Tag: babies

Three and fabulous

Happy birthday, Darcy

In some ways, I cannot believe that Darcy will be three tomorrow. That she has been earth side for three whole years–the most life-changing three years of my life. Parents, you understand this feeling. These children drop into your life and consume it so completely. Don’t get me wrong, you still have your own things going on, but nearly every single activity is impacted by this new, tiny person. And it stays that way, I think forever. So in that way, I can totally believe it’s been three years because sometimes the days are freaking long, man. This past Sunday lasted approximately 92 years, of this I am certain. I thought about writing Ben a “Goodbye, Good luck, and Godspeed” note because it should have been bedtime, but it was actually 11:00 a.m., and I just could not mom anymore. And in the same moment, I remember this night, the night before you were born, so very clearly.

Darcy. Girl, you are unique. I know everyone says that about their child, but you really are. You make expressions with your face that you just shouldn’t make out loud. If you don’t think something is funny, you aren’t going to laugh or fake laugh. You can glare and mean-mug like a champion, and it can be so embarrassing, but you are you, girl. You also belly laugh and smile so big that your eyes close. You love to run and play with your friends. You are O-B-S-E-S-S-E-D with Shabbat. You love it so much, and Friday is your favorite day of the week, fo sho. You demand the Hamotzi before every meal, and you cover your eyes when we light candles, even if they’re just scented candles because Libby stinks. Also, you love bossing Libby around–to any new readers, Libby is my “single girl” Westie that is now almost 9 years old. You are in love with the color blue, and want blue everything. You were so sweet the other night and asked me to make blue waffles. I felt like a superior, fun mom, and I made my baby girl some blue waffles.  Then you threw up blue waffles all over my couch. Fun times. 😑

You love baby Clark so much.  You call him “baby Cwark” or “my baby.” The other day I heard him crying (rare) and saw that you were dragging him by his legs to your room to “pway wif me.” I mean, obviously I had to rescue him, but the sentiment was truly precious. You love him and defend him so well. You love to read him books and make up new stories and songs for him. Your daddy has always sung a special goodnight song and good morning song, and now you sing them to Clark at ear-splitting decibels. It’s got to be a rough way to wake up, but he is so in love with you and lights up when he sees you.

You. Are. Sassy. The other day I told you that you were not listening to me and you hissed, “I IZ yistening!” You totally weren’t, and you got reprimanded for back-talking, but inwardly I laughed a lot.

This morning after Daddy left for work, you looked at me and said, “Mama, Daddy picked this out” while pointing to your dress.

Me: “Yes, he sure did.”

You: “Daddy. Picked. This. Out.”

Me: “Oh. I see. You want to change?”

You: “Yes. I not yike this.”

You tell me to “hear it up” when you want the volume to the radio louder. You call lemonade “lemma-lade.” You love to bake, and turn into such a little hostess when the cookies are ready. You want to serve and serve (and serve) all of the cookies before you start eating one. “Chicken filly A” (Chik-fil-a), waffles, and anything chocolate are your favorite foods. Sack is still your main man when it comes to lovies, and you love to read books and run.

You have been so excited to turn three, and you’re going to have a big, blue cookie monster party this weekend. We are going to start your birthday tomorrow with “benny-yays” at Coffee Call, and I just cannot wait to celebrate you, my Darcela.

Darcy-girl, I just love your toddler-speak. I love your sass. I love your sweet heart. I love you. I will never recover from falling in love with you, and I cannot wait to see what’s up ahead. Happy birthday, baby.

 

 

I dropped my basket, and it feels pretty good

A baby Clark update

In early December, I was feeling pretty great about life. I had finished the semester with A’s and survived the hardest months of my life. I had run the St. Jude 10K, celebrated Clark’s first birthday, and relaxed for a few days. At the end of that week, I took both Darcy and Clark to the doctor. Darcy had been diagnosed with an ear infection 2 weeks earlier and needed her follow-up appointment to ensure that the infection cleared.  I had also scheduled Clark’s hearing screen since he got new tubes in his ears. So, it should have gone 1)hearing screen 2) doctors appointment. It’s all in the same building, so whatever. Needless to say, we barely made it on time, and then had to pay our entire balance before we could see anyone, even though we were on a payment plan. Alrighty then, that sucked, moving on to the hearing screen! Clark failed. “After 3 failed screenings and previously failed ABR, it could be that he just has conductive hearing loss. It may be permanent and we need another ABR test to confirm because early intervention is necessary if he is in fact, deaf.”

Y’all. I started crying right then. I was just so upset that after multiple tests and two sets of tubes that Clark might actually be deaf to some degree. It just seemed too much. But we still had a full morning, so I went downstairs to his pediatrician’s office. Darcy’s ear infection had not cleared. 10 more days of antibiotics. I had some concerns about Clark’s chest wall and requested imaging. The doctor agreed that his chest deformity was not looking like the pectus excavatum we originally thought he had. So we went to x-ray and waited an hour for them to say the physician never put in the order. Waited 30 more minutes, and got the x-ray.

Holy shit. It was an effing nightmare. Clark has multiple fused vertebrae, fused ribs, and significant deformities. If you’ll remember…in the NICU after Clark was born we had a similar x-ray result followed by an MRI that was “normal.” I questioned it and the neonatologist at the time. He reiterated that the MRI was conclusive, that it was normal, and no follow-up was needed. If I ever see him again I will “accidentally” trip him, help him up, and stick a “Kick me” sign on his back because he is an idiot. We truly believed Clark had been healed. But he wasn’t. 

I won’t even try to tell you what kind of shape I was in because it was ugly. Ever since we had Clark’s 20-week ultrasound back in August of 2017, I’ve felt like I was holding this giant, heavy basket full of stuff. As time went on, and we got bad labs or missed developmental milestones, I would readjust the load and occasionally drop an item causing me to lament my ineptitude. On this day, though? I dropped the whole damn thing. I was so angry that everything I had prayed for and believed was wrong. What was the point of it all? Why believe, why trust in God when it doesn’t even make a difference? When it doesn’t change the one thing I would die to make better?

And that’s how I learned my hardest lesson I’ve learned so far. My faith was weak. It was dependent on the outcome. And when that outcome wasn’t what I wanted, my faith was crushed and my hope disappeared. Luckily, I had supportive friends and family members that dropped some truth bombs, “Our Lord is so much more than a being that is there to help life go right….when evil causes something terrible in our life, God promises ultimate good for those who love him and keep his commands. But this is not a promise for those without faith.”

And…I’m better. I am enjoying life more than I have in over a year because I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop–it already did.  I am still apprehensive of the future, but for the first time since August 2017, I’ve stopped actively fighting this thing because it’s a fight that cannot be won. We have a genetics appointment scheduled for Clark at the end of this month, and the bigger, stronger part of me knows that the only way I can help Clark at all is to have all the information. And that requires stepping out into the really bright light, so that no thing is left in the dark. It may mean that we get a diagnosis that’s hard to accept, or  it could just raise new questions. Either way, I know it will be okay because Clark will be who he is meant to be.

On another note, Clark’s ABR testing was normal and he can hear, and I will straight up refuse another hearing screen because they are useless and upsetting. His neurosurgery appointment and ENT appointments have been uneventful and “good.” He’s getting stronger and making some really great progress with therapy. Darcy is sassy and funny and sweet and sour. School is hard, but I graduate in December and it is my motivation to keep on, keeping on. We are truly living our best lives these days. It may be a while between updates because life is busy. As always, we are thankful for your prayers as we continue on the journey towards a diagnosis. Love to all ❤️

 

 

The “Girls’” trip

No boys allowed. Not even Clark

I always question people who say they are not close to their siblings. Like, why? I’ve already shared my love letter to my brother, but I also have two older sisters, and I talk to them all the time. Every summer, my mom, 2 sisters, sometimes my sister-in-law Lakon, our combined 4 daughters, and I go on a beach trip. We first started this tradition when my eldest sister was in high school, and then it was interrupted for a few years while she and my other sister were in college, med school, grad school, etc. Basically they were too busy building their fabulous lives to go on vacation with me. Those bitches 🙄.

The girls’ trip. No boys are allowed. Not even tiny ones. I mean, think about it. Guys always want to do things on beach trips instead of just relax. Also chicken salad and fruit aren’t enough to satisfy them for lunch. So, basically they aren’t allowed to come and poop all over our trip. Seat’s taken, you can’t sit with us, bye Felicia 👋

Anyway, when Katie (#1) was pregnant with her first baby, we started up the tradition again. We stayed in a hotel on that trip, and Katie was all, “I’m cool, no worries. Y’all can watch TV while I sleep. It won’t bother me!” Five minutes later, the room next to us was being a little loud. She shoots up out of bed, grabs her slipper from the floor and begins smacking the wall, “BE QUIET!!!” She promptly lay back down with her eyes closed. Anna (#2) and my mom and I exchanged glances, turned off the TV, and wordlessly went to sleep at 7 pm 🤫. No one wanted that wrath (or slipper) directed at them.

We’ve since mostly stayed in condos, occasionally hotels, and most recently at my parents’ new beach house. We eat chick food, are supremely lazy, and laugh a lot.

One year, we were staying at a condo in Gulf Shores, and my niece chunked her baby doll’s pacifier off the balcony. She then cried and cried for it because toddlers are rational. We looked for ages, but never found that one. Then there was the year that Lakon had to dig a belly hole in the sand to accommodate her very pregnant belly. Then there was the year Katie took a muscle relaxer for her janky neck before playing cards and just got stupid. Probably the only time I’ve been able to beat her because she was literally moving in slow motion. I’ll never beat Anna. She’s a freak and can play a whole deck. Ugh, and last year I was about 11 weeks pregnant with Clark, and Darcy wasn’t walking yet. Toting her and our beach gear while I was miserably ill was awful, so Anna and Mom did the grunt work on that trip. Also Darcy was basically just miserable on that trip. She was demanding (surprise, surprise), and hated the beach after about 30 minutes. We tried to make it more bearable with a baby pool for her to play in. My sister Anna had to blow that bad boy up and ultimately it did nothing to convince Darcy that the sand and water were not the devil. Anna still bitches about that.

This year, we had our first stay in my parent’s new beach house. It is just beautiful, and I swear we had the best time! I should mention that Katie is a gourmet chef. Seriously, she is amazing and everything that we ate was sublime. My favorite was a sea bass dish she made. Also she mixes fabulous cocktails, and I was the only one to benefit because Anna is pregnant and my mom doesn’t drink at all. Katie and I also took the kids crabbing one night, and it was hysterical. Katie’s daughter is a beast at catching things and crabs are no exception. Anna’s kids–not so much (God bless ’em), but seeing all of them chase after those crabs was hilarious. We then took the golf cart off-roading. Not exactly intentionally, but memorable all the same. I really haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.

Anna has had a difficult pregnancy and doesn’t need to carry anything but herself, so Mavis, Katie and I carried all our gear to and from the beach each day. This wasn’t a problem until one afternoon where Darcy decided she needed to be carried across the sand. I told her, “No.” Cue the full-on meltdown. She screamed from our spot on the beach all the way to the boardwalk. We passed by a tent of people laughing and they pointed to her and said, “Does she happen to be about two?” “Uh, yes. How ever could you guess?” They just laughed and said, “Darcy, what’s wrong?” Darcy cut them an evil look and continued to sob. But guess what? The next day when I told her no, she didn’t cry (as much). So, I’m counting that as a win. 

My mom plans all these precious parties for the girls during the trip. She picks a theme for every night and it was just the cutest thing. The first night was a barn party, the second, a unicorn party, and the final night was a pink pirate party complete with a scavenger hunt. It was so much fun! The adults had just as much fun as the little girls. My mom really is amazing. She cares about all the little details and makes everything so special. She’s always been that way, and I strive to make similar memories with my babies.

Ladies, if you weren’t so fortunate to be born into a girl-tribe, then you’ve gotta make your own. Pick your friends and hold them close. Go on the beach trip. Help your girl out when she is big and pregnant and basically useless, and forgive them when they’re being a bitch (never me). Cook the amazing food and laugh at each others kids when they faceplant during a tantrum. Go off-roading with the golf cart. Make fun of each others hairy arms and talk about everything from Jesus to snissing to sex and all topics that fall in between. You can google snissing if you don’t know what it means, but if you’ve had a child then you’ve experienced it.

If you were born into a girl tribe, then you are lucky. Super lucky. Foster that relationship and love each other hard. Just because you aren’t close now doesn’t mean you can’t build that relationship into something worth having. Look, I love my sisters, but I definitely still argue with them. For instance, two weeks before the beach trip I told Katie she was uncompassionate and sucked at being a sister. Three days later, I apologized and told her that I knew I was actually being crazy, but she still sucked and was old AF. It’s all about balance, you see. I love these women so much. I mean, they’re control freaks and judgmental and not nearly as funny as I am (God bless ’em), but I love them and couldn’t imagine my life without them. I am #blessed.

Results?

And my crappy Lazarus analogy

Negative. Mayo Clinic has deemed the results negative, but did acknowledge an elevated level of glycosaminoglycans. They believe this to be from contamination, or could be a sign of some other disorder. So though the answer is not a perfect and resounding “NO!” it is more of a “Almost assuredly and mostly no.”

You would think I would have jumped for joy, but instead I felt immediate fear. What if the elevated levels mean that he actually does have Hurlers?! What if we have to repeat this test?! I CANNOT WAIT AGAIN! I will kill myself. I will jump in front of a bus. I will die because I cannot take one more ounce of stress. These thoughts were immediately followed by more fear that by me saying ‘I can not take any more’ that I was issuing a challenge to God to give me more pain and anguish to prove that I can take it. Cynical, I know.

I put too much faith in science and logic and exactness. Jesus knows that about me, and He wants me to trust in Him whatever the outcome, and I struggle with that–with saying, “Whatever the outcome, I love and trust in You.” Because a part of me, the sinful part, does not feel that way. I love Jesus when I receive His blessings and goodness, and I often lose faith in Him when “it’s not fair.” Jesus knows this about me. So, I believe He gave me a lab result that wasn’t quite perfect. And I reacted predictably–in simultaneous relief and despair.

I am reminded of John 11 account of Lazarus. Jesus loved Lazarus and knew he was very, very sick. Despite this, Jesus stayed where he was for 2 days and said (paraphrased), “This will not end in death, but this will be for God’s glory, and God’s Son will be glorified through this.”

Y’all. Lazarus died. He had been dead for 4 days by the time Jesus came into town. Lazarus’ sister Mary told him,”If you had been here, Lazarus wouldn’t have died!” And then Jesus opens the tomb of a dead man, tells him to get up, and he DOES! Like a mummy, Lazarus walks up out of the tomb. Seriously on the mummy part. John 11:44 says his hands and feet and face were wrapped in cloth 😱

What I’m trying to say, and probably failing at, is that God rarely gives me expedient, nice, and tidy answers. He gives me halfway answers, prolonged waiting times, and frustrating questions. I forget that an answer of “maybe” is not the same as a hard “no,” and sometimes I forget to be grateful for that. Jesus is working for something huge, here. Bigger than huge, even. My despair is caused by putting my faith in the world instead of the One who created it. Shame on me. Jesus is healing my baby. I’ve seen proof of it over and over again, and I still doubt. And today, He answered our prayers. Thank you for your prayers. I am blessed beyond measure by those who love and pray for me and my baby.

Clark is an overcomer, and we are mighty when we unite in prayer. Love to all ❤️

EDIT: I was hesitant to submit this update because my pediatrician wanted to talk to geneticist to clarify the confusing results. I decided to believe in the negative result. I pressed submit and my pediatrician called me immediately. He said that the Mayo Clinic geneticist said the elevated level was from craniosynostosis and NOT Mucopolysaccharidosis. You will never convince me that wasn’t Jesus. 😭👏🏻🙌🏼❤️

The DMV, phone murder, and “Sh”

Boring occurrences in my newly boring life. Thank God for that!

Four years ago, I went to the DMV in Christiansburg, Va. I needed to get a license with my new married name, so that I could update my nursing license and have everything consistent. It was as bad or worse than any DMV in Mississippi. They wouldn’t accept my proof of address. I brought the envelope the Social Security Administration sent when they sent my updated social security card. Rejected. Apparently it wasn’t as official as the AT&T bill that was sent to my house with my name on it. The one I had to get out of line (after waiting 1.5 hours) and drive back home for, come back with, take another number, wait another 1.5 hours, and THEN hand to the dragon lady who approved it right way. Le sigh.

Anyway, since that lovely experience, I have successfully avoided the DMVs in Ohio and Louisiana…until this week. It was time for me to become a Louisianan, and that’s hard for this girl. Because I kinda resist belonging to anywhere new. Anywhere other than my little hometown. When people ask me where I’m from, I always say, “Well, originally I’m from a small town in North Mississippi, but I live in *insert Virginia/Ohio/Lousiana* now.” So maybe that’s part of it.

Nah. Let’s be honest, it’s mostly that the DMV is the devil’s playground. Filled with long lines, screaming children, coughing adults, and DMV employees ready to deny your paperwork and send you to the back of a line stretched all the way out to freaking Serbia. I was a big girl, though. I went. I got all of my paperwork together the night before and reserved my mother-in-law to watch Clark for the morning. I was going to get there well before opening (8:00), so I could be first in line. Then life happened. Clark took a long time to nurse that morning, the Clark drop-off took a little while, and I made a wrong turn on the way to the DMV. So, when I pull up it is 8:05 and there is already a line, 40 people deep wrapped around the entrance, and an additional 20 people seated on the waiting area having already checked in. Mother eff. That is exactly how I planned for things NOT to go.

From there it was actually pretty uneventful. I checked in, waited an hour and 15 minutes, almost had my proof of address rejected, then finally obtained my new drivers license. Honestly it could have been way worse. It was very boring though, because I didn’t have my electronic companion to distract me. You, see my new(ish) iPhone had suddenly stopped working. Yeah, it said “No service.” No matter what. This happened one month earlier and I had to pay a small fortune to upgrade early and get a new iPhone. And now this new phone that was crapping out in the exact same way as the old one did a month ago. I left the DMV and took it to Sprint where they told me that Apple had probably killed my phone. The second phone in a month. She told me to take it Apple to get it fixed. Ugh. So off to the Apple store I go where I signed in, walked over to the food court and got a pretzel and then came back to talk with some Apple person at the “Genius Bar.” 🙄

You see, I am so not into the hipster, blue ponytail, tech-savvy thing. Look, if mermaid hair is your thing, I don’t judge. I’m just not a very dubstep-listening, bohemian dress-wearing, free-bleeding,  hookah-smoking individual. I mean, I still don’t even know what the Cloud is much less what it actually does. And I have an iPod nano. And I wore the worst pair of mom jeans in college when you’re supposed to look totally hot. So, I’m not a trendy, “with it” person. So, the Apple store is like my personal hell because I have zero tattoos, and all I know is more gigabytes means more pictures of my dog and kids.

Anyway, they confirmed I had yet another dead phone, and then told me they had to send it off to Apple. They were going to give me a loaner phone for the meantime. Unfortunately the first two loaner phones wouldn’t cooperate with my SIM card. “Wow. That’s unusual,” Apple hipster said. “Um not for me. This kind of stuff always happens to me. I’m the black widow of electronics and technology,” I joked. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Be positive! It’s not your fault. I will help you until you have a phone. Don’t blame yourself,” He replied very seriously. Soooo it was awkward because obviously he just didn’t get me and apparently thought I was something close to suicidal because he called over 2 other associate hipsters to help with my SIM and “soothe” me? It was strange. Whatever, man. Thanks for helping me out. I will be sure to be very serious when I pick up my phone–no black widow jokes.🤐

So there. I adulted hard by going to the DMV, Sprint, and the Apple store all in one day. Give me a cookie! My kids are the most fun lately.

Darcy talks non-stop and she puts an “sh” sound for s’s. So, cheese becomes “cheesh,” mouse becomes “moush,” etc. My favorite is applesauce or “appashosh.” She also LOVES to be bossy. Like she yells, “No! No!” at Libby while Libby is asleep on the couch doing nothing. She has started majorly stalling when it’s bedtime. Her nighttime routine: We always read 2 books, let her turn on her fan, say goodnight to the other parent and baby, rock for a while, then bed. Now she has to say goodnight to the other parent and baby and Libby and the TV and the lamp and the couch and the dust bunnies (for real) and/or whatever other object she feels like saying “night-night” to. Lately, she also has to “wash” her hands in her play-kitchen sink before rocking to sleep. It’s just funny to watch her stall. She’s officially obsessed with baby cock. Yeahhh. She’s changed from calling him baby *clicking noise* to calling him “baybee cock.” I mean, it’s not a sound, but does it have to be slang for penis?! 🤷‍♀️Whatever, man. It is pretty funny.

Clark is recovering from his surgery very well! He’s sleeping well, and eating well, and honestly you wouldn’t know he even had surgery except for the incisions on his head. He’s a velcro-baby though, just like Darcy. He NEEDS to be held 24/7 by me. Which is awesome except I need my bath at night to be away from the world and lately he’s totally screwing with that. I guess I’ll keep him anyway. SO that’s what’s new in my world. Pretty boring. I’m aware of that. But after the last few months, boring is nice. Love to all!

Coffee, neurosurgery, and the ability to hear

My second go-round with craniosynostosis

I didn’t prepare much.

With Darcy’s surgery, I prepared for days in advance. I bought the snap up/zip up onesies, I packed multiple bags, I gathered snacks, etc. This time I just couldn’t because I knew better. I can prepare all I want, but ultimately it doesn’t relieve my anxiety. Knowing Jesus is in control, and that “it is what it is,” tends to outweigh the fact that I packed the perfect onesie and have quarters for the vending machines.

The Friday before surgery we had baby Clark’s pre-op blood work done. Within an hour, the ENT’s nurse called me and said that his hemoglobin levels were low-8.7 and his wbc were low-4.6. Basically this means that Clark is anemic, and going into surgery, it’s not great to be anemic because this surgery involves significant blood loss, blah blah. We went back to the lab for a redraw to confirm results, and his pediatrician told us the surgery would likely be cancelled.

Agh.

I was so disappointed, and I called the neurosurgeon to see what the plan was. Her nurse told me, “Yes, *Dr. Whosit wanted me to tell you…Clark is anemic.” I said, “Yeah that’s what I’ve heard. When should we reschedule the surgery.” Confused she replied, “The surgery is still on. Dr. Whosit says it’s perfectly safe to proceed! Now, when they place the tubes in his ears, if they find ANY pus or evidence of infection, the neurosurgery will be cancelled because of the risk of cross-contamination. Until then, the surgery is scheduled to proceed as planned.”

Mavis (aka “mom”) came to Baton Rouge Sunday afternoon for support, and to take care of Darcy the night(s) we spent in the hospital. We ate Mexican and tried not to think much about the following day.

We woke up the morning of the surgery, ate chocolate croissants because they are delicious (thank you Trader Joes), drank all the coffee, played with Darcy, and took her to school as usual. We then turned around and headed to the hospital. Now, the surgery took place at the hospital I used to work in. I still work for that health system because the school nurse program is a subsidiary of their children’s hospital. Anyway, it was comforting to have the surgery take place there because it feels like home in that hospital. The people are great there, it’s a great hospital, and there is a CC’s located inside the hospital, so obviously that’s perfect. For non-Louisianans, CC’s is Louisiana’s Starbucks.

We got there, checked in, immediately finished up registration stuff, and then proceeded to Clark’s pre-op room. I’m pretty certain it was the same pre-op room Darcy was in. We changed him into his gown, new blood work was drawn to check his hemoglobin levels, and we played with the happiest baby we know. We met with his ENT, the neurosurgeon, and anesthesiologist for last minute surgical conversations and final consent forms. Signing the consent form sucked because I had to discuss possible outcomes for the surgery which included: hemorrhage, stroke, and death. Then I signed the consent form anyway, and we wheeled my little one down the hallway to the sterile hallway. They stopped the crib and told us this was the stopping point. I bent down, laid my hands on him and prayed that Jesus would protect him. Then I kissed his cheek and watched him roll away.

Within about 10 minutes, the ENT came out and said she was finished. She said she placed the tiniest tubes she had ever used. There was fluid behind each eardrum, but more significant was that one ear canal was completely plugged with vernix. Vernix is the cheesy looking stuff on babies’ skin when they are born. Somehow his ear canal got plugged up with it! There was no pus, so the neurosurgery could proceed.

Being flu season, there are signs EVERYWHERE throughout the hospital saying to go home if you have any symptoms of being sick. People, however, are inconsiderate idiots. There was a man in the waiting room coughing every 2 minutes. Without covering his mouth. It was that rattling, disgusting cough and I went to the desk to request a mask to throw in his face, but they were “out.” I couldn’t just sit there and get tuberculosis, so I went up to my old unit to see my old coworkers most of whom had been sending me encouraging texts already because they are so wonderful. When I get up there, they give me the sweetest card, a gift card to CC’s, and this walking dog toy that Darcy is completely obsessed with. I nearly cried. There really is no friendship like nursing friendships. I mean how many people will willingly help you place a flexiseal before going to lunch? Google that if you dare. Anyway, God really does place people in your life for specific reasons. I love them all.
An hour or so passed and I got a phone call from the OR. The surgeon was coming out to speak with me, and I needed to go sit in the conference room. Wow. It seemed too soon for them to be finished, and that was scary. Had there been a complication?
Both neurosurgeons walked in with big smiles and said that they were finished, it went perfectly, and the little booger was headed to the PACU! Clark required a big blood transfusion and FFP (fresh frozen plasma), but he was doing well and should be extubated (breathing tube removed) shortly.

Within 30 minutes we got to see little man in the PACU. He was so precious and sweet and perfect. He had the tiniest nasal cannula delivering oxygen to his little nostrils. One of my nurse friends came to the PACU to see me and it was so good to hug her neck! They transferred him to the PICU, and we went up to see him. Now that he was uncovered, I could see that he had 2 IVs, an art line, and a foley.

He was still requiring some oxygen but only 2L. I tried to nurse him, but he was completely gorked from anesthesia and too sleepy. A few hours later, he did nurse and it was good to hold him. I occupied myself with discovering Apple Music which is a BRAND NEW THING in my world 😲
My old coworkers, friends, and family can tell you that I am not tech savvy. At all. I still have an iPod nano. No music has been downloaded onto that bad boy since 2012. I listen to burned cd’s from high school and college on car trips. I had an Iphone4s forever. Like with the old-style charger that no one had when I was working 12-hour shifts. It was a dinosaur and I couldn’t even download the iPhone updates. So, now I have a semi-current iPhone and just discovered that for $4.99 a month, you can have unlimited downloads. What?! So yeah, I spent the next few hours downloading music while baby Clark slept, and Ben worked on homework.

The night came. And we had one very *awesome* recliner to share. I was exhausted, but every time I almost fell asleep, Ben would move or sigh or do something else equally aggravating. Finally, I told him if he moved again, I might kill him. So, he got up and went to the rocking chair that sounded like a cat getting its tail chopped off whenever the chair was rocked/moved even a fraction of an inch. Yeah. Not happening. I made Ben come back to the recliner, and he and I lay opposite of one another. Like my feet in his face vice versa. We fit much better than way and got some sleep. I woke up at one point because Clark was stirring, and his heart rate kept jumping to 130+. I nursed him, changed his diaper, and requested pain medication. He calmed down and slept well.

The next morning, the surgeons rounded and said that if Clark’s pain was controlled and he ate, pooped, and peed then he could go home! She asked us to pick him up and handle him well to see if pain was going to be an issue. We gave him some Tylenol, and he was just fine! Cooing and eating and playing. Better still, he could HEAR!

We left early afternoon, went home, and napped.
Two days later, and Clark is doing so well. He gets a little restless, but with medicine, snuggles, and lots of kisses, he is just fine. He will have his first helmet appointment tomorrow afternoon. They’ll measure his head and get him all fitted for his new accessory. He should have it within the next week or two. It’s been night and day from Darcy’s surgery, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Clark has had minimal pain, a short hospital stay, and wonderful care. My family and friends have been more than supportive, and I cannot thank them enough. Love to all ❤

I am perfect. Except when I’m not.

We can all agree that there are some days that we just KILL it. We are warriors. We are multi-taskers. We dust all the surfaces, and plan full, hearty meals. We can wear white shirts and not spill on them. Unstoppable, unbreakable, we are #flawless. And then there are the days that I choke on air and sneeze while eating Wheaties. If you’ve never done that before just trust me when I say it’s really bad. Like, real bad. So in honor of these moments, I’m going to share with you the recent ways in which I am #flawless and also the ways in which I am just the worst ever.

Flawless:
1. Did laundry completely. Even folded it from the dryer without waiting so long that we run out of clothes and have to get dressed from the dryer the usual length of time.
2. Took Darcy to the grocery store by myself, dealt with 2 meltdowns, and still got everything on my list.
3. Made those homemade doily Valentines with Darcy and did not lose my shit when she kept ripping them, sticking the stickers on the floor, and generally acting like a wild animal. I was serene and good and understanding mom.
4. I went on my first post-partum run! It was absolutely terrible, but I did it and did not die to death like I wanted to. Counting that one as a win.
5. Took Clark to 4 different MD appointments and did not collapse from anxiety. I mean, it was close, but I survived #meds

Worst ever:
1. I’m playing with Darcy, who is in a super fun mood. She has on these pink boots that she is in LOVE with. She constantly wants to put them on and take them off. She sits down, holds her feet out and says, “Off! Off! Off!” I decide to be funny and snatch them off her feet really fast because she thinks that stuff is funny. When I do, I pull her body towards me, she loses her balance, and smacks her head on the tile floor. Hard. I am a jerk.
2. While I’m facebooking on my phone, Darcy jumps on Clark and scratches his face, drawing blood. He still has the scab and I feel terrible because I am that distracted mom who is on the phone while her kid gets murdered in front of her face.
3. Well, this one involves a story…
After Darcy goes to bed, I generally retreat to the bathroom and take a nice long bath where I pretend to have zero responsibilities and google pressing matters like, “How tall was Marie Antoinette’s hair?” It’s a special time, y’all. Ben, however, has been studying like a mofo for his FE exam. This exam is basically his engineering license and enables him to work as an engineering intern when he graduates. Kinda important, and once Darcy goes to bed, Ben pops on his noise-cancelling headphones and hits the books. So, if Clark has needs (so dang needy) while I take my bath, Ben is occupied studying. SO, I nurse Clark to sleep, and I bring him in the rock and play into the bathroom with me. Cue, relaxation. Except Clark (needy booger), is not having it this night. Fussing, fussing, fussing. Totally killing the serene ambience I’m going for. I try to pacify him. He gags on the pacifier like it is 47 inches long and double-dipped in poison. I decide to just pull him into the bath with me because he loves a bath. It works! He’s happy, looking around, tra-la-la. I mean, I have to keep him from drowning, so my googling important things and general relaxing is kaput, but it’s a pretty sweet time. He makes these hilarious faces. Then he turns red. And KABLOOEY! The biggest poo of his life right in the bathwater–the bathwater I’m sitting in, naked. I screech, hit the drain, and quickly stand up with Clark. We have to vacate this warzone immediately. I mean, it’s basically a biohazard. I step out of the bathtub, immediately lose my balance, and slip. I manage to catch myself, but by doing so, I pull a muscle in my groin and apparently I clutch Clark’s belly too tightly. He responds to this assault by vomiting everywhere and screaming. Ugh, this is just the worst. “Ben!! HELP!,” I whisper-scream. Darcy is asleep. I do not want to make this worse by waking the beast. But Clark is already screaming so I join him and yell, “BEN! COME HELP ME NOW!!,” But you see, Ben has those noise-cancelling headphones on. He does not hear me practically drowning in Clark’s various bodily fluids, nor does he hear Clark screaming at his mother’s absolute failure. I wrap Clark in a towel and run out to the table where Ben is working. You should have seen his face. Wife, naked and covered in questionable fluids, thrusting a screaming, towel-wrapped baby into his hands. “Just. Take. Him. I’ll be back in a minute.” To his credit, Ben didn’t say anything at all other than, “Oookay.” I limped away and tried to reclaim my dignity of which is practically nonexistent at this point.

Lort, halp me. Send your angels to watch my kids when I am distracted and facebooking. Allow Clark to control his bowels when we are bathing together. Let me be serene-good-understanding-mom because I like her. Not sneezing-while-chewing-Wheaties-mom. She’s just sad.

So, let me hear it. Tell me about your ‘not funny at the time, but funny later’ stories! It makes me feel better when you are also the worst ever because I am not the bigger person who feels bad for you. I am the person who will laugh at your mistakes and let you laugh at mine. Laughter is everything, y’all. Don’t take everything so seriously. Love to all.

The crushing weight of anxiety

My journey, my story, my kind of crazy

I wake up to hear Clark stirring via the baby monitor. It’s 1:30am. I’ve been asleep 2.5 hours. I get up to nurse him before he starts crying and wakes up Darcy. After nursing him, I go back to my bed, and try to sleep. I am exhausted. I haven’t slept more than 3 hours at a time since he was born 3 weeks ago. But I can’t sleep because what if Darcy heard him? Do I hear her? Is she going to wake up again at 3am crying? Why isn’t he settling down?! Is he going to go back to sleep? Please, God, let him go back to sleep. Do I need to go burp him again? Should I enroll in classes this upcoming semester? Or take a break? OMG! Go to sleep, Beka. Now I only have like 2 hours before he wakes up again, ready to eat! Shut up, brain, shut up!

And I didn’t go back to sleep because these (among other) thoughts are racing through my mind nonstop. Just like the previous night. And the one before that.

In the morning, I check to see if Clark is breathing–constantly. Did I turn off the coffee maker? What are we going to eat tonight? Is Clark still okay? Is Clark going to be okay? Do we have any paper towels? What if Darcy has another ear infection?

I’m easily able to convince myself that I just “have a lot on my mind.” I mean I’m a mother of two children that are under two years old. I’m a grad student that works full-time. I’m just a little stressed, and that’s why I’m having trouble and feeling anxious. Then the other thing with those symptoms happens…the heart racing, palm sweating, stomach dropping, limb paralyzing thing. It’s kind of like the exact moment where you remember that you forgot to do something really important. Except I haven’t forgotten anything, and knowing I haven’t doesn’t stop these feelings. I have exactly zero relief.

Anxiety–postpartum anxiety to be exact–is the worst, and these episodes can occur three or four times an hour lasting anywhere from 2-15 minutes and occur independently of my unrelenting, worrying thoughts. If I’m completely honest, it probably started with all the drama surrounding Clark’s pregnancy, and his birth, combined with the heavy postpartum hormonal shift, made it pretty terrible. Making matters worse, I felt guilty, and I tried to pray my anxiety away. Philippians 4:6 “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” But my anxiety wouldn’t dissipate because I was sick. My brain was, anyway. We wouldn’t be expected to pray away diabetes or high blood pressure, would we?

According to americanpregnancy.org, postpartum anxiety affects around 10% of women, but I’m pretty sure it is severely underreported. Why? Because women are scared of judgement. Of being ignored. Or of confirming their worst fear—that they are, in fact, a “bad” mom. Just last week I read this article, where a postpartum woman told her provider she was having persistently violent thoughts she would never act on, but was disturbed by. Yeah, they called the police on her, who escorted her to the ED, treated her like a criminal, and finally released her 10 hours later with a list of phone numbers to call for “help.” Zero support, zero medication, and zero empathy.

No.

Just. No.

That is so far from acceptable that I actually hurt for this woman. I know firsthand how hard it is to get help. You see, I experienced postpartum depression with Darcy. I claimed it was situational depression only because of her surgery, etc. It was hard and dark and affected my initial bonding with her. Thankfully, with meds, love, and support, it quickly abated and I became strong again. Towards the end of my pregnancy with Clark, Ben had mentioned he was worried I might struggle again once the baby was born. So in my favor, I had a husband who was looking out for me. This is important because when you’re bogged down with the weight of depression and/or anxiety, it can be hard to see things for how they actually are. So, when I confessed to him how insanely worried and anxious I felt, and that I didn’t know why, he told me, “Call Dr. B right now. Get help.”

My reaction wasn’t calm. “I’m not crazy, dammit! I’m just…I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“No, Beka, you’re not crazy, but the way you’re feeling IS making you sick. Call her.”

Dodging it, I said, “Well, my appointment is in a couple of weeks, so I’ll talk to her then.” There. That should satisfy him that I’m going to take care of it, and (bonus) will put it off for now. Because I’ll get better by then. Right?

“Call her now,” he insisted.

“But it’s Friday.” Even I knew that was a weak argument.

“Yeah, and her office is open. Call her, Beka. Now.”

“FINE!”

So I did, and I told her nurse, “Look, my anxiety is kinda bad. Ben said I should call…shouldn’t I just monitor it and see if it gets better?” She immediately responded,”No way! It will only get worse if we don’t do anything. We’ll start some meds now and see if we need to adjust the dosage when you come for your appointment.”

The second thing in my favor:  a matter-of-fact, yet compassionate response from my doctor’s office. When I returned to her office 4 weeks later, we decided to increase my dosage AND she gave me a PRN (as needed) script because I told her Clark’s surgery might just push me over to crazy town 😜. The reason I go into all this, and air my “dirty” laundry is because this is a problem. I’m a nurse, I’m educated, and it still took my symptoms, my husband’s urging, and my doctor’s following up to get me on the road to a more therapeutic place. If a link in any of those chains is broken, women will slip through the cracks and take on motherhood with an additional, massive weight on their shoulders.

So, maybe we should talk about this. Maybe we should de-stigmatize these mental health issues that are SO very relevant to our loved ones. We should listen, support, and help those we know are struggling. We need to look out for our friends when they’ve had babies and encourage them to seek help if they need it. If you are struggling, you aren’t alone. It’s going to be okay, mama. You won’t always feel this overwhelmed. Love yourself, give yourself grace, and get some help. Because your children need a happy, healthy mama, and you’re gonna get there. Love to all ❤

What the hell is craniosynostosis, anyway?

And why I know so freaking much about it

What is with this weather, man? We’ve had snow twice this winter in South Louisiana. It’s cold and weird, but I don’t hate it. School closed for an entire week, and we got to play together as a family. From looking at social media, most parents were complaining that their kids were making them crazy. Maybe Darcy makes me crazy on a daily basis, but I honestly loved having Ben and Darcy and Clark and I home together. It was a continuation of Christmas break, and I think we needed the down time. Ben is in school at LSU for his last semester of engineering, so that’s why we’ve been able to enjoy the breaks together. He does work part-time, but his office was closed during the snow fiasco because the entire state of Louisiana shut down.

Now, some of you remember that Darcy was diagnosed with craniosynostosis at 5 weeks old. What is craniosynostosis? Well, when babies are born, their skulls are not one solid bone. They are actually several separate bones held together by lines of fibrous connective tissue called sutures. This allows the skull to expand and accommodate a rapidly growing brain. With craniosynostosis, one or more of these sutures is fused too early meaning proper skull growth cannot occur. If the skull cannot grow as the brain grows, intracranial pressures can increase and cause brain damage. Also, the child will have an abnormal head shape. There are certain syndromes associated with craniosynostosis, but most cases are non-syndromic and only involve one suture. Darcy’s was non-syndromic sagittal craniosynostosis. She underwent a total cranial vault remodeling surgery at 12 weeks old. It was hard, it was brutal, but she is growing, thriving, and developing perfectly.

I am both a nurse and a mom. A lot of people say, “When it’s your kid, it’s different,” but I seem to be an exception. It’s really hard for me to turn the nurse off. I assess my children critically and clinically. I knew that Darcy was a beautiful child, but I also knew her head shape was different, that her temples were dimpled inward, her head was narrow, she didn’t have posterior fontanelle, and that she had a strange ridge down her head. I remember mentioning it to her pediatrician as he assessed it. We got scans that day, and she was diagnosed. When Clark was born, I noticed immediately he didn’t have a posterior fontanelle and had a small ridge down his head. I specifically asked the neonatologist (who was stupid about a lot of things) if the MRI showed craniosynostosis. He said “No way.” I can’t let things go, and it gets me into trouble sometimes. When something is bothering me, I get total word vomit–I just blurt it out and throw my persistent thought/worry out into the universe, and not always so elegantly. Ben jokes that he never has to wonder what’s bothering me because I’ll just straight up tell him. In my heart, I knew Clark had craniosynostosis despite what others said.

“But the MRI showed he didn’t.” “His head doesn’t look as narrow as Darcy’s.” “He looks just fine.”

I mentioned my concerns to our pediatrician at Clark’s one-month appointment, and he said we could just continue to monitor it. That held me over for like 2 days before my propensity to not let things go led us back to his office requesting imaging studies. We got an X-ray of Clark’s head that was consistent with a craniosynostosis diagnosis. Our pediatrician then referred us to Darcy’s craniofacial surgeon who we love ♥️At that appointment, he told us that he was moving to California in 2 weeks and unfortunately the neurosurgeon on Darcy’s team has retired😭

–This was devastating to hear, but moving on–

He told us that without a CT scan we couldn’t be 100%, but that Clark looked like he had partial sagittal craniosynostosis whereas Darcy had complete sagittal craniosynostosis. This would qualify him for a less invasive surgery using an endoscopic approach. This means they would use a small incision to remove the fused suture, and then use helmets to shape his head over the better part of a year.  Our CT scan the following day confirmed what we knew—Clark has partial sagittal craniosynostosis. I asked our craniofacial surgeon why both of our children had this and what could cause this genetically. He said that the sagittal suture is typically NOT associated with genetic origins. He said that it was “extremely rare” to have 2 children with non-syndromic sagittal cranio. I asked “How rare?” and he said that he had actually never seen it occur twice in a family. We’re SpEcIaL! Ha! Honestly, after the hell we’ve been through, the fear and anxiety, this seems like small(ish) stuff. It’s probably a mark of how bad shit has been when you look at neurosurgery as not a big deal, but we don’t see it as that big of a deal. Not after what we’ve been through. This is fixable, man.

After Darcy was diagnosed with cranio, I swore I would never miss that diagnosis as a future practitioner. I never anticipated having another child with it, but we did, and I didn’t miss it. We’re getting an early jump on it, and we should be meeting with our new neurosurgeon in the next few days to come up with our surgical plan for baby Clark. He should also begin physical therapy in the next couple of weeks as well. His tone IS improving, and he’s pretty much perfect in our book.

Darcy loves “baybee.” In fact, we wish she would love Clark less. She excitedly runs up to him and throws blankets over his face and body so he won’t get cold. She jams his pacifier into his face as he screams in protest. She tries to pick him up and is the opposite of gentle. It’s actually probably a good thing he’s going to be wearing a helmet 23 hours a day after his surgery. Darcy has added so many words to her vocabulary. She got a toy kitchen from Santa Claus and begs us to play in her “kitch” every day. She loves to throw and drop things while yelling, “Oh, no!” She says “okay” after everything, loves to play outside, and yells, “Go Saints!” whenever she sees football on tv. Darcy loves to point to the chair, couch, or floor and tell us to “Sit.” We’ve been going to the grocery store every Sunday just the two of us, and she likes to help put the groceries on the conveyer belt. She’s the best little toddler I know.

I decided to return to grad school this semester because my life is very calm, and it’s a very rational choice. 😑That’s a glimpse into our crazy lives right now. It is legitimately crazy and unfairly blessed. I am thankful to my Jesus for this life. Love to all.

P.S. That picture is from our craniofacial surgeon’s office. We have the same picture of Darcy at the same age. It’s becoming this weird family tradition 😂

Thoughts on turning twenty-great

Yep. As of tomorrow, it’s here once again. My birthday! I used to be such a firm believer in birthday weeks and celebrating every last minute of the 24 hours of my birthday. This year, well, I can’t say I’ve even noticed it creeping up. This summer I’ve been super busy with school, and a new job, and Darcy, and getting food poisoning, and being pregnant, blah blah blah.

So, I only get two more years in my twenties. I’m not particularly sad about that, but it has made me somewhat reflective on where I thought I would be 10 years ago at the ripe age of 18. If I look back 10 years when I was about to start my freshman year at Delta State, I can honestly say that my life IS different than what I had expected, but also not. I figured or hoped I would be successful and finished with any schooling, happily married to the man of my dreams with child(ren?). So okay, 2/3 ain’t that bad. I had also hoped I would be living in a city bigger than my small hometown and have my own dog. Check! Check! Oh and I *really* hoped there would be lots of money. Let’s just take a minute to laugh about that one. LOL

So as you can see, my goals have kind of been checked off, but I never really thought about the journey I would take to see these things to fruition. I didn’t think that choosing to major in nursing would impact my life as much as it has. That it would wholly influence my perspective and outlook on life. For instance, if you have ever witnessed a child dying of cancer and seen the absolute devastation experienced by her parents, the important things in your life will forever be exponentially highlighted. Small stuff is small stuff, and it’s usually stupid, too. Nursing has changed my life. Before I married my husband, I never considered the hearts I would break, or even my own heartache I would experience along the way. *Sidenote–he was totally the cause of a lot of my distress at one point* Just putting that out there. I never knew that having a miscarriage would be one of the most heartbreaking experiences I would face thus far in my life. I didn’t know the JOY a healthy baby could bring into my life, either! I didn’t know that the traffic associated with “city bigger than my small hometown” would steal large amounts of my time and happiness, THANK YOU FOR THAT, BATON ROUGE. Anddd I never anticipated the amount of “inedible” crap my dog could eat and survive. I have a sudden vision of Libby dressed in camouflage, running to the sounds of Destiny’s Child “Survivor”. She’s eaten: 2-3 pair of underwear, too many to count socks, a bottle of ibuprofen, a tube of mascara, an entire bag of Hershey kisses, at least three roaches that were poisoned, and god knows what else. She’s seven and never looked so good, although I wouldn’t recommend this tried and true anti-aging diet of hers to anyone else.

The point of my ramblings is that I’ve already “met” the goals that I think mattered most to my 18 year-old-self. My sweet family is everything to me, and adding my husband and his family and our daughter to my list of people to love on has been one of life’s biggest blessings. I say blessings because considering this gift an accomplishment of mine just seems so wrong. God so lovingly sent my husband to me, and has continued to bless and grow our family. School and career and money are all important things, but they pale in comparison to the Big Stuff. And one day I think I’ll have all that other stuff, too. But without them, my life still feels full and exciting. Without my family and the loves in my life, I don’t think I could get out of bed.

So at the end of the next ten years when I’m pushing forty (now that kind of hurts), I have a few different goals in mind; some material, some not. I want us to build our forever dream home. Where? I’m not sure yet. I want to be DONE with school. Whether I finish NP school or not, I just want to be done. I want to finish up my family. I have no idea what that means at this point. I want to grow in spiritual maturity and live a life reflective of loving Jesus. Maybe that will mean less cursing or more praying or not honking at people who ruin my chances of catching a green light or because they are just generally stupid drivers. Or maybe not. Honking is rather satisfying, after all. Love to all you people out there.

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