one month.

mckinley turned one month old yesterday.

i don't have adequate words for the feelings i experience every time i look at our daughter.

has it been one month already?

the only postpartum depression i've experienced is knowing that i have to go back to work. i'm not making light of postpartum depression, i'm being serious. i can't stand that i have to go to work and be away from my best girlfriend. we have a pretty good deal, though, and she'll be able to go to work with me for the first couple weeks i'm back. then daddy will be home with her during the winter because his job is seasonal. when he goes back to work in march, we'll have to figure something out, but i can't live in anticipation of that time. i have to enjoy this time, and be thankful for this day.

i should probably write out her birth story so i don't forget any details. and i need to tell you the story behind her name. but for now, i want to look at her while she sleeps on my lap. and i need to go fill up my cookie bowl.

The way she smells.

I cannot hold her close enough, smell her enough, kiss her enough. She smells like sweet milk and the things that heaven must surely be made of. Her cheeks are soft and thick, her eyes dark like the night.

I lift her to my shoulder, she turns her head in toward my neck, and I wonder if she knows that this makes me weak in the knees.

She is my sweet little princess, my best friend.

*Very!* *First!* IV!!

It is so hard to believe that we are here! We have checked into our hospital room, which we are calling "the resort", and we are enjoying being together. You know what this means, right?

It means I'm not in labor yet. Otherwise I wouldn't be so jovial at 6:00 am.

My appointment yesterday showed everything being normal and good, except for my dilation. Not only was my cervix still completely closed, but it is "thick". This isn't a problem, only a roadblock to my girl.

Because my doctor and I decided that 41 weeks would be our cut-off date for this pregnancy, it was time to make a decision.

At 10pm, we arrived at the hospital, I received my *Very!* *First!* IV!! at the ripe young age of nearly 29, and a lovely dose of cervidil. And hospital ice - HOW COULD I FORGET THE HOSPITAL ICE! YUM.

Anyhow, the cervidil stays in for 12 hours, causing some cramping and thinning of the cervix. For some people, it will thin the cervix enough to break the bag of waters and for labor to begin. We're hopeful this is where we'll be at 11am today when they assess the situation.

If that is the case, and labor does not progress on it's own, we will start pitocin. Through my *Very!* *First!* IV!!
***** My childhood and adult fears of anything moving, fast, sharp, dangerous and overall not intended for children over age 12 has provided me with this being my first hospitalization since my own birth in 1981. This whole "IV" thing is new to me, as is the HOSPITAL ICE, OH EM GEE. I think I might stay here an extra day for the ice. Just kidding. Kinda.

Anyhow, if pitocin is needed (and likely will be), they will start that and we will wait. After reaching 4 cm, I will be allowed to transfer to the birthing tub if I wish, and that will help with the pain management.

But I'm not going to get that far ahead of myself. Right now, I'm hanging out with my husband, who is like a child on Christmas morning, as he keeps looking over to me from his chairbed, saying "We're having a baby!" and it is the most darling thing that makes me want to cry.

He even suggested we take a picture together to post on our Facebook accounts and I look like I've no makeup on (check) after a day of 120398 degree temps and humidity (check), and the trauma (not really) of my *Very!* *First!* IV!!

One day does not seem like a long time to invest to have our lives changed FOREVER.

Come on, little one! We're waiting for you! And they have really good ice out here!

A letter to my daughter.

My dear sweet girl,

There is so much I want to say, but I don't know where to start. Thank you for taking care of your sister on her birthday. You know, sometimes I think you just know what I need and sometimes you know what I don’t need. Yesterday was her birthday. And while I thought it would be perfect to gain a daughter on the day I lost a daughter, you knew better than me that July 27th is Angel’s day. Thank you for letting us keep that as her special day. I promise your day will be so, so special too.

I had a good day yesterday. It started with an ultrasound where I got to see you and my, oh, my – You are so beautiful. I watched you wiggle around, and am still amazed that you’ve found room to do so. The technician was able to show me your beautiful beating heart and your sweet little fingers. You seemed annoyed with us, however, as you kept your hand covering your face while we were trying to take your picture. It’s okay. Sometimes I don’t like to have my picture taken either.

I left the hospital with a very blurry picture of you, almost unable to make out your features (because of your hand being over your face), but every time I look at it, I get tears in my eyes. Soon, I will be able to see you face to face, and will feel your perfect little fingers wrap around mine.

I did have a brief moment where my emotions washed over me while I was watching you. I didn’t realize when I scheduled my ultrasound (for yesterday) that I had my very first ultrasound one year ago today. It didn’t tell me what I wanted it to, but there was so much left to be said. Oh, yes. So much.

I know you’ll come when you’re ready. Just wanted to let you know that we can’t wait to meet you. (And July really is a great month to have a birthday. Wink, wink.)

Love,
Mama

Mother's Day.

The funny thing about saying that I didn't want to feel like I had to blog is that now I really want to. But I still don't feel like I have a lot to say.

Mother's Day is this coming Sunday (you knew that already, I'm pretty sure). It is my first Mother's Day, as I was not yet pregnant last year (but it was right around the corner!). It will be spent with my husband, and our daughter, and even though it is not the celebration I envisioned last July, it is perfect and it is perfectly what I need.

But here's the thing - I know I am so lucky, so blessed. I don't take for granted one single kick, or hip pain, or sleepless night, or leg cramp. Because I yearned for this, and now I have it, and soon, SOON, I will have my baby and oh man, I am scared to death, but I am so blessed. And I could say something about how "I hope you have a great day!" on Mother's Day, but I'm not going to pretend that it will be that way.

And I'm so sorry.

I hate the loss that so many mother's know. I don't understand a lot of it, and I would never pretend to. But that doesn't make me not hate it. I hate that I have so many wonderful, amazing friends whose babies are not with them this year. I HATE IT.

This post is not colorful or sweet and I can't think of a transition to get there. Please just know that this year, I will be thinking of all of us, the mother's without our babies. Mothers who've never known their babies, and mothers who said goodbye to their babies entirely too soon. It's not fair and I hate it, but I love you. And I will be thinking of you. And in honor of you, I will love my own mother, and never, ever take for granted the life growing inside me.

**I am so incredibly fortunate to have a mother who loves me and spoils me rotten, even at 28-years-old. She is caring and funny and kind, and she knows this loss too. I hope she has the most amazing Mother's Day, even though I can't be with her. I love you, momma.

Mover. Shaker.

Wow. No one told me how incredible it would be to feel this life moving inside of me. Sometimes, I think she's doing somersaults because the movements aren't distinct, but they are there and they are her. Sometimes they tickle and sometimes I feel like I've just gotten off a rollercoaster.

Other times, like right now, I feel like she's standing up straight on my bladder and training for a marathon. It is so, so, cool. Except I have to pee. A lot. I used to have to lay real still and focus so hard on feeling her. I could feel my own heartbeat in my fingers and my toes until kick and I knew it was her.

Now, I don't have to be laying down and I don't have to be still, and I don't need to focus on her. She is there and she wants me to know it and she might be a cheerleader instead of a marathon runner but I don't know.

The first time I felt her kick and knew it was her, for sure? Sunday, March 28. Laying in bed, praying for Beth and Eli, kick and asking God to keep them both safe during delivery kick and make sure that Eli was perfect kick. He is. kick.

Now, I talk to her in the car and in the shower and in bed, and she talks back.

Our conversations are breathtaking.