I thought today might be the day…

Have you ever moved into “Prepare for Countdown” mode?

Totally here!  In fact, today I started nesting.  I know…I am quite far along to start building my nest—but as the days count down, I started to realize that sooner is closer than later.

And then there was the pain.  The intense, kick my butt, bring tears to my eyes, pain.

Lastly there was the extreme tightening of the belly.  Oh how lovely was my burning hot shower on my back.  It was as if I had escaped reality and melted into lava.  Lovely lava.  Although I am pretty sure I would not want to melt into real lava.

Anyhow—I could be totally psyching myself out at this stage.  Probably since I was told the baby could come “Any day!” by the doctor—the wise and trusted physician (well, I better consider him wise and trusted or else I’ll be walking into the unknown on my L-Day).

Have you ever done that?  Psych yourself out.  Just to end up being psyched out.

I could be completely there at this moment.  Because at this moment, my little Belly Josephine is gladly kicking my softened belly and apparently having a blast by the non-stop motions.

But, then again, perhaps I am not.

Tomorrow I go back in for monitoring.  Watch them say that she’s snug and settled.  Will I feel relief?  Or am I at the point where I’m ready for her to come?

Well, technically since tomorrow is Day 1 of Week 32, I should feel relief, but this lay on my side and elevate my feet is killing me.  I am not even appreciating Hulu.  We don’t like TV on in the evenings when my daughter is up…It’s not that we’re anti-TV.  Heck no.  I have a great fondness towards many shows.  But the commercials that play in the evenings are horrendous.  I believe my 7-year-old should be spared from some nasty things in life.  So Hulu, when we have a chance, is the way we watch.

Except for Sesame Street in the morning.  Our son…He’s a huge fan!  Especially of Mr. Noodle.  Totally waves each time he appears on screen, as if Mr. Noodle himself will stop his silliness long enough to wave right back.

Anyhoo—today I was certain it was time for my “Breathe, breathe, breathe, grab my husband’s collar, breathe, breathe, breathe day.”  And I don’t even have my bag packed.

I forgot.  What do you pack for a potential preterm birth?  Do I still pack underwear and pajamas?  Do I grab clothes?  Nursing pads?  Will she be able to nurse if she comes early?

Or should I just go to the hospital with nothing at all and then after the big event ask my husband to run home and grab for me what has come to mind?!  Hmmmm…

And, if she comes early, someone’s going to have to do a preemie run to Target.  My sister already scouted out the clothes and told me they are C.U.T.E.

But, if she comes too early, will she be able to breathe okay?  My son was born sick.  So I don’t know if that’s the way it works with all premature babies.  Or if some are okay?  Or…???!!!

Let’s just say.  As soon as the doc told me that she could come any day, I had a labor dream that night.  All went well (I’m GREAT in the actual labor part of birth—it just appears I suck in the keeping the baby baking part of birth).  And then the second night I had a C-Section dream.  That was a little scarier.  I am not hoping for surgery.  I am tough.  But I am afraid that with a C-Section I may prove a wuss.

Hmmm…

Thankfully the third night I had no labor or C-Section dreams.  But I did get up to pee about 4 times throughout the night.  Perhaps that was preparation for nightly feedings?!  And, as tired as I might be during those feedings, they are completely some of my most treasured moments.  The moment I quit nursing my son is the exact moment he stopped snuggling me.  So nightly feedings it is!  And treasured moments they will be.  Babies really do grow too quickly—even when I demand that they stop!

Well, the ramblings of this overly anxious momma will stop.  I hear tires and children.  My fam is home.  Yea for reality.  And a touch of sanity.  Or insanity (depends how you describe my family).

In any case—she’s still baking, and it appears as if I’ll make it into tomorrow.  Week 32.  The beautiful number 32.  It’s a pregnancy milestone, “Thank you, God!”  And I am but hours from it.

Woo-hoo!

For now, I will sign off as big and preggo.  And hopefully tomorrow I can tell you the same.  And the next day.  And the next day.  And the next.  Until she makes it as big and fat and round and healthy as possible…a slice of perfection delivered as a bundle of screaming lungs!

Life. It’s one big contraction.

So, I was in the Polish hospital a little over a year ago.  I was 29 weeks pregnant with my son, lying in the hospital with the contraction monitor on my belly for hours at a time, eventually receiving a raging, itchy rash from that contraption.

And sure enough that annoying machine was jumping up and down like crazy.  I was having contractions, so I was given something to stop those suckers.

Yes.  Contractions.  I know them well.

Let’s continue with this contracting belly baby named Maxwell and how he loved to cause pain.

It’s still a little over a year ago and I actually made it from 29 weeks to 34 weeks.  Thirty-four painful weeks and my mom and I are watching my belly.

“Oh, look at Maxwell.  He’s so funny.”  And my belly would move and turn and slide and then stop.

Hmmm.  That’s weird.  Oh, wait.  There he goes again.

Well, this became a pattern.  Now, please keep in mind that I do have a 6-year-old daughter, but 6 years is a LONG time to forget about contractions.  Apparently so is 5 weeks, because I didn’t even remember from my 29^th week of pregnancy.

Needless to say, I wind up in the hospital just halfway through my 34^th week and the doctors decide that it’s time for my bum moon to shine, in a room full of 6 other preggo women, and that’s where they give me a shot—on my bum moon.

Let me also say, the shot hurt.  Did I mention that I was in a hospital room, on a bed, in a gown and there were 6 other very afraid pregnant ladies there with me?!  Yep.

Full moon…Full shot…Full pain…Full hollering.

The nurse looked and me and said, “Oh, now.  That wasn’t bad.”

And I replied, “Nie, straszny!  Straszny!”  Basically, “No!  It was horrible!  Horrible!”

She just chuckled, as I once again hid my big ol’ bum moon, while she left.

The contractions, however, were not impeded by the shot from Hades, and so I delivered my baby just a half a day later.

Well.  If I thought the contractions were bad at 7 minutes apart, I was in for a really big surprise later during the day.

At first, after my water broke, I told my husband who was watching the monitor, “Hey!  Let me know if a big one is coming.”

Utterly foolish.

Because he then became the sportscaster of Team Contractions and would holler out each time he saw it rise, “A big one is coming!”

“I KNOW a big one is coming!”  I would holler back!  “Don’t you think I can FEEL it?!”

The air was tense…he thought his job was fun.  And I was at the point where I thought I was going to DIE.  Literally.  Die.  And here is my husband in no pain watching a monitor yelling, “A big one is coming!”

Needless to say, he was quickly FIRED from that job.  I put him to work getting me ice, getting me a cool head cloth, hand feeding me the ice, getting me the puke bucket, finding me pain drugs, and so forth.

In hindsight—he was an angel.

And eventually the contractions led to the game winning push!  Twelve to be exact.  Twelve devilishly painful pushes that popped us out a baby!

A baby…

And quickly all contractions were forgotten.

And then the world seemed right.  And peaceful.  And perfect.

Those contractions, they gave us a gift.  And that gift is our son.

Life is sometimes like those contractions.  Big and painful.   Often we wonder if we are going to make it through moments in our day or moments in our lives. 

And contraction after contraction is upon us.  Seemingly endless.  And there are people all around shouting—“It’s a big one!”

Exhaustion sets in.  There is no doubt in your mind that this is the most painful experience of your life.  And you are ready to quit.

To throw in the towel.  Kaput with it.  No more.

And then the worst of it comes upon you.  And you unbelievably know that you will.not.survive.

But you do.

And, in the wake of all that was painful, you are given something precious.

It’s called life.

A chance to begin again.

Like a newborn.  Except with experience.

A new day rises before you and you know that you can conquer it because you just survived the most painful experience of your life.

Contractions.  Big ones.  Labor.  Labor that was accompanied by pain.  Lots of it.

But you made it through.  And now.  Now it’s your turn.

Cradle your new beginnings and go to sleep, looking forward to a new tomorrow.  You deserve it.

A Mud Run Kept Me in Arizona? No—but the belly is why I started the blog! Happy 2 months, #and2makescrazy

I have a baby in my belly and a 1-year-old and 7-year-old at home.  And I have a husband that I have rarely seen since June.

My daughter, well, right now while we’re in Arizona (United States), she’s the invisible girl—hardly seen!  But that’s an awesome thing.  Because it means that she is usually with friends or cousins playing her little heart out.  You see, we technically live in Poland (since 2001…we started something called Fundacja Bread of Life).  In fact, if this surprise belly didn’t pop up, we’d be back there right now.

Yep!  We were scheduled to be back in Poland on May 10th.  But around May 5th, I felt a little something…called pregnant.  Sure enough, about 10 dollar store tests later, we both finally believed it.  Good thing our mud run was the day before, eh?

And so, my hubby and I decided that there is very little in life (outside of Jesus) that is more important to us than our children.

You see, we went through 5 years of very hollow infertility before God gave us Adelyne Marguerite.

And then it was another 5 years before God gave us our heavenly baby Sam (here’s a honest look at loss and miscarriage:  http://wp.me/p3Bh9m-6B).

And, well, I haven’t shared it all on this page, but then 2 years after Sam, we were given Maxwell Loren.  But he was a gift that was almost returned to heaven.  We nearly lost him…multiple times.  He’s our spirited little fighter and an absolute joy in our life.

And that brings us to today…a year after Maxwell was born.  Now I’m pregnant with, whom we call, Belly Josephine (here’s some photos here: http://wp.me/p3Bh9m-gp), inching my way to 40 years of age.  Yes, getting fossilized here, folks!

13 years of marriage to a man that I nearly didn’t date…

13 years of marriage and 4 babies:  2 that we’ve been able to keep here on earth; one waiting for us in heaven; and one kickball champ in my belly.

And we’re suppose to be in Poland.

But since we value our babies more than life itself, my husband and I decided that I would not travel and would ride out this pregnancy here in the United States with my family just one minute away.  Therefore, I’ve remained in our little rental farmhouse with egg-laying chickens…and he, well he’s been back and forth and around the world getting his “work on”.

He spent the majority of his summer in Poland and Moldova and Zambia.  He’s spending the majority of this fall in Africa and Europe…and I told him that if he’s not back in time for the baby, Adelyne’s my partner in the delivery room.  She was thrilled with that and told me she would sit around and eat popsicles.  Sounds like she’d be great support, eh?!

His work is awesome…but he’s also missed a ton:  Maxwell’s first steps and most of his first words.  Maxwell’s new affinity to climb all objects and to feed himself with a spoon.  Josephine’s major belly kicks and several doctor’s visits to date.  Most of Adelyne’s swim meets, and so much more.

In fact, he’s been gone so much that my son walks past the computer and says, “Hi, Dadda!”

I say all this to say…

Home.  Alone.  With an invisible 7-year-old.  With a 1-year-old.  With a belly baby.

I decided that NOW is the time to start a blog.

And boy it has been a challenge.  And a ton of fun.  And I have not one specific topic to write about—nor focus on.

Sometimes I’m all roaring wife.

Sometimes I’m all crazy momma.

Sometimes I’m zany foreigner.

And sometimes I’m all religious nut.

But…hopefully all of the time…I am real.

And, hopefully, you have enjoyed my blogging journey.

Two months, today!  Woot-woot!

Over 8,500+ views.

And Fifty+ Countries on 6 continents.  Thanks, friends!

It would appear that you are a bit crazy, too.

Just like I am.

Just like Rich.

I just KNEW we’d get along swell!

Looking forward to what the next two months will bring.  Because often even I don’t know until the day before (or, to be honest, the morning of).

Sending you off with a big American hug and 3 Polish kisses,

Brooke (aka the first half of the crazy)

#and2makescrazy

Everyone should take the time to be a kite-flying, toothless, flapper…Selling lemonade to no one while dancing down the streets of Europe!

I thought my life was full…bursting really to the brim.  And then I became a mom.

NOTHING beat that.

The morning sickness of pregnancy (Which means-all day, all night, all 42 weeks into labor itself)…Glorious!

Even labor…

My 1^st labor went a little like this:

“Here, Rich, hold my hair…Puke. Puke.”

Doctor to me, “Are you ready to push now?”

“Yes.”

Puke. Puke.

“Can you push again?  She’s crowning…”

Puke. Puke.

“Okay.”

Push. Push.

And, of course, my husband being a first time daddy had no clue…

Doctor to Richard, “Okay—count to 10 for her and she’ll push the entire 10 seconds.”

Richard, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…..20!”

By now, my brain is exploding, my eyes have popped out of my head, my face is blue.  I.AM.DONE.

Finally, after Richard’s doubled “10 seconds” are over, I loudly proclaimed, “Don’t you EVER count to 20 again!”

While he thought, “Oh, the longer I count, the longer she’ll push…maybe the baby will pop right out.”  Typical man.

My body thought, “Lord have mercy!  I need oxygen!  Why is this man still counting?  Who married him anyway?!  Get rid of him and find someone new!”  No joke.

Puke.  Puke.

But finally, after many more sessions of 10 seconds (ONLY 10 seconds) and lots of puking, we had our first bundle of joy.

Ah.  Such pride.

Wait…is that a girl?  Is she mine?  I am decently cute, her daddy is hot…She looks as if she has been boxed in the face.  Is that normal?   No, I mean…I love her.  Sure, give her to me.

Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle (All for show, folks.  All for show.  Wanted to make sure that they didn’t take my baby away from me because I was an unfit admirer of this new, blotchy, boxed-looking creature :))

Kiss. Kiss. Cuddle. Cuddle.

Surprisingly—no more puking.

And overnight our lives changed.

Screaming.

Crying.

And the baby did some of those things, too.

And then, just like the sage wisdom my mom passed on…It too did pass.  Both the baby’s crying and my crying.

Sleep invaded our home once again.

I began to feel less like a zombie and more like a … Well, like a…Hmmm.  Well, let’s say less like a human delivery truck.

Anyhow—and the months flew by!  And then the years.

In Poland, they say that time runs.   Truly—my daughter won the Olympic Gold of the 100-meter-dash, because, in no time, she went from my boxed wonder to her very own version of her very own self—and that was FUN to watch.

Let me insert something here—had I been thinking clearly, I would have prepared myself for an independent-minded young lady with a style all her own.

But no.  I prepared myself for—I shall dress you in pretty dresses and bows and put you in pageants (okay, not really the pageant part) and decorate you like a dolly.   Oh how I love dollies!

Why did she NEVER let me do this?

It seems like as soon as she could take off her own diaper—I had no control over her clothes.  Her beautiful girly-girl clothes.

Sigh.

Those dolls sometimes make better babies.  (Okay—I’m just kidding.  Don’t take my kid away from me.)

But because of Adelyne’s uber-I am my own kid and style-self, I have been gifted the greatest gift…Memories of the uniqueness of her life—called childhood!  And I wouldn’t trade one moment for a frilly dress and beautiful bow.  Although there are times when I would like just ONE picture in the photo album where she is a little less her and a little more compliant.  Nah.  Who am I kidding?  I love her sense of HER!

And, so friends, I give you Adelyne as your very own encouragement…

May you be the YOU that you are…

Whether it is a kite-flying,

Toothless,

Flapper,

That sells lemonade to virtually no one (notice all the neighboring homes???)

While dancing down the streets of Europe (and even gets her grandparents to join her party)!

Why be anyone else?

Be your own self and fly!

And, yes…She wore these wings to kindergarten registration.

Smile and take pictures, Mom.  Smile and take pictures!