God Keeps His Promises

God Keeps His Promises: continued

A few weeks into our stay at the cabin in Twain Harte, we realized the home-buying process was going to take longer than we'd thought.  Due to the fact that prices in the area had reached the lowest point in several years,  not many people were actually listing their homes.  Finding a home with our specific wants and in our price range was proving to be a bit of a challenge.  So we decided to accept this fact, and rent a house in the town in which we'd narrowed our home search.

During this time, I had follow-up OB tests and sonograms.  The doctors discovered an 8 inch fibroid growing in my uterus.  They felt this might explain the miscarriage, but advised me to try getting pregnant again before considering surgery.

We took their advice and I was pregnant a few months later.  We felt encouraged after walking away from the 10-week ultrasound, having seen our tiny baby's heart beating.  That was something that hadn't happened last time.  Unfortunately, I again miscarried at 11-1/2 weeks.  Although the process was much quicker, it was still as tough on me emotionally as the first miscarriage.  Looking back, I can see I was teetering on the edge of depression.

I saw a specialist who advised me that I had two options: try to get pregnant once more, or have abdominal surgery so the fibroid could be removed.  Neither choice seemed appealing at the time, having experienced two sort-of-late miscarriages in the span of 7 months.  I felt that pregnancy would just end in another miscarriage.  Emotionally, I knew I wasn't ready for that.  Being the mother of five, I wasn't sure I felt comfortable undergoing significant surgery in order to complete our family, either.  We decided to hold off.

What was so strange in all of this was reflecting on the unmistakable promptings we had each felt, completely independent of one another.  We knew our family wasn't complete, but couldn't see how it could be completed.  Pregnancy was obviously not working out.  And, although Clint was ready to consider adoption, the thought overwhelmed me.  Five children, full-time homeschooling, and adopting: it seemed more than I could handle.

But sometimes you get pregnant when you're not really planning on it, and this was one of those times.  I was "blessed" with the longest cycle of my life, so I was at my most fertile when I thought we were good to go.  (TMI??  That's the risk you take reading my blog, I guess.)  We were pregnant within two months of the second miscarriage.  You will probably judge me harshly for this, but I avoided going to the doctor at all until I was 10 weeks pregnant.  I felt that if I miscarried without ever having seen the baby, it would be easier to handle.  Finally I went, and was amazed to hear the heartbeat with the doctor's Doppler.  To date the pregnancy, we went in for an ultrasound the next day, and saw a perfectly forming blob that was much further developed than either of my previous two pregnancies had been.  We were afraid to dare to hope, and yet felt optimistic about this baby's chances.

A week later, following a wonderful day trip to San Francisco, the spotting began.  

The rest of the story

Over 3 years have passed, and I finally feel ready to write the full story of our last month in southern California.  When I mentioned in this blog that Clint and I felt pushed to our limits when he received his teaching job offer, I truly meant it.  Things just didn't work out the way we'd envisioned when we packed up our trailer, locked the door to our home in Nibley, and stepped into a new life.  Through no one's fault, the job wasn't working out the way we'd hoped, the house didn't sell as quickly as we'd thought, and 700 square feet for our homeschooling family of 7 was...700 square feet.  It was all wearing on us.

Our sanity-saver during the summer months in my parent's guest house: a family membership to the YMCA.  Here are Asher and Gabe, playing in a locker post-swim.

Then something wonderful happened.  Before the house sold and the new job surfaced.  I got pregnant.  For the sixth time.  For a while, I'd been feeling those tuggings on my heart...the same ones I'd felt five times before.  Our family felt incomplete; it was time for more children.  In our circumstances, I didn't dare utter a word of this to Clint.  I just kept it in my heart, wondering what to do with the knowledge.  When the kids and I extended our vacation to Utah in July and Clint flew back early for work, he had a lot of time for quiet reflection.  When we returned, he shared that he felt our family wasn't finished yet.  We pretty much looked at each other, and I was pregnant.  We were surprised it happened so quickly, and were also so very excited for another little redhead.

A couple weeks later, I arrived at my first OB visit.  The nurse walked me to the examination room.  I smiled as I noticed a stenciled sign sitting at the edge of her desk: "God Keeps His Promises".  

As I waited, our new realtor phoned and delivered the good news that a family had made a strong offer on our home.  After 9 months on the market, the end was finally in sight and this would allow us to purchase a home for our family once we found a job for Clint.

Minutes later, the midwife began the regular first-visit ultrasound.  It was taking a lot longer for things to appear on the screen.  She couldn't even find my uterus, for starters.  She finally found a small sac, was quiet about it, then stepped out to bring an OB in for a second opinion.  After more prodding, she saw the same thing.  A small gestational sac, no baby.  Maybe, they said, I was off on my dates.  If I was only 5 or even 6 weeks along (I was pretty sure I was 8 weeks at least by this time), this would be normal.  They scheduled some blood tests and a follow-up visit.  I was shocked, stunned and in near complete denial.  I figured my dates probably were off, after all it was way too easy to get pregnant this time.  And I walked out, new pregnant mommy packet in hand.  I almost gave it back to the nurse on my way out.  And my eye caught the sign again.  God keeps His promises.  I know it's true now, I was grateful for the reminder then, I had obviously been blessed with a reminder in the form of the perfectly-timed offer on our house, but it was all I could do to hold back the tears before I pushed past those doors.

On my way home, Clint called to let me know that he had been offered a job in central California.  When Clint had driven north to interview days earlier, we had both felt he would be offered the job.  After jointly filing more than 200 job applications, Clint interviewed 10 times.  We only felt that way about this one application; about this one interview.  To say we were confused and disheartened when the appointed day passed without a phone call would be an understatement.  To mention God's grace, his promise kept, just moments after my appointment; well, it's necessary.

In the coming days, two blood tests confirmed that my pregnancy hormone levels were dropping.  The midwife also told me that, high as they were, what we saw on the ultrasound indicated that this was "not a viable pregnancy."  I began bleeding days before being sent in for a formal ultrasound, on a better machine.  That ultrasound showed a fetus, without a heartbeat.  But because the baby was measuring six weeks, they still weren't sure I was miscarrying.  More blood tests confirmed that my hormone levels were still dropping.  And then the inevitable; I began the two weeks-plus-long process of miscarrying (smack dab in the middle of our move).  Sparing the details, it was horrible.  I felt broken, unfeminine, and sick at the thought that I was carrying what-would-have-been our sixth baby, still and lifeless inside of me.  Finally, beginning inside our packed SUV and ending inside the restroom of Nifty's Restaurant (while my children waited in the parking lot with Clint), the miscarriage finished.

At the time, we were living in a hotel.  All of our belongings were in a storage unit.  I literally didn't know one person in the entire Central Valley.  We had no church family, no friends, no family members.  Clint's job started immediately and I was left to mourn this loss with my 5 children in a cramped hotel room.  I didn't have much time to sulk, as I was trying to find more permanent housing for us. 

Within the week, grace came in the form of a comfortable cabin in the lovely mountain village of Twain Harte.  The six weeks we spent there were healing, and I will always remember them with fondness.  They were filled with trips to the town's small library, lunch "recesses" outside with my children digging rivers they filled with the garden hose, walks through our neighborhood of cabins to the town park, simple meals cooked in the small kitchen, frequent deer sitings in the backyard, and rare evenings spent around the TV. 

Gathering around the dinner table to share birthday cake on our first day at the cabin, Gabe's 4th birthday.

A deer-siting

Recess rivers

Even still, I mourned this loss deeply and I realize now that I was teetering on the edge of depression.  (to be continued)

On nesting

A woman's life is full of opportunities to nest.  They are as varied as our lives.  Throughout my married life, I have had 11 homes to nest.  I have also welcomed 6 new babies into these homes, and nested each of those times as well.  Now that my baby days are through and our three crazy years of (FIVE) moves are over, I hope that this will be our last nest, for a very very long while.  I love the layout of our home (all 6 kids upstairs/Clint and I downstairs...I would kiss the architect if I had the chance) and yard (a little bit of grass to play on, plenty of driveway for skating/scooting/biking/balling, and a large fenced-in pasture for farm animals out back).  One of the first rooms I wanted to situate was the bonus room upstairs, as we were in the middle of the school year and would be using it as our school room. 

Here is an idea of what it looked like when we saw it for the first time:

And now:

Looking at the other side of the room, then:

 And now (just from a few steps over):

Here's a view from the other side of the room:

 

 Again, now:

 

This is the back wall, which isn't exactly glorious with my cardboard box holding up the printer:

 

 A favorite new tip I learned this year is to hang kids' art with black masking tape, making it look like it's matted.  I used the tape around my children's yearly self-portraits.  We currently have a few visitors in our school room, including six painted lady butterflies that are hanging out in their habitat in front of our alphabet cards.  It's actually still unfinished; I am planning to put in a long desk area and hanging bookshelves where these computers now sit.  Maybe those pictures will be up in a year or two (big maybe!). 

We all pitched in to nest this room, starting with Clint and our big boys who removed twenty year-old carpet to make way for some new (discounted) shag.  Like the rest of our home, it is a mix of secondhand furnishings, hand-me-down heirlooms, stuff that has been with us through several moves and homes, a new piece or two.  Yes, it's just material stuff.  It's not coming with me when I die.  But it's where I spend most of my days with the most important people on the planet, and creating a warm, colorful environment for us all is really enjoyable to me.  

Happy nesting!!  :)

How Peter Made His Way Into our World

The day started like every other Monday.  Waking to the sweet sounds of sing-songy Asher playing in his adjoining bedroom, quickly showering and dressing, waking the kids and then hurrying them through the morning routine and into our van.  Then onto our homeschool charter where I wandered between Ash's childcare, Jonah's pre-algebra and Gabe's kindergarten.  Except that on this Monday, I was waddling more than usual; really, I was barely walking.  At 38 weeks pregnant, I felt like I had hit my wall and wasn't sure how I would manage through the final days of pregnancy.  After lunch, we headed to the campus library to wait out the afternoon while Jonah attended his last class of the day.  Tears filled my eyes as I repeatedly inched my way across the library, helping one child and then another (not voluntary sad tears, but involuntary eye-wetting because I ached so much).  As I walked with Gabe to the restroom, I froze in my steps when I could have sworn a fist nearly punched its way into the world.  I counted five Braxton Hicks contractions during the 25-minute ride home.  I felt hopeful that baby Peter would be making an early entrance, maybe only a few days away.

Once back to the house, I rested while the kids got to work on their chores.  The promise of a bonfire spurred them on, and we were soon sitting around a blazing fire in our backyard, roasting hot dogs and S'mores.  I was uncomfortable in my camping chair, not helped by the pyromaniac sons that I was trying to keep alive.  Eventually, Clint brought the little ones inside to bathe, and I lingered outside with Jonah and Autumn.  We gazed at the stars and talked for a while.  Finally, we came in to get ready for bed as well.

But sleep didn't come quickly.  I watched some TV, and then just as I was ready to turn in, Asher started to cry in bed.  I settled him down and tucked him back in, then climbed into bed myself.  At 12:30, a half-hour later, he was standing beside me, crying again.  I took him back to his bed, only to have the same scenario repeated 30 minutes later.  During those 30 minutes, I began to have contractions.  My iphone consistently timed them at 2-1/2 minutes apart.  I brought Asher into bed with me, trying to comfort him while my contractions grew stronger.  I think he sensed this was his last night as Mommy's baby, and we both enjoyed it as much as possible.  But the pains were only intensifying and so, after a few minutes, I woke Clint up and asked him to put Asher to bed.  It was 1:30.  I thought my labor would be long (Peter was transverse, just like Asher and, at 13 hours, Asher's was my longest labor); I hoped to get some sleep before waking Clint for good.  At 2:00, my legs began to shake and I started having visions of delivering in the hospital parking lot, in our car, in our bathroom, or in bed.  Ditching my earlier plan, I woke Clint up and we hurriedly dressed and packed my bags, cursing ourselves for not preparing ahead.

It was 2:30 when we pulled away from the house, and 2:45 when I was brought into my hospital room.  A nurse checked me, said I was between 6-7, and admitted me.  (She announced my admittance like it was a glorious surprise; I was definitely not worried about being turned away.)  Knowing my history of childbirth and labor, I knew that I usually have a very short time between that point of labor and delivery.  I wanted an epidural and knew I would need to get it right away, or lose the opportunity.  I sent Clint into the hallway to track down the nurse that had just left our room, to explain/demand/beg for this.  We were told I first had to finish one round of antibiotics (I'd tested positive for strep B again), and that we'd have to wait a bit.  Maybe the anesthesiologist was actually MIA, I don't know; but that call meant this would be a natural birth.  Woo-hoo.  (I had not accepted this obvious reality yet; working through each contraction took all of my focus and I knew that would break if I dwelt too long on rings of fire or sleeping anesthesiologists or lips stretching around watermelons.)  Instead, I quietly focused on the contractions, trying not to tense up and stop them from doing their work.  I repeated self-affirmations in my head; things like, "This is what your body was made for,"  "This connects you to women through the generations," etc.  Sounds new-agey, but it really made me feel empowered and, if it didn't speed things along, it certainly didn't slow them down, either.


Probably around 3:45, I started to feel some pressure.  Not quite the pressure to push, but the pressure of a baby settling way down low.  Heidi, my delivery nurse, checked me and said I was at a 9 +.  I delusionally asked what my pain management options were at that point.  Calmly, she explained we could try to hold things off and get the anesthesiologist (although it was obviously too late for an epidural), or we could get the Dr. to break my water, which would speed labor and get me to a quicker delivery.  I decided to rip off the band-aid, so to speak.  About one minute after my doctor broke my water, as he was getting up to walk out of the room, I started pushing.  Not feeling the need to push and listening to the nurses who were telling me to wait until they were all freaking ready for me to push; pushing.  I don't know what woman is able to resist the urge to push during natural childbirth- knowing this is the only way to get rid of her pain- but clearly I am made of lesser stuff.  And so I pushed.  (My husband, bless his soul, never batted an eyelash.)  And you know what?  They hurried up and got ready to catch the baby.  I mean, really hurried.  It would have been more entertaining to watch if I wasn't so busy.  And, a few contractions later, at 4:15 AM, Peter Leonard Firth made his entrance into the world.  He came with a cry, his small head covered in dark red hair.  The world seemed to pause as I held him in my arms, cord intact and freshly born.  At the time, I was really grateful this hospital let their patients do that.  Now that I think about it, they probably just didn't have the isolet or medical supplies ready to be able to take him from me.  Since I didn't listen about waiting to push.  Heh.

I felt so happy, and it was such a contrast from the intensity of the previous 3 hours or the exhaustion of my Monday.  The fulness of my large womb was gone, and as I watched Clint looking over him, now in his isolet, I smiled with genuine happiness.

It's a...

When I was pregnant with Asher, we had the genius idea of paying $50 to get an early, gender-detecting ultrasound.  What made the plan even worse was that we took all the kids with us.  When the ultrasound tech excitedly announced, "It's a BOY!," Autumn immediately burst into tears and was still sobbing as we exited the building.  It pretty much could not have gone any worse.

Thankfully, like all of us, she loves our sweet little Asher.  But she wasn't the only one hoping to finally get news of a little sister this time around.  I was a little concerned about her reaction to news of another brother. 

So I borrowed an idea, filling up a large box with blue "It's a boy!" balloons and See's suckers (with "It's a boy!" stickers...they'll stick them on anything you want at no additional cost).  When I got home from the ultrasound, everyone excitedly gathered around the box.  Even Clint was being surprised, since he was still at work during my appointment.

Thankfully, there were no tears this time.  (YEA!!)  In fact, Autumn was the first to happily shout, "It's a boy!" as the box top was lifted open.  Score one for presentation.  :)

Even though we wouldn't have minded a little more sugar & spice in our lives, we're so happy & grateful to welcome another little buddy instead!  And what a relief that he's growing well & things are looking generally great, too.  I'm having a high risk pregnancy this go-round ("advanced maternal age"/fibroids), so that feels especially miraculous.

Expecting

So, if we're not friends on Facebook, maybe you don't know that we are expecting a baby late winter.  I'm 19 weeks along (ultrasound in a few days!!), and it's so nice to be past the first trimester... especially after having experienced first trimester pregnancy three times this past year.  (Yes, that was rough!!)  I had a threatened miscarriage with this pregnancy, just like I did with Asher, and was on bed rest for a week (deja vu!).  Coupled with the miscarriages this past year, I am feeling extremely blessed that baby is looking healthy and things are going well!

Anyhow, I am fully expecting another little guy; with one beautiful exception, that's our specialty!  :)

Finally, a word to the wise: don't put the number of your family members in your blog address.  Should have figured that out a few blogs ago.  Oh well.... 

San Francisco

At the beginning of the summer, we made a list of family goals for the summer.  One of them was a day trip to San Francisco.  With time running out on our summer vacation (the first Clint has enjoyed with us...yea!!), we decided it was now or never.

Hanging like monkeys in front of the gorilla exhibit

We started out at the SF Zoo.  It was a nice, medium-sized zoo and we saw everything in a few hours.

Why, hello, chimpanzee.

Ignore the woman behind the light post.  I promise she's fully clothed... this was just the best shot of Autumn.

After a picnic lunch (in the car...we were too hungry at this point to wait for our picnic spot), it was off to Golden Gate Park, where we rented pedal boats and graced (haha!) our way through the pond for an hour.

Proof that J & M were, at one point, enjoying the pedal boat experience.  They were definitely ready to be done after the hour was up.

Amazingly, Asher just sat still for the boat ride.  NONE of my other 2 year-old boys would have been content to just LOOK at the water!  A tender mercy for an older mama.  :)

Finally, we ended up at Fisherman's Wharf.  We filled our bellies with sourdough bread bowls filled with steaming clam chowder, hit up the antique arcade, and then settled in for a 3-hour ride on a cable car (that may have been a mistake... we didn't realize what we were signing up for).

In all, it was a fun day exploring new sights and enjoying each other.