pounds in 1 week.  The kind that gain 40 pounds while they are pregnant and are back in their pre-pregnancy size by the end of their maternity leave. 

I have read one too many stories lately about women like this.  I hate it.  Sorry if this is you... don't take it personally, but from where I stand it is unfair.

Over 3 months ago I gave birth to a 5 pound 9 ounce little pink angel.  Sitting here tonight I weigh 4 pounds less than the day she was born.  I did not lose 10 pounds in 1 week, in fact, I don't even weigh less than her birth weight.  I have been done with maternity leave for a month, and I can tell you am I still double my pre-pregnancy size.  I feel completely alone.  It seems like no one else seems to have this problem.  Why do I feel like the only woman in the world that has had a baby, gained weight, and barely lost any of it?  I am frustrated and ticked off!

I have been perfectly on the Weight Watchers eating plan so far this week... even over the weekend.  Stepping on the scale this morning - and yes it is NOT my weigh in day, and yes I know I shouldn't weigh myself so often, so go away already - revealed that I have lost nothing since last Thursday.

There are so so many nights I want to throw in the towel, to forget it.  But then I remember that I said I #Believe.  There are so many nights I look at this:

My after Oct 2010

and it stings my eyes... it hurts! I want her back. She was so happy and skinny and naive. She didn't carry around a chip on her shoulder or feel the sting when completely strangers make negative comments about how her baby is so tiny for her age. She didn't know the pain and hurt and anxiety of a pregnancy "gone wrong". She had so much hope that things would work out, that her perfect story would be written. She didn't think she'd gain that much weight while pregnant. She also didn't think she'd have 28 ultrasounds, 1 amnio, and 1 MRI! She thought whatever weight she did lose would fall off in a couple of months. 

What a difference a year makes:

Starting over - 40 pounds heavier - Jan 2012 At least she is still smiling... who wouldn't holding that perfect peanut!

And at the end of the day the only thing that sometimes keeps me going is the perspective that at least I am no longer this:

My "before" Fall 2006

And there is no way in hell I'm going back there.

There are some days I can't stand to look at myself.  I feel sad.  I feel betrayed by life... I kick and scream, "It's not fair!"  I did my work before, and now I'm here - fat again.  I am tired of trying to lose weight.  I don't want to be back at the beginning of this again.  It feels impossible.  I'm tired of hearing about 5+ pound weight losses, when that is not my reality.

I want to blink my eyes in be back at my goal weight.  I want to blink my eyes and realize I had a terrible dream... that 2011 was one big, terrible dream. 

But that isn't going to happen.  My reality is not going anywhere.  And so... for one more day I deal with it.  I trudge along realizing that it is going to take me way longer than I ever thought to lose this weight again, and possibly even longer to deal with my emotions and anxiety, that my daughter is going to be a small peanut her whole life and I just need to find a witty comeback, and that perfection, easy perfect pregnancies, and large weekly weight losses ... those are for the unlucky ones; For
"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved." - Helen Keller

Reading this on incourage today, really got me thinking about plans.  The author, Sara Frankl, says in the article that, "The truth is that if you are still breathing, He still has plans for you..."  I woke up this morning, and was still breathing, despite the oppressive humidity.  And my sweet baby girl - who is ALMOST 29 weeks - was still kicking.  As I read those words, and they hit me smack between my dry and tired eyeballs!

Here's the thing about HIS plans.  I really don't want to accept them.  I am tired of the "I'm sure there are great plans for this baby", or "God always has a plan".  What about my plans?

My plan to lose weight, and have an amazing perfect pregnancy because of it.
My plan to know what it is finally like to take a baby home from the hospital a few days after its born.
My plan to breastfeed normally instead of having an almost illicit affair with a breast pump.
My plan to buy lots and lots of cute pink clothes, and finally get to buy one of those gorgeous little girl Christmas dresses.
My plan to give "L" a sister than he can love, run, jump, and play with.

What about those plans?  Doesn't anyone, including God, care about my plans?  I have been waiting for over 6 years now for any of this to work out easily.  I have done everything I could to control the situation - including losing 115 pounds!  I did everything ever asked or required of me to make sure MY PLANS came to fruition.

And in the end?  I find out I'm not in control.  I was never in control.  Talk about frustration!
Once upon a time, I had some plans - I wanted a baby.  But first I suffered through a miscarriage and infertility.  Then when I thought I had it all under control, I almost lost my life the night my son was born to a rare disorder that strikes about .2% of pregnancies.  In the months that followed I could not understand the why of it all.  It was all so unfair and traumatic  But... 3 years ago from that moment I knew exactly why it happened.  I knew that his plans were bigger and better than my plans.  I was humbled.
I heard someone say today "God doesn't always give us what we want, he gives us what we need." 
I'm not sure what he thinks I need right now.  I feel like I need a good appointment, no more bad news, and to have a perfect baby like 99.9% of everyone else seems to, but maybe that is just more what I want.  I do know that the night my son was born, I didn't know what I needed then either. 

This is not what I want.  These are not my plans.  I don't like it.  I don't understand it.  I certainly hope someday I will.

I’d like to share something that’s been on my heart. Please be assured that this is NOT targeted at any one person. This is just a commentary on things I hear day after day after day, that are wearing on my soul. This post is for me, it is not for you. I know that people’s comments, whether in real life, on facebook, blog comments, or email are meant to encourage. I really do. I am trying to look at the intent of people’s comments versus the content, but after enduring this now for a couple of months, I feel I need to address two common misconceptions I hear when people find out about our pregnancy situation. This post will be a two-parter – this is the first part. I am certainly not a theologian, so take this as my junior interpretation of what is probably the most controversial book in history.

I often receive comments from people (and I’m not just talking blog comments here) that “God will not give you more than you can handle.”   Honestly, I don't find this helpful… or even beyond that it isn’t even TRUE!

I personally didn’t think I’d ever read that in the Bible. So… I visited my trusty friend, Google, and looked it up. What I found was that this is one of the most misquoted verses in the Bible. The actual verse that people are thinking of is this:

“No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.”
I Corinthians 10:13

Nope… not the same meaning! I had often thought that maybe the opposite was true – that we are purposefully given more than we can handle, so we can both grow and turn to God. Thanks to this great blog article, I found this like-minded thinker, and this verse:

“For we do not want you to be ignorant, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead.”
2 Corinthians 1:8-9

So… God might give us more than we can handle.

From a place of deep honesty, right now, God has given me WAY more than I, Sarah, can handle. I admit it. I am powerless, I am weak. I’m on the verge of a break down every day. I can’t even begin to think a month into the future, because I break down! I can’t begin to imagine how I will endure if this baby dies, and also if this baby lives. In all reality, it appears that we are going to be put through a ringer of hospital stays and surgeries in the coming year, maybe even YEARS. I have a full time job, I have bills to pay, and I have a 3 year old that needs me too. I can’t handle this… it is too much for me to bear. But every day I make it through somehow. Every day, I know that hundreds of people are lifting me and my family up in prayer. Many of you I don’t even know, but know this – some days it is those prayers that are the ONLY things that I know must be carrying me, because I certainly am NOT carrying myself.

So…God gives us way more than we can handle sometimes, but he is faithful to carry us through. That is a truth I believe.



Bad Cell Phone Pic, but the cake says - Happy Crappy Pregnancy!

 Moral of this story.... ask and you shall receive!

Some days I have a really hard time not being bitter.  It's the type of feeling that invades your soul.  I can feel it seize my insides and fill me with hate at times.  Sometimes to the point where I feel physically sick.  I don't like it.  It is an attack on my being and my soul.  I can feel it start happening, and I brace myself, and try to rid myself quickly of the feeling.

Lately it has been about vacations.  I'm not even talking big, fancy go to Hawaii type of vacations.  I'm talking a few precious days, even spent lounging in the sun around the local pool types.  Its pretty much summer, and school is now officially out around here, and all I hear constantly everywhere I go is the chatter about summer and vacations.  Vacations are a part of a normal, happy, family life.  Everyone needs time to relax and recharge.

And there is my problem - normal life ..... happy..... family .... those things are not in my vocabulary right now.  I'm abnormal.... sad .... broken.  

To hear and watch families all giddy about their vacations makes me bitter.  It makes me realize that I have no vacation time this year as it will all be used up to help with my "maternity leave" - whatever that might be, and to cover my oodles of Dr. appointments.  And... that would be OK, if I would be guaranteed a healthy, live baby at the end of that.  But I'm not.  Even if I could take time off, I wouldn't be allowed to go more than an hour away, as I'm on travel restrictions right now per my doctor.  Just imagine if that was your every day reality. 

So... I listen and I watch, and I find myself filled with emotions that I don't like:  bitterness, envy, hatred, even self-loathing.  It's hard to live with those feeling for long.  I figured acknowledging it here was my first step towards figuring out how to deal with it. 

I only wish for one day I could once again walk around in a normal world, and do normal things - like vacations.  Someday... someday I hope I can do that again.  It's simply a reminder of how quickly life can change - how uncertain life can be, and how precious every single jab and kick I feel really is.

I feel the need to clear something up. It is something that is just laying heavy on my own heart. I am not being defensive; this is just something I feel needs to be put out there.

This baby is 100% wanted and loved, regardless of any disabilities, differences, or difficulties that may come along with that. I desperately want to be given the opportunity to be a mom to this baby, to love her, to raise her, to encourage her, despite any difficulties or challenges that may come along with that. I am 100% appreciative of all the wonderful, personal stories of your own children or people you know that may have had a similar diagnosis/situation. Please don’t stop sending them, it is encouraging to me, and I reread many of the messages I have received over the past week daily. 

But… that is NOT my struggle.

I struggle daily with the fact that the chances of this baby being given an opportunity to even live are slim at best. Do you know what its like to be carrying a baby around in your body 24 hours a day as a part of yourself that has been given a death sentence? It’s horrible.  It's exhausting.  It's dark and depressing! It NEVER leaves your mind. NEVER. Brutally honest - It is by far the worst place I've ever been in my 34 years.  I am constantly monitoring movements, and when I don’t feel the baby for an hour, I start freaking out. It’s really a horrifying place to be. Constant fear, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  It makes for one exhausted, drained, and crabby person.  Some days I wonder how I can continue like this.  It makes every day a constant struggle - A struggle for hope, a struggle for just finding a few moments of peace. 

Yet, somehow in a haze, I have made it through the last 12 days.  Some days I really don't know how, but I am happy I have made it 12 days, and I know I have 9 more days left until the next ultrasound, where my expectations will again be reset.  I am both terrified and longing for that day.

I love this little girl… no matter what.

I wish my love and pain could fix her, because I have so much of both.  I wish I could fast forward to a further point in my pregnancy where it would be safe for her to be delivered, so doctors could help her better.  Right now I can't fix anything, but I do know that I am not one bit fearful of a future of raising her, I am fearful of a future without her at all.

That is my reality… and so I sit and wait for the unknown.  Knowing there are so many thoughts and prayers.  Feeling all of your love, and at the same time feeling VERY VERY alone.

I remember my 20 week ultrasound with my son "L".  I remember finding out he was a boy.  I remember being happy, because even though I secretly longed for a girl, once they said he was a boy, I never thought about a girl ever again.  Then I remember hitting the store to buy my first "baby item", and remember thinking "Wow, there isn't much in here for boys."  I secretly eyed the girls section, with the super cute little outfits and darling dresses. 

Today, if you know my son, you will know that for a boy he is one of the most well-dressed kids around. It started while he was spending his first 27 days of life in the NICU, learning to eat and grow.  He was only 3 lbs 4 oz and 16 inches long, so even the newborn stuff we bought, and were given, was too big.  I started buying preemie clothes on eBay in between spending time at the hospital... and well, the rest is history.  I love buying cute clothes for him.  I stalk eBay for super cute Gymboree and Janie and Jack outfits, I hold out every season for the famous Gymboree circle of friends sale.  I am hopeless!

Last Thursday before our ultrasound, I was already certain we were having a girl.  I thought, finally, I can go into the girls section of the store, and probably spend way too much money on super cute little clothes.  I had visions of little dresses swirling in my head.  But after the spiraling events of that day, now the baby section at Target has me holding my breath and speeding quickly past, taking a sideways glance out of the corner of eye at this little blue dress, and feeling a tear slide out of my eye and down my cheek.

Calypso for Target Dress

Tonight we were at the Mall of America, and the cute girl clothes in the window at Hanna Andersen were enough to bring me to tears.  I am having a girl, and now I can't even bring myself to buy her something.  I wish I had the kind of faith that would allow me to, but in all honesty, I don't.  I will spend the rest of this pregnancy, however long that is, avoiding buying my little girl any clothes. 
I'm stuck... I can't buy myself regular clothes, because they no longer fit, now that I'm 20 weeks pregnant.  I can't buy maternity clothes, because I have no clue how long I'll actually need them, and deep down I'm really a cheapskate.  I can't even buy my own unborn baby girl clothes because I don't know if she will ever live to wear them.

I'm stuck, it stinks, its completely unfair, and I hate it!

I have SO much rambling around in my head, but I can't seem to organize any of it for a coherent post.  So maybe I'll just try a list:

- I lost .4 at my weigh in today.  Believe it or not I am OK with that.  I'm still 8 pounds below my goal weight.  I just have a lot going on right now.

- Speaking of a lot going on right now... I just switched my PointsPlus tracker to maintenance for awhile, as I really feel this is what I need to do right now.  There are some other things I'm going to focus on, rather than the number on the scale.  I'm OK with that.  WOW... that felt weird to say, but it is true.  I'm OK.

- I'm OK... yikes, the pure fact that I have to repeat that so many times in the past 5 sentences, must mean I am really not OK.  Yeah... I really am... I just have to stop myself hyperventilating sometimes. 

-- Speaking of hyperventilating, today I had to get some blood work done, and I just about had a freaking panic attack in the bathroom at the clinic.  You know what caused it?  The smell of the soap (Liz it still happens to me too 3-1/2 years later).  Its the raw, nose-tingling antiseptic soap smell from when "L" was in the NICU.  I thought I had that reaction under control, but apparently not.  It takes me to a bad place.  I managed to calm myself down with some positive thoughts and a prayer.  It helped, and now I'm OK.

- If you blog, do you ever think about how it is so weird to have your life splashed all out there on the Internet?  Today I got a hit on my blog from someone searching images - obese lady.  WOW... awesome.  I wonder what site my before picture will end up on now?  Oh well... I'm OK with it because I put my story out here to help people, inspire people, and let you know that you can do it, and yes, I too, still struggle every single day.

- I've been doing some interval work at the gym, and at the risk of offending a bunch of people, I have to say that walking on the treadmill makes me feel like a wimp - no offense to walkers, seriously.  This is just about me.  After running for so long, it just seems... well... strange.  And you know what?  I'm OK with that.

There you have it... RAW, REAL, and REALLY vague.  It's just how I am today, and I'm OK with that.  I really am.

I did not officially weigh in yesterday... so I have no weigh in to report, which is a good thing considering I'm up 2 pounds.  The last month I've made an upward trend of about 5 pounds... and while I'm still 5 pounds under my goal weight its time to button down and start losing some weight again.

Not only did I not weigh in, but I missed my Weight Watchers meeting!  I hate it when that happens.  I honestly need it.  Now don't think that I was skipping because of the gain... uh...I would never do that!  I had a hot date with the dryer repairman, only to find out that excess lint was my problem... glad I paid $98 for that!  Despite missing my meeting though, I was happy that Thursday rolled around and allowed me to "reset".  I love fresh starts, and I feel good about this week already!

I'll be honest, its the first real week that I'm going to be working the PointsPlus plan since we switched to the week after Thanksgiving  There was all sorts of Christmas and New Years, and then the trip to Portland and the wedding last week, and while I was trying to make smart choices 80% of the time, I'll be honest I wasn't tracking every single day - I wasn't being religious about the plan.  I've done my complaining about it, and now its time to see if I can actually lose weight on this plan... right now I'm 15 pounds away from my ultimate goal of 155.  I'm ready to get there and stay there.  You know what?  It feels good to be on track again... I forgot how much I actually sometimes like doing this (sick, I know right?).

Tomorrow morning courtesy of Jen @ PriorFatGirl I'll be attending the One Breath One Step get together in Minneapolis.  Its my first time ever doing something like this, and I will be honest I have major butterflies in my stomach tonight... I'm not sure if I'm nervous, excited or a little of both.  I do know that I can't wait to tell you guys all about what I did and learned.  I have my notebook and my camera, and I'm going to put on the least scared face I own, as I walk in the door tomorrow.

Have a great weekend!