Years go by and we stay the same

 It's been years since I last wrote in this blog, but I feel the need to write again and work through some frustrations, thoughts, feelings, etc. This is the space I've always done that in, so why not come back to it?

I struggle with feeling good enough sometimes. We all do, I know we do. I struggle the most when I'm playing pickleball. Sometimes I play great, to the best of my abilities. Other times, I play not poorly, but not my best, and my mindset sometimes quickly spirals downward. "They don't want to play with me." "People think I'm bad at this." "People don't like being my partner." "You're too fat to play." "People are disappointed in you." Stuff like that. It's stupid, I know. I wish I could overcome it. Yes, I've read The Inner Game of Tennis. Once those thoughts creep in, they don't want to come out. Today at league was one of those days. I actually played pretty well today, but still, the thoughts came. I feel like I get left out a lot, not asked to play or join leagues. I suppose the only thing I can do is improve my game, and to hell with the rest of it.

Oscar is 8 years old now. He is the best boy.

His baptism was a few weeks ago. It was a happy occasion, the kind of happiness that feels extra transcendental. Many family and friends showed up for us, which meant so, so much. Andy and the kids. The Taylors. The Zechs. The Browns. Kevin Olson. Jean. Daniel and his family. The Zarbocks. The Lakes. My parents and Jeff's. Jana and Winona. Michael. The Briggs. I'm sure I'm forgetting some others. But it was so wonderful. I felt heavenly beings there, including Papa and Grandma, which my dad agreed with me that they were there. If there's one thing I love, it's feeling the presence of my family who's come before me. Brave women especially.

Sarah Porter played the piano. Emily Farr played the guitar and sang "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus." Jeff, Oscar and I sang "When I Am Baptized." Oscar sang the first verse alone. He was so great. He had to go under twice since one of his big toes popped out of the water at the last second. Poor kid. I think that's all he will remember about that day, the trauma of having to be baptized twice.

Tom gave a nice talk about baptism. My dad gave a masterclass in the Holy Ghost, full of humor and testimony. He's mellowed out as he's gotten older, which I'm glad for. 

Jeff and I argued a lot leading up to it. We were both stressed about managing our dad's moods (mostly Tom's, let's be real). Everything ended up just fine. I am working on convincing myself that I am not responsible for Tom's moods, and neither is Jeff's, and we don't need to walk on eggshells around him.

I have much more to write, but for now, this will be the end. Hopefully it won't be five years before I post again.

I am happy because

I've been working with a nutrition coach since December. After Oscar was born, my stress went through the roof, I stopped exercising (for fear of losing what little BM I made), and didn't care what I ate. As one would expect, I gained a lot of weight, especially around my midsection.

I've made great strides this past 9-ish months, but I still struggle with stress. My mental load feels like more than I can bear most days. Working full time and taking care of a family is no joke. I'd outsource more things if I could afford it, but I'm not made of money, you know? (Anyone want to come clean my house)?

My coach told me I need to journal every day and focus on positivity. That used to be no issue for me (remember when "Happy Happy Joy Joy" from Ren and Stimpy was my M-O?), but these days I struggle to see the joy in adverse situations. When people ask how I'm doing, I glumly say, "I'm fine," or, "I'm well enough." How lame is that? Ew! No wonder people don't want to talk to me! No wonder the scale won't budge despite eating in a caloric deficit!

So today marks my first day of saying why I'm happy and taking stock of my emotions. There is ALWAYS something to be happy about, and it should be celebrated.

Today I am happy because, even though I didn't get to see Oscar before I left for work, I got to see him on the Ring when he and Jeff took out the garbage bins. Oscar looked really cute. So did Jeff. I'm happy because I have a great family and a great husband who (usually) shares the load evenly with me, or at least really tries to. I really appreciate that.

I'm also SO happy for the weight I've lost so far and for the muscle I've packed on. So much more muscle than I had before. I'm really proud of myself!

Hey blog

Long time, no blog.

It's been a busy year. Oscar is almost 14 months, crawling everywhere, standing everywhere, scared to walk. He eats anything and everything, usually, and is eating a ton. He's still a tiny guy. It's fun to watch this tiny little dude do all these big kid things. Plus he is the perfect size for holding.

Everyone says, "It's different when it's your own baby." Everyone is right. All those times I'd babysit as a kid and couldn't wait for the parents to get home, I don't really feel any of that with Oscar. I mean, sometimes I look forward to Jeff getting home, but mostly so we are all home together.

Adjusting to motherhood was really difficult for me. I fell into patterns of crippling anxiety, couldn't sleep, and ended up getting on meds. It was the right decision for me. Within days, I felt almost like myself again. I'll start weaning off of them soon. I hope it goes well.

I think one of the biggest lessons I've learned since becoming a mother is to accept myself for who I am and focus on what is truly important. There are times I really don't want to do all the mom stuff, and that's okay. I weigh more right now than I have, perhaps ever, and that's okay. I'm not perfect, and I don't really try to be, but I do my best and accept that as enough.

I feel the urge to post again today. Something has been on my mind a lot lately.

I've had a good number of friends leave the LDS church in the past few years; or, if they haven't left, they are deeply conflicted by their membership in the church.

I get it. I am young women's president in my ward. I hate that anytime babysitting is needed, the young women are immediately volunteered by our Relief Society president. I hate that the Boy Scout budget is bigger than ours. I hate that church is the one place in my girls' lives where they will be told they can't do something a boy can do. I understand why, but I still don't like it.

I also don't like that the children of gay parents can't be baptized. I've thought about this in many different ways, from many different aspects. In some situations I can see how it would cause the child to be in conflict with his or her parents, and that it could create tension and discord in the home. I am not in favor of that. But overall, I am not at peace with the policy, I do not like it, and I mourn with those who are affected by it. I am sorry you are hurting.

What I do like are the doctrines of the church. I love my Savior, Jesus Christ. I love my Heavenly Parents. I love the light of the gospel, the light of the Holy Ghost as He speaks to my soul, and I love serving others.

A few weeks ago, my old journalism professor linked on Facebook to a letter to the editor he'd had published in the Salt Lake Tribune. His letter was about how the Trib unfairly references the LDS church with sarcasm and disdain, even when the church has done something good. I began reading the comments to his letter. One man commented that church members are really good at serving others, but only when they've been asked to do so by a leader.

He is completely accurate in saying that. It's not true of all church members, but it's largely true. We serve when we are asked to. How many of us were doing anything to help refugees before it was asked of us in conference? Jeff and I sent a baby carrier to a group that gives baby carriers to Syrian refugees as they arrive in Greece. But that's all we've done. I hadn't looked into anything local until after this last General Conference. Now our young women are collecting goods to bring to Interfaith Ministries of Greater Houston, which has been collecting housewares for refugee homes for months. I've decided 2017 is going to be our year of service. Each girl will pick some kind of service they want to do, whether it's for a family, an organization, whatever, and we will all support her in it.

I don't want to be a Christian, let alone a person, who just sits back and waits for opportunities to come to me.

My baby boy

Life has sure been crazy these past nine or so months. Oscar came home from the hospital on January 11, yes, the same day David Bowie died. Definitely no coincidence.

Crazy to me how he's grown. He now weighs right around 13 lbs and is almost 24 inches long. He seems huge. I was at my friend's house the other day with her and her 8-lb twins. Oscar looks gigantic compared to them. It's difficult to remember just how small he was, the size of a squirrel at first, maybe even smaller, and then a small puppy, and then a bag of rice, etc. His growth is astounding to me.

Oscar smiles now, he giggles, he holds his head up (for the most part), and sometimes (rarely) he remembers he knows how to roll from tummy to back. He eats a ton, he sleeps through the night, he LOVES being held and being with people.

We've been taking him to church for almost two months, and he does great. He basically sleeps the whole time in our solly baby wrap. If he's not asleep, he is very content to people watch.

Jeff and I are amazed by him, his growth and his health. He is a very healthy boy. Every doctor we've seen has commented on how rare he is, to be born at 26 weeks and have no problems. None at all. His only doctor is his pediatrician. We haven't had to see any specialists since his first month home, before he came off home oxygen.

Some things haven't worked out like we planned. I thought we'd co-sleep, and that was awful for us. I thought we'd nurse, but it was causing me a lot of anxiety to not know how much he was eating (so I'm still pumping, which is another story). I thought I'd never give my baby formula, but like many moms of micro preemies I don't make enough milk for him, and he had tons of formula in the NICU to help him grow. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that life hasn't looked like we'd planned, but it doesn't really matter. We have a healthy, happy, sweet, calm baby boy who loves being alive.

I never knew my heart was capable of this kind of love. But oh, I am so glad it is.

Baby Ward

After being on bedrest in the hospital for a week, Oscar Claude Ward was born at 1 lb 9 oz (710 grams) and was 12 inches long. Oscar is now 17 inches long and weighs 3 lbs 8 oz. He is so cute, is working on a third chin, loves his pacifier, poops a lot, and wants to cuddle all the time. I love Oscar more and more every day. He is the best baby in the whole world and I can't wait to bring him home from the hospital once he's done growing.

Miracle on Lisa Ward Street

Last week I thought twice about something that's happened a fair amount during the bleed portion of my pregnancy, i.e. gushes of fluid. I've never thought much about them; I figured they were part of the bleed rearing its head. But last week as I felt another fluid gush, I thought twice.

I went in for another ultrasound Monday (I'd had one the week prior) and was called Tuesday afternoon saying I needed to come in Wednesday. "It's not an emergency," they said. "So can we talk about it over the phone?" I asked. "No, you need to come in." Blurg.

The next 24 hours were pretty excruciating. Tuesday night I focused on our brand new Drexel Declaration buffet (thank you Craigslist - p.s. this is not our house), and Wednesday I stayed focused at work. I asked God Wednesday morning that he might let my brave women (my spirit world angels) be with me all day, that they might be instructed to whisper kind things to me all day, that they might say things to build my confidence and assurance in the health of my baby.

The drive to the OB's office felt faster than usual. As always, my blood pressure was high. It always is when I go there. Dr. D. saw me right away and launched into it.

Based on Monday's ultrasound, the baby was measuring two weeks behind. Amniotic fluid was low. The placenta is detached in multiple places thanks (no thanks) to the bleed. I took the news calmly. I could feel my brave women with me, helping me. He explained some things; luckily I have researched all the possible side effects of a hematoma, so I was well aware of everything he said. Baby might be in distress and his kidneys might not be functioning well, so his fluid production is lessened, etc. A bunch of hypotheticals.

Dr. D. referred me directly to the perinatologist department at the neighboring hospital for further evaluation. I figured I'd have to wait a week. To my surprise, the office called and said come over now. I hadn't even left Dr. D's parking lot yet.

I was immediately seen by their senior-most sonographer, who has 30 years of experience. She looked at the baby's organs, his limbs, she measured him, she measured his fluid, she measured the bleed, she looked at the placenta. It was a long ultrasound. She updated me on most things as she went. The perinatologist came in to review the report. I didn't know what to expect; I just hoped Dr. D's sonographer (who I love and trust) had been wrong.

She was wrong about a few things. First, baby is measuring right on schedule. He weighs 1 lb 11 oz. His vital organs were all functioning normally, including his kidneys which produce the urine which is amniotic fluid. That said, his fluid is lower than we thought, 6 cm of fluid (normal is 8-18 cm). The cause of that is undetermined. They couldn't find a rupture in the sac membranes. The bleed is now small to medium in size, is inactive, and is located behind the placenta, so the placenta is detached where that bleed is. It's also detached in other places where the bleed once was. She measured my cervix, which had been measuring short for weeks, but she measured it above 3 cm, which is normal.

My baby and I are walking statistic breakers. There's a 1% chance of having a subchorionic bleed, and an even smaller chance of it never going away like mine. There's a 1% chance of detached placenta, about a 5% chance of shortened cervix, a 0% chance of a cervix thickening. Dr. D. told me, reassuringly, that every patient he's had that's had a bleed as large as mine as early as I did in the pregnancy ended up losing their baby. It really is nothing short of a miracle that I still have mine and that he is normal.

I felt my brave women with me all day and all through my appointments. People often look at me like I'm crazy when they ask about my pregnancy and I tell them all these horrible things. They are indeed horrible things, and I should be a basket of nerves and tears. But I'm not. I know this baby will be okay. I am learning so much more about the Lord's love, the Atonement, and how they apply to all the things we go through in life. I've wondered, How does Christ even understand what I'm going through now? He has never carried a child. But, Christ has given life to the dead. He experienced the same worries and fears and uncertainty that I am experiencing now. He can empathize with me, and that is enough for Him to know how to succor me. He has sent my brave women to me to succor me. I have been told they know what I am going through and they know how to help me. I have felt their healing hands upon me and know they are there for me when I call upon them. I love them, my brave women.

Brave Women

No one ever told me pregnancy could have this man ups and downs. This pregnancy has caused its fair share of worry.

Yesterday at work I started cramping and bleeding. After about two hours of that, I ended up passing a huge blood clot, about 7 cm x 5 cm. Like I said, huge. And disgusting. And eerily cool. I stopped by my midwife's office to check on the baby, just in case, and it was there in all it's 158 bpm glory. Go Baby Ward!

The cramping continued into the evening when I passed another large clot, though smaller than the morning's clot, and then two more quarter-sized clots an hour later. If you've never passed a blood clot through your lady parts (if you have those), it is a very weird sensation, like a ball sliding out of a tube. Passing it doesn't hurt, but trying

The cramping and bleeding continued well into the night. As I laid down to sleep, I realized the cramping was coming and going. I soon clued into the fact that I was having contractions. Strong ones. I don't know how they compare to labor contractions, but these were strong. Enough to reduce me to tears a few times. I breathed through them, using my yoga breathing to inhale the pain and exhale it out. Thank heaven that worked. I frequently got up to pee and pass more blood. Around 1 am I couldn't take the pain anymore. I hadn't slept a wink and neither had Jeff. He gave me a blessing and Heavenly Father had one simple thing to tell me: that I was surrounded by brave women who were attending to me in my time of pain of weakness. They were there to calm me and support me through this time. Shortly later I fell asleep between contractions and slept until the sun came up.

My friend Ashley has an ongoing #webravewomen movement. I thought of the brave women in my life who support me in my times of need, and I thought about all the brave women who have given me life. I always think first to my Grandma Betty, who will never be replaced in my heart. She taught me how to unconditionally love and serve. I thought of Great Grandma Marie, who joined the church in St. Louis as a teenager, then raised 13 kids on a farm in Delta, Utah. She would later lose one of them to a horrible tractor accident. Later she developed Lou Gehrig's disease (of ALS Ice Bucket challenge fame...**shudder**), and communicated by blinking her eyes a certain number of times to indicate each letter she wanted to say. I thought of my Great Grandma Rosina, who, with one child out of wedlock, immigrated with her mother from Germany to Utah. She later met my Great Grandpa Walter. They were married and had four more children, one of whom died young. As immigrants, they were usually poor, but they got by. Then one day Great Grandpa Walter didn't come home. For a few days, he didn't come home. Then Great Grandma Rosina saw a notice in the newspaper about a John Doe who'd been hit by a drunk driver and was killed instantly. She knew that man was her husband. She went to morgue where her worst fear was confirmed. Now destitute and with five young children, she moved her family to the wrong side of the tracks. One night the police came and busted up a moonshine racket in the house next door. The police threw crates of moonshine into the streets, the bottles and wooden crates breaking everywhere. Rosina gathered up the wood to create a haphazard wood floor to cover their dirt floor. My Papa Walter used to gather old produce from markets and wander around town trying to sell it in his little wagon, as a five year old boy.

As I lay there in pain, in my comfortable bed, with A/C on, a full bank account, warm blankets, food in my fridge, loving and forlornly helpless husband at my side, I thought about all the brave women in my life who endured so much more with so much less. I love them. I deeply appreciate them. I have gone through a fraction of what they endured. I hope they will teach me to be like them.