The Struggle To Balance and Find Joy In Motherhood

Motherhood is beautiful. It's also messy, rough, and magical all bundled into one life-altering journey.

I've experienced all the highs and all the lows.

The good days. The days made up of laughter, fun and endless joy.

The bad days. The constant whining. The throwing things at Mom's head. The screaming.

The blah days. The days we're doing life at a million miles a second and I can't seem to catch up. But as an older gentleman who lives in the nursing home across the street from our house once told me, "You can't experience good days without some bad days. Just enjoy the experience."

It will all be gone too soon...

So, how do you balance a child, cleaning a house, laundry, meal prep, meal time, animals, yard work, errands, bill paying, working from home, marriage AND attempting to find joy in the midst of it all?

With a lot of grace.

I don't have it all together. I'm not even close to having it together. I have meltdowns. I have moments of, "I can't deal with this for one more second." I cry. I laugh. I get angry. I find joy. That's the key: seeking joy. I don't do it well all the time, but I sure try every day to keep my perspective on this one thing: my son needs to see his mother happy. He needs to learn how to be joyful now because life is too hard without joy.

We're always doing the very best we can. I have seen my husband at his worst (and let me tell you, he's such an easy man to love because he offers me so much grace and love, even when he's had it) and he has seen me at my absolute worst. I wasn't sure I was even livable with at one point. Because I had lost my joy. I had let the world rob me of the one thing it should never be able to rob me of: peace, contentment and joy.

Motherhood is a gift I wouldn't trade for the world, but I had a rough beginning. A very rough beginning. And I was very alone in it, mostly by my choice. I've always had to do everything on my own. I've been burned too many times in the past. People like to think you owe them when they help you and so I was determined that this was something I could do all on my own.

But I'm only human and it really does take a village to raise a child.

There are a few things I've changed over the course of the last year as we've settled--roughly--into a family of three. And I hope that maybe they can help you find some joy and balance in this crazy journey, too:

1. Say no. Say it and don't make any apologies for it.
No, we can't make it. No, we can't take on any more responsibility at the moment. No, we are having family time. Just say no. And don't feel guilty. The guilt trips will come flooding in, trust me. I've weathered many guilt trips. You know what they all have in common? They're all selfish. So, it's important to remember that you owe your family the best of you. Whatever is leftover after can help everyone else. And you should help them if you can. But don't let your family suffer because someone is guilting you into doing what they want you to do.

2. Let the house be messy.
I'm a clean freak. I want everything in its place and I want people to stop by and rave about how clean my house is with a one year-old. Hey, I'm just being completely honest here. It's never going to happen. I've accepted that. Do I still hope that the house may magically stay clean for longer than 5 minutes? Every. Single. Day. I also know that's impossible and NEVER going to happen. So, I let my son destroy the house. I pick up here and there. I vacuum. I clean the kitchen (the only room that manages to never get destroyed). I do the dishes. And I let it go. When my son goes to bed, I do the majority of my cleaning. Unless I'm too tired, then I just go to bed and let it be tomorrow's problem. There's always tomorrow to clean. Or not to clean. Whatever. I won't judge.

3. Pick three important things each day.
I started doing this after my Pastor's wife mentioned that she asks her husband, "What are the three most important things you'd like me to get done each day?" I asked my husband the same thing and his answer? "Whatever is most important to you." It bothered me at first. Hello? I'm trying to make you happy and do three things that you think are important. I eventually got over it and decided to ask myself this question. So, I pick 2-3 things that are important for the day, focus on those, and do my best to get them done. If they don't get done, they don't get done. I don't want to waste any more of my life worrying about trivial things. I just want to love my family and give them the best of me.

--Jessi

Alexander's Birth Story

 

One year ago, we were blessed with the sweetest gift from Heaven...

 

 

It was challenging getting diagnosed with preeclampsia at 32 weeks.
It was challenging being on bed rest for 5 weeks.
But nothing was more challenging than trying to make life-saving decisions for my unborn son.

We were supposed to go to the hospital on February 1st. Check-in was at midnight so I could be induced on February 2nd. Alexander would be 3 weeks early due to my health issues--which could only be cured/fixed/etc. if baby was born. My doctor made the decision to take him early so I could begin recovery and Alexander would no longer be put at risk for low oxygen and blood flow.

My best friend had flown in that Friday to be here for what would have been Alexander's baby shower on the 30th. It was cancelled because I was put on bed rest. Kayla arrived and I instantly felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I knew she would help me in any way she could. And being the fur- mom that I am, asked her to take care of my first-borns while I was at the hospital. She graciously agreed.

About three hours before I was supposed to arrive at the hospital for induction, I felt ill. Almost like I was going to throw up. I decided to take a bath and then lay down. One hour later, I woke up to a terrible contraction. As I started to make my way to the bathroom, I stopped in my tracks. Am I...leaking? 

Sure enough, my water had broke! Two hours before I was supposed to check-in.

We rushed to the hospital. Kelly may have run a few red lights, which I told him was dumb. But then we started timing my contractions. 3 minutes apart. 2 1/2 minutes apart...

I made it to the hospital--contractions and all.  Because of my preeclampsia, my doctor wanted to avoid my feeling contractions due to the pain. Pain raises blood pressure. Sure enough, my blood pressure was really high when I finally laid safely in a bed. The nurse ordered my epidural immediately (it should be noted I was always for having an epidural. Turns out my intuition was correct because the pain could have caused seizure, stroke, etc.).

A Romanian anesthesiologist came into my room after another major contraction. My nurse told me if I wasn't sick, I probably could weather natural birth like a champion. I told her I would prefer the epidural at this point.

The epidural itself wasn't bad...until the very end. I told my nurse I was going to be sick. Then it was over. However, I still felt nauseous. Don't even get me started on receiving a catheter. I'd rather get another epidural.

At one point, I told Kelly I was going to puke. He ran to get my nurse and she immediately gave me some medicine--which knocked me out. I slept from 1am - 7am without waking once.

Then things took a turn for the worse.

I was awoken by two nurses putting oxygen on me and telling me that they were going to have to take me to the OR immediately. I felt Kelly grab my hand as they wheeled me out of the room. I didn't even get a chance to see his face as they rushed me through the hospital. I just closed my eyes.

Once I was in the OR, the nurses began telling me that Alexander's heart rate dropped to 40. As they started prepping me for an emergency c-section, I felt myself beginning to panic. But I knew that if I panicked, my blood pressure would spike and I would only cause more problems. So, I just closed my eyes and waited for my doctor.

The nursing staff that prepped me were absolutely wonderful. They talked to me the whole time and asked questions, keeping my mind off the inevitable: an emergency c-section. They held my hand and gently rubbed my shoulders. As someone who was very much against induction and a possible c-section, the more I thought about it, the calmer I felt. My fears of a c-section started to alleviate when I realized that I wasn't feeling well at all. Not a "sickness", but something deep in the pit of my stomach. Something was very wrong.

Since I found out I was pregnant, the idea of my water breaking and Kelly rushing me to the hospital--where I would happily get my epidural--was kind of my "dream" birth experience. The moment I was told I would either have an emergency c-section or have to be induced at 37 weeks broke my heart in two.

"But I wanted the whole experience," I told Kelly, frustrated.

I cried a few tears, then got over it. Alexander's health was far more important than what I wanted for my birth experience. And I have learned a thing or two through pregnancy: God knows what he's doing. And everything always works out. Always.

When my doctor finally arrived, her beaming face put all my fears at ease. "We have Alexander stabilized for the moment. We can wheel you back to your room and see what happens, but I have a feeling we'll be right back here in 20 minutes or so. What do you want to do?"

Panic.

"What do you think I should do?" I asked her.

"I can't make that decision for you," she told me.

More panic. Where was Kelly?!

I took a deep breath and just breathed for a moment. Something inside of me said, "This does not feel right. Get the c-section."

"Let's do the c-section," I told my doctor.

Peace immediately followed.

"Can I get you anything?" one of the nurses asked.

"My husband," I told her.

Just as I said it out loud, I saw his face. "I'm having a c-section," I told him.

"I know," he replied.

It felt like forever waiting for that little baby cry. But I sat there, holding tightly to the love of my life's hand as my doctor got to work. Here's something no one ever tells you about c-sections: you feel stuff. You feel pulling and tugging. And right before your sweet little one enters the world, it feels like someone or something is sitting on your chest. Then baby cries follow.

As I was patiently waiting to hear my son's first cry, the doctor looked over and Kelly. "Kelly, get over here! You're cutting the umbilical cord. And get your camera out!"

Kelly's face turned white. "I don't know if I can handle seeing my wife like that."

"You will regret seeing this," she told him.

I pushed him in the direction of my son and he released my hand to go meet our child for the first time. As everyone was getting ready for Alexander's entrance into the world, a look of horror filled my doctor's face. She looked over and Kelly and said, "If we didn't do this right now, something really bad could have happened."

The umbilical cord was wrapped around Alexander so tightly that even if I had pushed, he would not have been able to come out vaginally. We would be where we were right there and then, but with possibly different results.

Kelly cut the umbilical cord after my doctor unwound him from its grasp. I heard the sweetest little cry and every nurse in the room said it was the sweetest thing they'd ever heard. They placed my son beside me and his little whimper subsided.

 

But when they took him away to take care of him, he screamed his head off, making the whole room giggle. Where had my sweet little whimpering boy gone?

Kelly spent the first hour and a half of Alexander's life with him as I snored loudly in recovery. I kept asking the nurse for more blankets (because warm hospital blankets are to DIE FOR) and she kept obliging. When they finally wheeled me back to my room, Alexander was immediately placed in my arms and I watched him for a long time while he slept.

When a new nurse came in to "check on things", she pulled off blanket after blanket laughing. "I was really cold" I told her as she gave me a hard time about the number of blankets I had acquired in recovery.

All-in-all, giving birth to my sweet little boy was the highlight of my life thus far. It didn't turn out as planned, but God taught me a very important lesson: things are not always as they seem. Sometimes, they turn out even better.

It's Been Weird, 2016

If I were to describe 2016, it would be with these words: it's been weird.

This year began on bed rest, fighting against high blood pressure and the very real possibility that I could have a stroke and die. And also lose my baby. I don't think I fully understood all of this until after I gave birth (yes, in MY WORLD emergency C-sections, regular C-sections and vaginal deliveries/natural birth--whatever you call it--are considered 'giving birth'. You, my friend, are allowed to have your own opinion on this topic and I'm just fine with that).

Every emotion possible filled my new mom heart. Joy, anger, sadness, hope, love...Finally, I settled on gratefulness and
thank God every day for my sweet--but ornery--little boy.

I painfully tried breast feeding for six weeks while attempting to recover from a c-section. Most days, I spent alone with my new baby fast asleep in my arms, staring out the nursery window while I waited for Kelly to get home from work. I cried. I ached. I felt hopeless. I laid awake in the rare moments sleep was available and prayed endlessly about my short milk supply, my loneliness (where had everyone gone?), and constantly feeling overwhelmed.

Finally, with pleas from a concerned husband, I gave up trying to breastfeed. I gave up pumping. I just gave up. And though Facebook has its wonderful (that's sarcasm) debates about all things breastfeeding related, I really could have cared less what any one thought about my efforts. When tears flow too often and too easily, it's generally a sign something has to give. In this case, it was breastfeeding.

Two doctors I trust (one literally with my life) simultaneously told me, "You have done an amazing job. Now let it go. Don't dwell on it. Don't feel guilty. Just move forward." I had a moment of clarity. Facebook is just a platform for anyone to say what they feel, bully and attack without compassion, empathy or understanding. We are all different. We all have different thoughts, ideas and opinions. Eventually, with maturity, we'll all get to where I am on this topic: total peace. What's best for me, won't be best for you. And vice versa.

Spring brought on its usual storms. Tornadoes. Thunderstorms. Baby screams. New parents trying to figure out how to take care of a newborn. Mountains of soiled laundry and dirty diapers. There were moments of complete sunshine. Then rain and darkness followed. But that's life. It ebbs. It flows. It cuts off the supply. Then oversupplies. And we roll with the punches.

Summer was filled with lots of love and reflection. I finally came to the conclusion that I have a hard time asking for help. I have spent years doing everything for myself, by myself, never relying on anyone else. So, in the moments I needed desperate help, I would internalize and push forward. This put a strain on every relationship in my life until I prayed for strength and wisdom. And summertime brought a lot of that. I've had to learn how to tell people what I need and when I need it. They won't always be able to provide me with what I need, but if I'm brave enough to vocalize it, the stress and anxiety usually subside.

 

Fall was filled with deep grief and loss. Kelly and I both lost family members. Some expected, others a complete surprise.

We decided that life is fragile. Too fragile. And so we purposed to spend more time as a family. More time together. Less time out in the world. Less time giving what we do not have to give. It has caused a lot of tension, strain, and hard moments. People don't like when you decide family comes first. They lecture, nag and talk at you until they're blue in the face. And because Kelly and I value our relationships, we listened. Then we talked to each other, we prayed, and we still felt the same. I suppose it's because grief changes you. It reminds you that each breath is a gift.

I learned a great lesson this past autumn: tell people--AND SHOW THEM--you love them, you value them, you're thinking of them. Even if you're busy. Even if you're scared. Just say it. Don't wait. Life is short.

Winter has been cold, but quiet. For that, I am grateful. I'm grateful for the hours we spend watching Kung Fu Panda 3, Zootopia, and Home. I'm grateful for the hours we spend with our little one. Christmas Day we put him in his truck from his Uncle Zach and pushed him back and forth across the living room floor while still in our pajamas  He belly laughed the whole time. So we did, too. It's moments like those I feel nothing but pure joy. Joy has been hard to find this year. But every time I look into the face of my son, I find that joy. And I see hope.

I don't know if you've ever fought for your life and your child's at the same time, but it changed me. It made me a little more fearless. More scared. More focused. More honest. More real. I can't control everything. Surprise, surprise. I've stopped trying. I just take life one day at a time now--sometimes just an hour at a time.

Most days, the house is a mess. There's a pile of laundry collecting dirty socks. The sink overflowed with dishes. But you'll most likely find a relaxed me sitting on the living room floor, covered in baby slobber, in stretchy pants, surrounded by a sea of toys. One of my son's hands will be firmly touching my arm while the other is busy about life. As long as he lets me sit there with him, watching, teaching, comforting and engaging, I will. It's a great privilege. I know it is. Because one day, he will take his hand off my arm and leave my side for good. Becoming a mother puts things into perspective...for most people.

I've spent a lot of time carrying the burdens of others--carrying the opinions of others--for too many years. My son has given me an invaluable gift. He's given me the gift of release. So, I've let things go. He may lick the floor sometimes. My dogs' muddy paws may tread across my freshly mopped floor. My husband may surprise me with a load of dirt piled high in the front yard.

But I've learned to just take a deep breath and let it go.

Life is short. I get to decide what's most important each day. And most days, it's definitely not the dirty floor.

It's been a sad, hard, joyous, grateful year.

It's been weird, 2016.

Motherhood

Motherhood.

It's beautiful and messy and real and terrifying.

It's made me appreciate a house full of noise, but also cherish the quiet.

It's shaped me into a calmer version of myself while also bringing out the I-will-break-your-jaw-if-you-mess-with-my-child attitude.

It's helped me learn how to sacrifice in ways I never imagined (the clean freak in me has never had such a messy house). But I've also learned how to be selfish when I need time to rejuvenate because I want to give my family the best of me.

I've mastered the art of saying "I've had enough!" with the world, and then turned around and found the strength to stay up all night long with my son while he cuts a tooth.

I laugh more. I cry more. I love myself better. I even love my pudgy belly covered in stretch marks that says, "Life was grown here."

There are some rough days. Especially in the beginning when I had no idea how to care for a newborn. At first, it felt like Alex was Kelly's child. Because of my C-Section, I didn't get to bond with him right away. Daddy stayed by his constant side while I slept (and snored loudly) in recovery. Daddy changed his first diaper, held him in his arms the first time, and cradled him all night long the first night.

I, on the other hand, was recovering from high-blood pressure and the realization that I would be recovering much longer than expected. It hurt to sit up. It hurt to stand. I was sick of hospital beds. I just wanted my bed. There is nothing worse than having to spend any more time in the hospital than you want. I just wanted to take Alex home.

I suffered from a mild case of post-partum depression. Too mild to really diagnose until I woke up one day and felt like my old self for the first time in 3 months. My husband kept telling me I wasn't acting like my normal self. But I just chalked it up to being a new mom and adjusting to life with a small human at my side 24/7. It made sense to me.

I suffered in silence. Not bonding immediately with Alex was hard. And then spending my days and nights trying to figure out how to give him everything he needed right when he needed it because I was certain he would break if I didn't was devastating. I put too much pressure on myself.

And don't even get me started on the middle of the night feedings. I thought I was going to die those first 4 months. Now, I have it mastered. I actually enjoy waking up in the dead of night--only on occasion now--to feed my baby. Coffee. Copious amounts of coffee will get you through ANYTHING.

It didn't feel right to talk about the hard time I was having because I knew so many women who were desperately trying to have a baby. I kept telling myself I wasn't allowed to have rough days because I should only feel thankful and happy.

But that was wrong. Everyone is allowed good days AND bad days. Bad days don't minimize the thankfulness and blessings. They just help us appreciate the good days even more.

I'm beyond grateful for those bad days. Those days of staring at my newborn son and thinking, "What if I drop him? What if I can't figure out what he needs and he doesn't stop crying?"

But I didn't drop him. And I figured out pretty quickly newborns need 3 things: sleep, diaper changes, and feedings.

The bad days stripped away the fears and fine-tuned my confidence. And taught me something very important: car rides ALWAYS put a baby to sleep eventually. Especially after a feeding.

Even though there were these rough days that made me question EVERYTHING, they couldn't compare to the good days. The days where my son would look around the room and smile when his eyes found me. The days he learned how to hold his head up and laugh and babble and roll over. The day he sat on his own without support we just cheered and laughed all day long.

I had a rough start, but Alex offered me an infinite amount of grace when it came to learning what he needed. And, more importantly, he has shown me he really does love me in spite of my shortcomings.

The first time he held his arms out for me to pick him up, I held him in my arms for 2 hours because I was so excited. The first time he said, "Hey," he melted my heart. And when he wrapped his arms around me and laid his head on my shoulder the first time, I couldn't hold back the tears that escaped and fell down my cheeks.

Most days, I feel like I'm just messing everything up. I forget the solid food at lunch time. I forget to put his clothes into the dryer and we have to rewash everything the next day. And there was that one time he rolled off the couch and screamed because he was so frightened. He was fine, but it took the breath right out of my lungs.

We get through with a lot of love and laughter.

Today, he's cutting his first tooth and we didn't sleep last night or this morning. Right now, he's curled up in my bed with Abner (our malamute) keeping watch over him. I keep checking on him every 10 minutes because my heart aches for his pain. But we will survive and tomorrow will bring laughter and more growing pains.

I find myself looking forward to every milestone. Alex has almost mastered sitting up from the laying position. I can't wait until he can say more words and walks. I am already looking forward to letting him pick out a pumpkin for Halloween and seeing his face when we get the Christmas tree decorated. And his first birthday.


My son has changed my life completely. And every day he reminds me that today I'm a better, more grateful person than I was yesterday. Because when he looks at me, I get to be his everything. At least for a little while. I don't take that for granted.

Nothing compares to bath time every night when he soaks me and the kitchen floor. Nothing compares to the way he plays with my hair first thing in the morning when I'm making coffee. And nothing compares to his excitement every time we play with the chickens (by "play" I mean we let the chickens chase us around the backyard).

In a nut shell, Motherhood is beautiful and messy and real and terrifying. It's the hardest job I've ever loved. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

--Jessi

RIP Grandma Jean

 

Kelly's Grandma, Jean, passed away on July 8th peacefully in her sleep.
This was the eulogy I gave at her funeral last week.

 

RIP Grandma Jean
I miss you.

Especially when you'd make a joke, then wink at me.

 

 

Eulogy

Although Jean was not my actual grandmother, I had no problem calling her 'Grandma'. That's because Grandma Jean treated everyone like family.

I only had the honor of knowing Grandma in the latter part of her life. Over the last six years, I was able to spend quite a bit of time with her, especially after her move to Oklahoma. We spent a lot of time drinking coffee together and painting nails. And I loved making her breakfast.

I learned very quickly that Grandma had a remarkable strength about her. When Kelly and I got engaged in December of 2010, we drove to Apple Valley to share the news with Grandma. We had a great visit with her and I was introduced to her amazing apricot jam. Before we left, we asked her if there was anything she needed help with before we took off. She told us she needed help stacking firewood. Kelly and I started moving and stacking the pile when I suddenly noticed 82 year-old Grandma brushing past us with an arm full of wood. With her help, we were able to stack the entire load of firewood in under 15 minutes. And I told Kelly I had never seen anyone with that much strength at her age.

Grandma's strength was also evident in her relationships. Friendship was very important to Grandma. When she moved to Oklahoma, she kept in constant contact with her friends. Distance didn't keep her from writing letters and making phone calls. And when she made the move to the nursing home, it didn't take her long before she made more friends. Kelly teaches night classes at the technology center close to the nursing home and I would go visit Grandma on the nights he taught. I always arrived at dinner time and I'd find Grandma sitting at her usual table surrounded by her new friends. She'd keep us laughing as she finished off coffee and dessert. It always warmed my heart to see her in her element. Because she loved being with people.

As much as Grandma loved her friends, she loved her family even more. Family dominated most of our conservations. She loved to talk about her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews. She shared story after story with me about her childhood in Kentucky. And when we told Grandma she was going to be a great-grandmother again, she stopped everyone that passed by her in the nursing home to tell them about her newest great-grandchild. I know that Alex won't get to know his great-grandmother the way we wish he could have, but it was clear that Grandma loved him the first moment she saw him.

The legacy Grandma leaves behind is her fierce love for her family. And it's a legacy I hope Kelly and I can continue for years to come.

Grandma was a Christian and she loved Jesus. He was the topic of a lot of our conversations. I take great comfort in the fact that when she left this life, she was welcomed home at Heaven's gates. Grandma no longer feels pain. Her body is no longer fragile and weak. She is strong and healthy. And her mind is as sharp as ever.

Today, Grandma is singing with the angels.

God looked around his garden
And found an empty place,
He then looked down upon the earth
And saw your tired face.
He put his arms around you
And lifted you to rest.
God’s garden must be beautiful
He always takes the best.
He knew that you were suffering
He knew you were in pain.
He knew that you would never
Get well on earth again.
He saw the road was getting rough
And the hills were hard to climb.
So he closed your weary eyelids
And whispered, ‘Peace be Thine’.
It broke our hearts to lose you
But you didn’t go alone,
For part of us went with you
The day God called you home.

-unknown

How the Hansen Huskies Are Handling My Bed Rest

Four weeks of bed rest have gone by surprisingly fast. I’ve spent most of it on Pinterest, watching Netflix and sleeping. I thought five weeks of bed rest would kill me. I normally spend my days cleaning, cooking, doing yard work, and running errands.

How in the world would I manage 35 days on the couch?

Well, they haven’t been all bad. Some days I want to get out of the house and go for a walk, but I don’t. I don't because I know it's best to stay still and calm for my little guy.

Bed rest isn’t so terrible when it’s the middle of winter and the weather is averaging 35 degrees. We haven’t had snow, but we’ve had rain and overcast days. We’ve had a few sunny days, too. They make me anxious to get outside. I just keep reminding myself that Spring is right around the corner. And I will be outside all day.

Slowly, but surely, I managed—with Kelly’s help—to get the nursery in place. We have one final project before the room is done, but we’ve decided to wait until Alexander has arrived before finishing any projects. He won't come home to a house with baseboards or a finished laundry room, but he will come home to a house that is anxiously awaiting his arrival.

The huskies have LOVED me being on bed rest. They spend their days lying on the couch with me. Niko, especially, loves watching Netflix. We watch a lot of Longmire. He won’t look away from the TV when Walt Longmire graces the screen. Niko is really intrigued by bears and horses. He's iffy about other dogs, but if a bear is on the screen, he's sitting upright, staring intently. He fills my days with lots of laughter.

Zailey has been really weird about my pregnancy. She's hot and cold. One day, she'll be laying all over me (which she's never done in the 3 years we've had her) or she'll be giving me the cold shoulder.

Abner. He's my big guy. He waits for me to make the bed every day so he can jump on it spread out. He spends his days running around the backyard and sleeping the afternoons lying in the sun on the bed. Every couple hours, he ventures out of the room to come check on me. He'll put his big head on my belly and stare at me. I tell him I'm fine and then he returns to his nap.

Zoe. My little fireball. She loves to sleep with some part of her body on me. A paw. A leg. Her head. She just likes to be touching me. Constantly. And since I'm pretty sedentary these days, I let her. I don't mind her little head nestled in my arm. When she's not sleeping on me, she's outside in the cold weather, running around the yard. She's our chicken protector. She won't let anything near the cage. And I'm grateful that I find her laying in front of their coop door in the sun. She has no desire to chase the chickens, just protect them.

I'm not sure how the huskies will respond with a newborn baby in the house, but I can only hope that they will love Alexander as much as they love Kelly and me.

--Jessi

My Experience With Preeclampsia Thus Far...

I remember one of my first pregnancy appointments. I told the doctor I would be requesting an epidural and I would not consider induction unless I was way over my due date. I had done the research and knew exactly how I wanted my birth experience to go.

She just smiled at me.

I was planning for a million different things. I was planning for a snowstorm. I was planning for icy, slick roads. I was planning on needing an AWD vehicle to get me quickly, swiftly, and safely to the hospital because I just knew once my water broke, a massive snowstorm would hit.

I planned on experiencing my water breaking at any random point in February. I planned on feeling contractions until it was time to go to the hospital.

I planned. And planned. And planned.

Here's the thing about plans: you can make them, but God can--and usually will--change them.

As a control freak, many tears were shed when my doctor told me I had preeclampsia. My blood pressure was elevated and there was protein in my urine.

I drove home in disbelief.

I had done everything they told me to. Take my prenatal vitamins, drink 2 liters of water a day, refrain from putting anything bad in my body (not that I did before I was pregnant), limit coffee addiction to 1/2 a cup a day, give up lunch meat and exercise every day.

I did it all.

So why was I sick?

The doctor didn't have any answers. Could be genetics. Could be an underlying vascular issue. Could be my body freaking out because pregnancy is weird.

I went home and was told I was on bed rest. At 32 weeks. And regardless of how improved my body became--or didn't--I would be induced at 37 weeks. Possibly sooner.

But...

His lungs won't be fully developed.

What if he's jaundice?

What if he has problems feeding?

My doctor assured me she would take care of it all, but my body was in no position to carry this child beyond 37 weeks.

What about future pregnancies?

There were a lot of what if's that day. And a lot of scary moments where I had to sit a while with Jesus and ask him to give me peace in the middle of a storm I hadn't prepared for.

Psalm 23 instantly came to mind as I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

He maketh me lie down in green pastures:

he leadeth me beside still waters.

He restoreth my soul: 

he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

It was at this point where I just had to let go and remind myself that God knows what he's doing. He has a plan and I take comfort in that his plans never fail me.

So, I took to bed rest unwillingly at first. And slept. And slept. And slept. 

My appointments became more frequent--every Monday and Thursday for blood pressure checks and fetal monitoring.

Then at 34 weeks, my body gave out and I ended up in the hospital with outrageous blood pressure and high levels of uric acid in my blood. Nothing was worse than the blood pressure checks every 15 minutes. I didn't sleep well. I had to do a 24-hour urine sample collection. On top of that, I had two steroid shots to help develop baby's lungs.

I was miserable.

But baby was doing good.

It's funny how much we sacrifice for our children even before they exit the womb. Because I knew that regardless of how uncomfortable that hospital bed was, I was going to lay on my left side as long as I needed to in order to help lower my blood pressure and help with the flow of blood and oxygen to my son. My hip ached and so did my back, but I just laid there, willing myself to ignore the pain.

I went home 37 hours later after promising my doctor I would lay in bed all day long and not move unless it was to go to the bathroom. She looked at me like she didn't believe me. But she still released me after upping my blood pressure medication dose. 

"I want to see you first thing Thursday morning. And pack your bag. You're probably going to have this baby this week."

More tears. 

Three days later, I sat in her office with my father--who flew 1,500 miles to help take care of me--and my husband. The car was packed and I had made peace with having a c-section (not my original birth plan) and my poor little guy spending some time in the NICU (something else that wasn't in my original birth plan).

My blood pressure came back normal. My urine sample was good, but not excellent (sorry for the gross details). More blood was taken (my 9th time in 7 months), but my doctor happily sent me home. "See you Monday."

Monday's appointment went well. My blood work has returned to normal and I have reversed my symptoms. But I still have preeclampsia and it can still flare up at any time. Right now, with bed rest and medication, I'm managing. But my body is still not what it was. I'm more tired than usual and I have a hard time managing simple tasks, like making a sandwich or walking to the mailbox. It's probably due to the medication. And my overly-tired body.

Tomorrow morning, I go back to the doctor for a blood pressure check and non-stress test. As of right now, Alexander Dean is scheduled to enter the world on Tuesday, February 2nd, at 37 weeks. That could change at any moment. But I've made peace with that.

Here's what I've learned: you can't out-plan God. You just have to trust that the safest place to be is in the center of his will. 

Because there really is no safer place to be. 

--Jessi