I had a really cute 'do' and it took me no time at all. The curl lasted all day, even in the 101 degree heat and humidity.

I have always loved trying new things with my hair. I have had several colors, some I loved, some I won't be repeating. I have had short hair, long hair, and everything in-between. My last short hair experience was a little more than I had bargained for. When the stylist got out the clippers and gave me a hair line and shaved it up the back, I knew it would be a long time before I tried anything like that again. It has been almost 4 years since that hair cut and I have really long hair now. I am loving it and how easy it is to take care of, but I don't like that there isn't much 'adventure' in it. These days it is either in a messy 'mom bun' or in a side braid. Both of these options are quick and low maintenance, but getting boring.

In my quest to find fun things to do with my hair, I remembered reading about rag curls. I knew that was the primary way of curling hair before hot irons and other contrapions were invented, so I decided to give it a shot. I ripped up an old receiving blanket into about 10 3"x12" strips and began rolling my hair. I was doing it in the living room, while watching the telly with the husband. He hadn't paid much attention to what I was doing until he looked over to see these rags on my head and was a little worried for my sanity. This isn't the sexiest look, so don't be surprised if your husband keeps his distance for the evening. Maybe it didn't help that I decided to do a little pampering and also had a mud mask on...?

I took my time getting ready for church Sunday morning and panicked a little when I realized it was nearly time to go and I still had my hair in rags. I put the husband on untying duty and getting the things out of my hair took no time at all. I was surprised at just how curly my hair was -it had shrunk a good six inches because of all the curl. In order to relax it a bit, I did a little 'head banger' move, and 'whipped my hair back and forth' for a bit. I stopped when Cam told me I was going to hurt myself. Because I was in a hurry, I just pulled the sides back and pinned them with bobby pins. I had a really cute 'do' and it took me no time at all. The curl lasted all day, even in the 101 degree heat and humidity. When I woke up this morning, I still had an abundance of curl.

I had a couple of friends ask me to tell them how I did it, so here is my attempt at a tutorial:
STEP ONE - Make Your Curlers

I used one of my son's old baby blankets. It made the perfect rag for my rollers. I folded it in half and cut it along the fold. I then put slits on the edge about 3" apart. Next, I hand ripped from the cut to the edge of the blanket to make my strips. Since I left the two halves of the blanket together after cutting the seam, I was able to make 2 strips / rip. Easy.

STEP TWO - Prepare Your Hair
Wash your hair as normal and towel it dry. Comb through it and put whatever product you use on it. The only product I used was a little of my home made detangler spray from mid-shaft to the ends. (because I have a little curl in my hair naturally and have to have help combing it out.) Let your hair air dry until it is just damp to the touch. You can also just spritz a little water on clean, dry hear if you prefer, or don't need to wash your hair.

STEP THREE - Roll Your Hair
This time I used ten rag rollers for my hair. The more you use, the tighter your curls will be. Roll your hair as you would if curing it. Do it in sections, combing each section before you roll it. I recommend parting your hair the way you would to style it, then grabbing a section and rolling it AWAY from your face. (So the finished curl spirals away instead of toward your face.) Getting the roll started is the tricky part, but you will get the hang of it quickly. If you put the center of the rag about an inch from the end of your hair and roll it from there, tucking the ends in as you go, you get a good, clean roll. When you have your hair rolled all the way to your roots (or, as close as you can get) tie the ends of the rag together. You have to tie them pretty tight to get them to stay all night long, but don't go too far with it, they can be really hard to get out if you tie them too tight. I just did what I guess they call a half knot.)

STEP FOUR - Wait

Mine were in for about 11 hours total. I chose to sleep on mine, which took a little getting used to, it wasn't bad at all. (not half as bad as sleeping on foam rollers - do you remember those?) If you don't have that kind of time, you can speed the process up by using a hair dryer on the rolls. The wetter your hair was when you rolled it, the longer it will take to dry.
The mud mask is optional, but highly recommended.

STEP FIVE - Remove Rolls

Simply untie the knots and remove the rags. DO NOT BRUSH your hair. Shaking your head will allow the curls to release and flow a bit. If you HAVE to, you can use a wide tooth comb to style your curls. Brushing or over combing will not result in a more wavy, relaxed curl, it will only give you big hair. (See image - I'm glad this look is no longer a fashionable one) Once your 'do is set, you can spritz or spray it with what ever setting spray you choose to use. Honestly, I didn't even do this. I like the feel of soft, natural curls without product.

I really thought she was kidding. I didn't appreciate her humor, but I could have forgiven the untimely joke, had it but been a joke.

"Having a bad haircut can be quite traumatic!" ~Rachel Stevens

My son is practically perfect in every way. OK, I may be exaggerating, but he is pretty awesome. One of the things I have always loved about him was his hair. He was born with a full head of super thick, black hair. He never lost it when he was an infant and it has always grown very quickly. At 20 months I think he has had seven or eight hair cuts, and he somehow still ends up looking like a dutch boy before we get him in. I put off these visits because I feel that every time he gets a cut it ages him, and he is growing up too quickly for my liking already.

Yesterday we took him to get another cut. The stylist who normally does his hair wasn't there, but we took the risk and allowed another person to attempt (and I use that word intentionally) it. This mama was already feeling apprehensive about getting those baby locks cut off and the aded unknown put me in the perfect state of worry to make what follows truly a one-of-a-kind scary mama experience.

This girl, she was young, sat him in the chair and started to cut almost before the cape could be snapped around his neck. I stopped her, pointed out his triple crown and the cowlick at the front and told her what I wanted. I explained that we don't use the clippers on him, but the scissors. I told her that I wanted the same cut he had, just shorter. I wanted it cleaned up around his ears and out of his eyes. She looked at me like I was just another crazy helicopter mom and I am sure she might have inserted a mental eye roll as well. Without inspecting his hair for herself or taking a minute to look at him and figure out a plan of attack, she picked up a chunk of hair and whacked it off.

I was stunned. A good four inches of hair fell to the floor. That part is always kept long because if it isn't, it won't lay down. That triple crown I had just carefully pointed out to her and was worried about was now just over an inch long and sticking straight up into the air. It was like three signs, all pointing in different directions on the back of his head. I wanted to yank him out of the chair right then, but kept my cool. She chopped more hair off, in a manner that could only be described as haphazard. After watching this for a minute or two, I stopped her. I looked to my husband with worried, pleading eyes, wanting him to make it right, or to maybe say something to stop the butchering that was going on. "Should we just use the clippers on it?" I asked, seeing no help for it at this point. Of course, being a guy, and not that observant, he wasn't as concerned with it as I was. The stylist asked why I said that and I pointed out the hair fence at the back of his head. She smiled and said, "Oh, I can take care of that!" Before I could stop her, she snipped off what remained of that section of hair. She scalped my son.

I choked on the words I was holding back. I did all my calming exercises I could think of and smiled what had to be the most forced smile of all time. I pictured myself running out the door, the zoo animal cape still around my son flapping as we ran, and not looking back. I looked to my husband, who was beginning to get nervous as well. I began to closely inspect every snip she made from that point and I'm sure my supervision wasn't making her any better of a stylist. After a few more cuts, none of which were making any sense to me and didn't do anything to fix what had been done, she looked at me and asked, "Ok, is that good?"

I really thought she was kidding. I didn't appreciate her humor, but I could have forgiven the untimely joke, had it but been a joke. She was serious. She legitimately thought she had delivered a hair cut. That cowlick at my son's forehead was also chopped off quite short but the hair on the other side was actually still hanging down into his eyes. I pointed this out to her and she acted like she hadn't even noticed it. Her idea of fixing this issue was to cut it straight across his forehead, giving him guy bangs, like Lloyd Christmas - but only on 1/2 of his face - the other half was scalped and standing up due to her cowlick treatment. At this point, I was in serious danger of exploding. I could feel my face burning and steam was leaking out of my ears. With shaking hands, I took the cape off of him and began to look for escape. I am eternally grateful my husband was there to pick up the pieces and take charge. He told me to leave, and he would meet us at the coffee aisle. (Yes, we get our son's hair cut at Walmart)

Happy to get out of that emotional torture chamber of a salon, my feet moved, but my brain was in a fog. As I walked and inspected his hair, the relief I had felt at escaping that place was replaced with anger piled on top of more anger. The damage was even worse than I had previously thought. He had large chunks of hair sticking out over his ears and a most uneven and botched hair line. One side of his neck was short, the other long and the two opposites were joined by a little rat tail. You could see every cut she had made like individual petals on a flower. My beautiful baby boy was ruined. As I was wondering aimlessly, not even able to comprehend where I was in relation to the coffee aisle I was supposed to be going to, I actually cried. I'm sure people thought I was a crazy lady.

I met up with Cam, who had run into Henry's Uncle Josh and Aunt Haley. I was glad to have someone else witness the atrocity and to commiserate with. They did their best to assure me that my son was still cute. It was nice of them, but of course my son was still cute. He is stinking adorable - but he had been ruined. After collectively deciding he needed to have it fixed, I sent Cam and Josh back to the salon. I simply couldn't go back in there. I had done everything to remain calm and christian and I had thus far managed to even be civil, but I would not be held responsible for my actions from this point out. Haley and I talked for a bit and went through the checkout line. Thinking we had wasted enough time, we went to the salon. We should have killed more time. They were still standing in line.

Our turn came, and despite not wanting any part of this, I couldn't not go back to the chair with my son. I felt like I was sending him back to be slaughtered, and I had to protect him. Luckily for the first stylist, she saw me coming and disappeared into the back room, not showing her face the rest of the time we were in the store. (Also, never apologizing or doing anything to make it right) This second lady was a bit older and she talked to Henry, interacted with him and helped him to get his hair cut instead of just giving him a hair cut. She used the clippers, and I was surprised at the amount of hair there still was to cut off. My mama heart broke with every pass she made. My baby was transformed into a little boy in the space of a few minutes. I am incredibly appreciative of the wonderful lady who managed to save my son's hair after that horrible experience. She did a great job despite the previous mistakes made. One thing she was not able to do was to fix that cowlick problem. No matter what, unless I keep his hair cut into this big boy cut (which I am emotionally not ready for) we are going to go through a big awkward phase.

Who knew a simple thing like a hair cut would have such implications or leave such a bitter, damaging experience in my mind? I have to thank all the wonderful stylists out there. Thank you for doing your job correctly. Thank you for understanding that it is about more than just a hair cut. Thank you for humoring mamas who aren't ready to trade in their babies for big kids. You really do make a difference in the sanity of mothers everywhere.

Anyone can cook, as long as they follow the directions...

"Once you understand the foundations of cooking - whatever kind you like, whether it's French or Italian or Japanese - you really don't need a cookbook anymore."
~Thomas Keller

One of the things I love is eating. Yeah, food is always my go-to. Sad..? eat. Happy...? Eat. You get the picture. I'm not incredibly picky either. I love a good steak dinner, but leftover cold pizza from two nights ago is also an acceptable meal. (No shame) I love cooking. Baking is kinda my nemesis, and I rely on my sister and my bountiful baskets order for all my baked goods, but I can handle cooking. My mother raised us in the kitchen. I inherited my odd cooking style from her. While, I can follow a recipe, I tend to go off on my own and make crazy decisions while cooking. Who needs to measure and take the time to be precise? 1 heaping vs. 1 flat tbsp or a packed vs. not packed cup of ingredient x are inconsequential.

This food philosophy drives my husband mad. He is a firm believer in following directions. His philosophy is that "Anyone can cook, as long as they follow the directions." Often he will come home to a meal and one of his first questions is, "Is this a recipe?" I'm never exactly sure how to answer that question. Most of the time the food I make comes from a perusal of the cabinets and a last-minute decision, rather than careful menu planning and ingredient purchases. I really think that he assumes that if I didn't read the list of ingredients off of a page than it is not 'real' food. (Silly boy - someone had to come up with it.)

Since becoming a mom I have really enjoyed my crockpot. I have come up with several soup-like recipes that my family will enjoy for years. I always know I have made a 'keeper' when Cam asks me to please write this one down so I can make it again.

Here is the soup I came up with last night. We had evening plans and I didn't want to spend the $$ on a dive through meal, so I threw some stuff in the crockpot. My goal was a lighter meal that was high in protein.

Black Bean Chicken Soup:

Ingredients
• 3 large frozen chicken breasts
• 1 can cream of chicken soup

• 2-3 cups water
• 2 cubes chicken bullion (crushed)
• 1 fresh celery stock cut to desired size
• 2 cloves fresh garlic, minced or chopped
• 1 large hand full of sliced baby portobello mushrooms
• 1 can black beans (drain the bulk of the juice from it)
• 1 small can V8 tomato juice
• paprika
• onion powder
• Salt
• Pepper

Toppings (optional)
• Sour Cream
• Shredded Cheese
• Tortilla or Corn Chips

To make, just DUMP all the ingredients into a crockpot and turn it to high. I cooked mine until the chicken was done and ready to shred. Shred or chunk the chicken, however you wanna break it apart, and put it back in the pot. It really is SO easy and yummy. We eat it by putting a few (or a lot) of chips in the bowl, adding the soup and then topping with a little sour cream and cheese. This dish is not a life-changing one, but is good for a lighter meal when you are needing to pack in some nutrition without eating a large dinner.

*SIDE NOTE*
As is true most of the time, the leftovers are even better than the origingal meal. Oh, and my 20 month old is a big fan of this one.

God never does anything accidentally, and he never makes mistakes.

"I know for certain that God does not make mistakes, but he does make miracles. I am one. You are, too."
~Nick Vujicic

We all have things we struggle with. For some, its the size and shape of their nose, for others it’s their weight and some hate their completion, etc. Not one of us are perfect. Not one of us, when compared to our ideals actually measure up. Entire industries are created and supported because people want to change who they are. Ok, you want a different color of hair, you want to lose some weight, you want a smaller nose… that’s all doable. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with these things… I have an entire list of physical insecurities I would gladly have ‘taken care of’ if I could afford it.

What about things you can’t change? What about that man who has been freakishly tall his whole life? His insecurities started in adolescence and only continued to get worse. What do we do with him? There is no procedure to ‘correct’ that ‘imperfection.’ Also, because being tall isn’t considered to be a bad thing by most people, many strangers feel it is ok to point and gawk and ask “how tall are you” and “I bet you were really good at basketball.” These questions and statements, while innocent to the average person only serve to pick at the wound in this man’s life.

When you are tall - like, 6’7” TALL, you always stand out in a crowd. You always feel you have to sit in the back row at any event so others can see over you. You always have to worry about your jeans being long enough and your shoes having a low enough sole (because, even that extra .5” isn’t welcome) You can’t hide your height with makeup or shrink it with diet.

So, why are some people faced with these ‘imperfections’? Was God wrong in creating this man? Did he make a mistake? The man I described is my husband. He suffers with nearly constant social anxiety disorder. I have tried to explain to him that although he feels like it, he isn’t THAT tall, (I was raised in a family where this statement would be accurate - we are a pretty tall bunch) but it does no good. Nothing I can say makes him feel better about himself. I wish I could go back in time and see that point that my adolescent husband became so self-conscious of his physical height. I would encourage him to hold his head high. I would tell him how much this woman loves him and that he was exactly what I was praying for.

As a kid, I was really tall. I kinda felt different, but I guess I never realized how much taller I was than most of my classmates. As an adult I came across a picture of myself and the other winners of a jump-a-thon. I was a good head taller than any of them, including the boys. As I got older, I began to see my height as an issue. Like all teenage girls, i wanted a boyfriend. I wanted to be girly and be able to wear heels on a date without towering over the guy. Partly because I was incredibly awkward, partly because there weren’t a lot of guys to pick from in rural America and mostly because none of them were tall enough, I didn’t actually have my first boyfriend until I was in college. My first kiss was when I was 22. Yes, 2 out of the 3 guys I seriously dated before my husband were tall. (Of course)

As a began to near the end of my senior year of college I began to think of my future and to think and seriously pray about and for my future husband. I made a list that had over 30 qualifications that a guy had to fulfill in order to marry me. The very tip top one, under being a christian, was that he had to be tall. No just taller than average, but tall enough that my 5’10” frame would still be ‘short’ even if I wore my favorite heels (and I had quite the collection, including a fantastic pair of hot pink pointy heels with over 4” spikes - Oh, to be a college student again.)

When I first met my husband, I did notice his beautiful dark hair and eyes. I did notice his smile, etc. but the one thing that made those butterflies begin in my stomach was his height. I ended up checking off 90% of the boxes within the first few months, and was madly in love with him pretty quickly. One year and three months after we met we were married. He was (is) my idea of a perfect man. His height is very attractive to me. I love being able to be held by him and feel that I am little and protected in his arms. I love that I can lay my head on his shoulder (in that soft spot between the clavicle and shoulder) and I fit perfectly (that was actually on my list…) I love that my huge hands feel small and dainty in his.

He was made for me. God creates and molds people ‘for such a time as this’ and I believe that He knew exactly what he was doing when he made Cam. I prayed (and my family prayed) for him. As perfect as we are for each other, I’m not sure I would have given him a chance had he not met that very large and important requirement of being tall. My handsome hunky husband is literally the answer to my prayers - the fulfillment of one of my greatest desires.

Yet, that can not take away his struggle. So, DID God make a mistake? Let’s see: In Psalm 139:14 God says,“I am fearfully and wonderfully made." God tells us in Psalm 17, "I am the apple of His eye." In Deuteronomy 7:6, God tells us that we are "His treasured possession.” This more than clearly states that instead of being a mistake, my husband is one of God’s treasured possessions. He knew exactly what He was doing when he knitted Cameron together in his mother’s womb. He was not an accident.

God never does anything accidentally, and he never makes mistakes. He has a reason for everything he creates. Everything was planned by God, and every person was designed with a specific purpose in mind. God's motive for creating him was His love. The Bible says, Long before he laid down earth's foundations, he had us in mind. (Ephesians 1:4).

God made Cam for a reason, (and I like to think that was *partly* for me - what a wonderful thought!) and his life has profound meaning! Only by making God the center of our lives and surrendering our thoughts and insecurities to Him can we begin to understand it. "The only accurate way to understand ourselves is by what God is and by what he does for us.”(Romans 12:3)

...some days it is so bad, it seems my heart hurts so much that just taking a deep breath is difficult.

“Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”
~Carrie Fisher

I'm dealing with the ugly sin of jealousy right now. Man, I wish I could just leave it at the feet of Jesus and go on with my life, but sometimes it is SO hard.

At the moment I am (quite against my will) on prednisone for some mysterious allergic reaction that had me swollen and itchy and my face was basically one giant hive. The swelling has gone down thanks to the meds, but the crazy, madness inducing itchy hives are still there. That, with the nasty side effects of the drug have me at basically the worst version of myself. I'm fighting it, but today just isn't my day.

I have been a part of a mom's bible study for several months now and my son and I have loved getting to know the ladies and kids in it. We both look forward to our mornings with these people. Today we had a play date and despite feeling like a giant bloated blob, I went, knowing that Henry would have a blast with his fiends. Despite the headache and nausea I was fighting, I was even having a good time. I really love that I am able to show up with no makeup, a baggy T and yoga pants and I don't feel judged at all. Actually, I get looks of compassion and nods of comradery from fellow mamas who have all been there.

As I said, Jealousy - back to that. Today was not the day to have it raise it's ugly head. I was busy chasing after H, helping him climb up a jungle gym, and still trying to listen to the conversation I was forced to leave with the other parents. One of the moms subtilly announced her new pregnancy and was asking about the dynamic change with two vs. three kids. I knew she didn't think I heard, and she wasn't trying to keep it from me, but I was glad to have the excuse to pretend I hadn't heard her and just focus on my little guy for a while. Her oldest is only a few months older than Henry, and she has a baby who is only about 7 months old. She is pregnant again. Here is this person I have known for 11 years, we have many things in common, live much the same lives, etc. and yet, we are SO different. We all have our struggles, and I know that hers are just beginning. She has her hands more than full, and I'm sure she wishes some days she only had one little one to care for (only rarely though - she is a great mama to her beautiful little girls.) The other moms were talking, one holding her tiny new daughter (her 4th child - I also went to college with her and have known her for 11 years) another, a mom of 4 was there and then a dad who brought his kids because his wife was at an OB appointment (and she is nearing the end of her 4th pregnancy.) They all had something to add to the conversation, and I just felt a little at a loss.

This issue is SUCH a sensitive one for me that at any time it would've made me sad, but today, on the medicine that turns me into the wicked witch of the west, I couldn't handle it. Trying to keep up with Henry, force down my pre existent nausea and ignore my headache in the Oklahoma heat and humidity was hard enough, but the added gut punch of sudden onset jealousy was too much. I excused myself not long after that, using Henry's nap time and my being on meds as an excuse (both valid ones though.)

Why do I do this? Why do I get so hurt when those I am close to get these blessings? I am happy for them. I don't wish my issues on them, and I would never want to take their joy from them. So WHY the need to cry into or punch my pillow? 90% of the time I am happy to only have Henry. I am not sure I would want another baby at this point any way, and I am beginning to be ok with the possibility of having only one child. However, that dream of a big family and all those squishy babies is a hard one to push aside. Although it isn't, every time a friend announces a new pregnancy, I feel it is a slap in the face. It is them getting something I can never have. In the last year I have legitimately thought I was pregnant 2 times. I was more than two weeks late, and having all the early symptoms. I have even tested and both times it was negative, only to have my flow start the next day. I keep holding out for that miracle that medically is a complete impossibility.

This is my biggest area I struggle with. Any other area of life I am content with others being successful. If I truly wanted what they have, all I have to do is work hard enough, and want it bad enough and I can get it too if I desire it. However, no matter how much I hope and wish and pray, no matter how much I adjust our diets and environmental factors, infertility is still there, following us like a dark shadow. No matter how much money we make or don't make we can never create life on our own.

We have come to the difficult decision to not do IVF again. First, we can't even dream of affording it again, and we just don't think even if we could afford it that we should go that route. We are glad we did it with Henry and we will never regret that decision, but we don't think that forcing a second life into the world is the right path for us. Some day we might adopt or foster, but we haven't quite gotten to the point of a serious decision on that yet.

Most days I can be ok with the life I have been given. Most days I can use my story to help those who are struggling with similar issues. Most days I really don't even think about it honestly - it's just part of life for us. But some days it is so bad, it seems my heart hurts so much that just taking a deep breath is difficult. It is almost like when I hear of someone being pregnant that I loose my babies all over again. Every month I get a period and every negative test I take is a loss, but one I am not socially allowed to grieve. When will it stop hurting? When will I be able to be 100% happy for others and not have that lining of jealousy that poisons my joy for them?

This has been a crazy year of firsts. It has been a year of ups and downs, lots of snuggles and drying tears. It was the best and the worst year of my life. Anyone who has held their baby in their arms and rejoiced at their latest accomplishment while mourning for the quickly passing time knows what I am talking about. I will admit that finding the balance of the two, and not letting myself be depressed has been incredibly hard. I had a conversation with my husband last night, and it went something like this: "So, are all moms like this, and the dads are forced to be the only normal ones?" I laughed and told him "Absolutely."

Mom brain is real. Before having my son, I responded differently to things. I had myself to worry about and that was it. Yeah, there were others in my life, but they were not 100% dependent on me. I could care for them, but I was not their caretaker. Jessica had a good idea of her boundaries and her dislikes and likes. She knew who she was and was comfortable being herself. She could let some things roll off her back that bothered her and ignore other things going on around her. She saw life through a filter she had developed over 28 years. Then comes Mom. Mom is an infant herself. Mom has never experienced any of these firsts either. Mom may be the most educated she has ever been in her life (Because, of course, Jessica can't make a decision without reading at least 3 articles of varying sources and points of view on the subject) and while she is confident in her abilities, she is also the most scared she has ever been. Mom is not as much scared of sickness, etc. but of doing things right. She is scared of the world her son will grow up in. She has nightmares of the future and what her son will experience. Every aspect of Mom's life, including what should be in the 'Jessica' category is affected by 'mom brain'. Mom is seeing through a filter that is new to her. Mom is facing decisions and having thoughts that Jessica never even dreamed of. Mom is testing and experimenting with her boundaries, trying to find out what they are. The hardest part is that just as she thinks she has found them, the child she loves and is concerned about up and changes on her, and all her work has to be reevaluated. To top it all off, Jessica is struggling with mom's new body, etc. Mom lives on coffee and string cheese. Mom has not slept through the night in over a year. Jessica took for granted her alone time and mom is thrilled to just get to use the bathroom alone. It is exhausting. Mom rarely lets Jessica take command, not because she is controlling, but because she always has to be 'on'. Only mom truly knows what 24/7 means.

Sometimes I miss Jessica. Sometimes, I let her come out when the baby is asleep. Yesterday, while the baby was napping, I sat on the couch in my filthy house (seriously, it was BAD) and ate popcorn and watched TV. I could 'hear' mom yelling at Jessica to get up and do the dishes and decide what to make for dinner. She begged to take advantage of the quiet time to get her job done, but Jessica won out. Someday I know that Mom will get the hang of things, and Jessica will be able to shine through more often, but right now, Mom is the star. I think that this is normal. I think that the 'mama bear' part of all of us is what keeps our species alive. This is a season, and it is a relatively short one. (Mom has only been around for less than a year, and she is already giving Jessica gray hair) Mom will never disappear, she is here to stay, but she will not always get to be the one running things. Life will change again, and her child will grow and become more independent. She will have to constantly evolve and find a way to be ok with it. Mom will never stop experiencing firsts, and she will always mourn for time passed.

The 'mom filter' is one I cherish. It's the filter that allows me to read the Tractor book 15 times in a row, (The Jessica filter would love to throw it across the room, or maybe burn it.) It allows me to cook dinner or clean the house with a child literally hanging off of me. Mom isn't just my new job, it is who I am. It is impossible to separate 'Jessica' and 'Mom'. While I dreamed of being Mom all my life, actually experiencing being mom has been different than I expected. Not worse, not better, just different. Even when I was pregnant, my expectations and plans were far from what reality actually held for me. I had an idea of what my mom filter would be, and I thought it was actually pretty strong, but my son was born, and that filter shattered. I have since been developing it every day this entire year. Things I thought would matter to me are inconsequential. Things that never occurred to me before are vitally important. Relationships and boundaries that were fine, or tolerated by Jessica have had to be evaluated and dealt with as Mom. Nothing is the same. This makes life a bit difficult for the "normal" dad and others around this new mom. I understand that and acknowledge that, but it does not change, cheapen or diminish the mom filter and the decisions and boundaries it develops.

One thing that I think all new moms would like people to understand is that despite all the advice, and the love being shown (or piled on) them, they are going to do what is right for them, and their family. Your experiences, filers and boundaries are valid, but they are not that of this new mom. Your love and support may be well meaning, but be given in a way or in an amount that infringes on the boundaries of the new mom. You may look at her child and want to bond with it or spend as much time with it as possible, but that new mom is not concerned with that. Your feelings in relation to her child are not her primary concern. She knows that those things, your relationship and bonding, etc. will come with time. Right now, it's her turn.

Luckily, this mom has a very awesome "normal" dad to parent with and he understands the struggle between who I am and who I was. He understands that although I have managed to keep our son alive for a year, and I am gaining control of the mom part of my life, it is all still relatively new to me. He understands that this tiny little human that is under my (our) care means more to me than my own life, and that I would do anything to protect and to take care of him. The mom filter is not perfect. She over reacts and maybe sets boundaries based on perception more than reality. (although, some would argue that one's perception is their reality, but that is getting deeper than I want to go with this post) She knows this. She struggles with this. Fear not and hang in there. If you respect these boundaries, and don't push them. If you allow this new mom to work things out and not break down the walls and supports she is building, she will make an opening. There will be a gate in her fence, and she will find ways to let you in. However, if you trespass, if you take for granted how much of 'Jessica' is left in 'Mom' and trample her walls, it is going to be difficult for you to go through those inevitable gates. Just because something is this way right now does not mean that it will forever be this way.

I would love for my son to stay a little baby, but every day he grows and changes. Those snuggles are being replaced with exploring his world and learning and growing. Time is going by far too quickly and I am doing my best to cope with it.

"Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it." ~Sara Gruen, Water for Elephants

Wow, it has been a while since I have posted. I have had a crazy life since Henry was born! I have not completely disappeared though. I've been writing posts over at Grammy's Essentials.

I don't want to sound like a broken record, I promise I do other things besides worry about my reproductive health, but it plays a big role in my life. I try not to make it my only topic of conversation with my friends and family, so this blog has pretty much become my safe place to help me think through my emotions on the subject.

It has been a really stressful couple of weeks for me. Just before Christmas I began to have some symptoms of pregnancy. Now, as we have learned, everything can be a sign of pregnancy, and it's SO frustrating. First of all, I skipped my period. That's a pretty sure fire sign of pregnancy. I was moody, extremely tired, headaches, thick discharge (TMI) and the list goes on. I couldn't tell if my boobs were sore or not because I'm still nursing my 13 month old. I didn't tell Cam anything until I was almost a week overdue, I really hadn't thought about it and then I had a lightbulb moment... WAIT... what's going on here?! Cameron and I were not trying to conceive, so it was a complete surprise. It was also an amazing miracle. I mean, if I were pregnant, we would have defied the odds and done the impossible. We were never supposed to be able to conceive on our own.

Once we realized it was an actual possibility that I was pregnant we began to dream and make plans. We talked about how we would change the nursery to accommodate two kids. We talked about what names we would use, and what kind of delivery we wanted. We were both floating on air. Who are we that we were blessed like this? No, we were not exactly ready for another baby, but we were not going to complain.

We decided not to test until after the New Year. That week between realizing I had missed my period and testing seemed SO long. three, four, five days passed, still no sign of Aunt flow. By the time I tested on January 1, I was pretty confident about the outcome. I was almost smug about it. I was just testing for confirmation, because I was pregnant. I peed on the stick and then left the room. I could not sit there are watch it for three minutes. Cam, Henry and I were all brushing our teeth in our bathroom and Cam kept going to the hall bath to see if there were any results yet. I would peek into the door, hoping to read his expression and get the answer I wanted. We were worse than kids on Christmas morning.

As excited and happy as we were one minute, we were equally deflated the next. The test was negative. To go from being absolutely sure you have been part of a miracle to suddenly being pulled back into reality is numbing. I went into my typical defense mode and shut the world off. Cam went into his and began to make rules about the future, "If this ever happens again, I do not want to know about it. I can't stand thinking the best for so long and then being disappointed." Of course, this hurt me, but I know he didn't mean to, and he was hurting too.

It was a miserable day. In an effort to distract ourselves, we started the new year out right and cleaned out a room in the house. It was a great diversion, but could not last long. Before the day was over, I had managed to regain some hope (admittedly with the help of google.) Maybe it was just too early still. That's it, the test was a false negative, and we are pregnant after all. We will test again in a few days. Ever the optimist, I ignored what I knew was the truth and continued to cling to the faintest whisp of hope that I could still be pregnant.

As the days went on I was still having symptoms, including nausea and extreme fatigue. Yesterday, the 4th, I ran errands all day and did some grocery shopping. I was so nauseous in Walmart that I wanted to run out. (JUST like my first pregnancy - that was the first and nearly only aversion I had - Walmart) Feeling positive about my increasing symptoms, I purchased more tests. This time it would work.

I know you are supposed to test in the morning, but that is for very early testing. If you are as far along as I should have been (last period was November 20th, so I would have been almost a month and a half along) a test taken at any time should get the desired results. So, I tested. It was just before bed, and I did sit there and watch it for the whole three minutes. Negative. I was in disbelief, but resigned to it. I just ignored it and continued with my bedtime routine. Cam came in and looked at it and then threw it away for me. No words were spoken, and that was the only acknowledgment that the test was even taken. What was there to say?

This morning I woke up with the worst headache I have had in a very long time. I was miserable. I prayed that Henry would take pity on me and sleep in much later than normal. He didn't. I took care of him and got him his breakfast. While he was occupied I went to the restroom where I immediately discovered why I was feeling so badly. I had begun my cycle. After so long waiting for it, here it was, ugly and raw.

I find it poetic that a tale of heartbreak would end with a bloody, gooey mess. The very thing that is the promise of fertility is to me, the mocking cry of infertility. I am having trouble wrapping my head around why my body would betray me like this.