Sleepless Words: Free Pass

Emaline and I move through most days on a steady rhythm. There are smalls bumps and detours but we have learned each other. I know what she needs and how to soothe her. I know when she needs sleep and I know when we can play. And I knew yesterday that she just wanted to be held. Most of the day, everything was done with a baby in my arms. And as I held her and flipped through an old notebook, I found something I wrote when she was brand new. It is choppy and incomplete because so were my thoughts when this fell onto the page.

 When so much nothing is everything.

Days are filled to the brim. I move with intention and blurry focus. But when the sun settles for the night and my body curls into the dark, I search for something to show and have nothing new to present.

The baby sleeps and a growing to do list rattles my thoughts. Her tiny chest moves up and down. These are the days with a new baby.

This time is fleeting, so temporary, and so important that I carry a pass. A pass that allows one subject to press my mind and consume my heart.

But still, I search and yearn and promise that tomorrow there will be more.

For Her: For Me

 A few weeks ago, I was hanging out with a few girl friends and we were discussing why women are not able to take a compliment. A few minutes later, my friend told me that I looked fantastic. I immediately shot her down and expressed frustration with trying to lose baby weight. She called me out for doing exactly what we were just talking about.

I have realized since that night, how often I practice negative self talk. It happens almost every day.

When I found out that I was having a girl, it focused my mind to a set list of joys and worries. I want to protect her but not in such a way that she is not able to experience the world. I want to hold her up and not hold her back. I worry about boys breaking her heart and friends breaking her trust. I worry about the pressure that is put on girls to look a certain way.

I have spent a lot of time thinking about what I can do to combat some of the challenges that she will face. I have come up with one seemingly simple answer. Nick and I need to develop her confidence. I want to send her out in the world with the knowledge of who she is and all she has to offer. If she knows her strength, power, and beauty she will be able to make better decisions. She will be able to walk away from troublesome boys, weak friendships, and damaging choices.

Children practice what you do but not always what you say. With this in mind, I have decided to break myself of negative self talk. If I tell her how wonderful she is and then knock myself down, the message is muddled. When I catch myself saying something critical, I replace it with something positive. If I can change the statement, I hope to eventually change the message.

I challenge you to be mindful of your own internal communication for one day. 

The Critic Does Not Count: Small Bursts

I never intended to stay away that long. I could offer a plethora of excuses. Emaline is the most obvious. She keeps me busy and is very distracting. She redirects my creativity and refocuses my attention, making it difficult to sit and write. But she is not the only reason. My computer stopped working around the same time that I finally got an iphone. I always thought that having a smartphone would make blogging easier. The tiny portal to the rest of the world is convenient for many things but I don't like it for writing.

Yesterday, Nick offered me his computer and so here I am.

Emaline just woke up from a nap and is cooing away in her swing.

And quickly her coos turned into fusses. So now it is a few hours later. She is taking her second nap and I am back to writing. I guess this speaks to not really owning my time. It has taken me awhile to realize that I can still accomplish the things that I want, but not always when I want.

I am on week three of the Artist's Way. The changes are small but noticeable. Cracks are forming and inspiration is starting to seep through. I have been having vivid and fantastic dreams. I am writing everyday. I have realized that writing does not have to be all or nothing. I can write in small bursts. I can write because I love it. I can create something new, not for critique but, as an expression of who I am. It is liberating to believe that my job is to put words on a page and what happens after that, is not for me to decide.

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” 

-Theodore Roosevelt 


Elizabeth Gilbert spoke about this in her Ted talk. Oprah has talked about this many times, most recently with the author of The War of Art. And this morning, the most eloquent blogger that I read daily, said this.

I have always been protective of my art. It was a big deal when I was younger to share my stories. It was a big deal in 2009 when I decided to start a blog. Putting yourself out there is scary. But I am also learning that vulnerability can be a good thing. And so I will try. I will try to be honest. I will try to be brave. I will try to share my voice.



She is starting to wiggle and coo. Her eyes are still closed but I know what comes next.

Birth Certificate: Naming a Person

Our baby girl had a first name long before we met her.

First day home.

As I mentioned in this post, we had a name picked out for a girl but not a boy. We came up with the name maybe even before we were married. I remember shortly after we got engaged, we were in a bar in Madison, Wisconsin and were talking names. And again when we were out to dinner in Stillwater, Minnesota. It seems that the conversations always happen when we get away from home. When we can daydream about the future.

Emaline is a song by Ben Folds. That is where we found the name. As you will hear in the song, her name is pronounced Emma-line. Line rhymes with fine or mine.

I love her name and it fits her well. I'm sure she will earn nicknames as she gets older but for now she's just my Emaline. 

Her middle name took us much longer. We filled out her birth certificate at the last possible moment and even then, were unsure. And when I say we, I really mean that I was not sure.

I thought I knew what her middle name would be months earlier. I had picked one that sounded pretty. But Nick wanted her name to mean something. He wanted family names. His Grandma Valley passed away in November and she meant the world to Nick. He had his heart set on Joann.

My Grandpa Rice passed away when I was 15. He was a poet and a builder and a man of great character. I had always planned to use his name. I thought it would be the middle name of a son but when Nick suggested otherwise, my heart latched onto Gardner.

And so she became:  

Emaline Joann Gardner Valley

Those are her arms inside sleeves that are much too big for her.

Birth Day: Emaline Joann Gardner Valley

Our baby girl arrived in the world on May 13th at 4:01pm.

She weighed in at 6 lbs 4 oz and was 18.6 inches long. Our doctor declared her to be a healthy peanut.

Labor was 10 hours.

Nick was, of course, by my side through everything. He fed me ice chips, rubbed my back, read me messages from friends and family, counted with me, and cried with me the first time we saw our little girl.

The overall labor and delivery experience was more positive than I imagined. The pain was worse.

I had back labor and it was excruciating. At the end of every contraction I collapsed into myself and waited for the next. I swore a lot.

Bless every woman who ventures through labor without an epidural. That woman will never be me.

Epidurals are amazing. Once that was in place, we put on music and I was able to rest a little.

My doctor was great but the nurses were the real rockstars. The few women who watched over me will forever have my gratitude.

At one point, lost in the pain, I forgot why I was there. But when the nurse started warming blankets to prepare for a tiny human to enter the world, it refocused my energy and I cried from excitement.

My Mom and Dad boarded a plane that morning and arrived at the hospital one hour before she was born. My Mom was in the room when her granddaughter arrived.

Nothing in my life will ever compare to seeing my baby for the first time. It was magical and amazing. Somebody told me to look up and when I did, they were holding her above me. She was here! She was healthy and beautiful and mine! They dropped her on my chest and I sobbed.

Everything else faded away. I only remember holding her in total disbelief. I loved her immediately.

Each day is something new and we are still learning to navigate this life. I have a lot more to share but she just started crying so I will leave you with photos since that's probably what you came here for anyway.

 

On Baby: Expected Early

Good advice right now.

On Thursday, Nick and I went to my doctor appointment and found out that they are moving the due date up one week. If she is not already here, I will be induced on May 13th (Original due date was May 19th). That is six days away.

Ever since we found out, I have been in a haze. One week early might not seem like a big deal, but there is something about tossing out the due date that threw me for a loop.

There are medical reasons behind the induction. It is not a decision based on schedules or convenience. That being said, everything is fine. There have been a number of small complications along the way. My doctor is wonderful and has been on top of everything, not letting any flag go unchecked. I trust her and I know that every decision is made with my and baby's best interest at heart.

I have been going in for weekly (and now, twice weekly) biophysicals for months. As far as medical procedures go, it's one of the most pleasant. It takes a lot of time but is an ultrasound (I would estimate we have had 17, most people have 3), followed by a non-stress test (involves drinking a CapriSun (Yum!) and monitoring the baby's heartbeat and movement.), followed by a consult with the doctor. Baby has been acing her exams, usually scoring a perfect 8/8 and that has allowed her to stay put for as long as she has.

But after being sent to a specialist, we received the recommendation to induce at 39 weeks. She is a little small, measuring about six pounds, amniotic fluid has remained steady but low, and they had previously recorded elevated pressure in the umbilical artery. The combination of these things, brought us the recommendation and ultimate decision to induce.

So there you go. Maybe more than you wanted. Maybe not enough. I had to write it all down for my own sanity and record keeping. My head is swimming with baby and delivery and so many emotions and I'm told I will forget all of this (yeah!).

Everyone around me is so excited. It is not that simple for me. I wish it was, but it's not. I cannot wait to hold my baby, to finally meet this little girl! I cannot wait for her to be a part of my life. I am thrilled at the idea of not being pregnant, of owning my body again. I am ecstatic to have my parents out here for two weeks. I am as ready as I think you can be. But I am also nervous, scared, anxious, and a thousand other things.

I told my doctor that my goal in this process is to "gather as much information as I can and then not have any expectations." And for the most part, that has worked for me. I ask a lot of questions. I read a lot. I try to prepare myself as much as possible. But when it's all said and done, there is so much out of my control.

I am taking this last bit of time to enjoy the change in weather (finally) and to prepare the house. I feel like there is so much to do but I know that breaking down cardboard and running laundry, ultimately, do not matter. But cleaning does settle my nerves so, I suppose for that reason alone, I will not fight the urge to sort clothes and clean the basement.

As you can probably tell from the disorganization of this post, my brain is not focused. I ask that you forgive my jumbled words and bear with me as this part of the journey comes to a close and a brand new chapter begins.

Hometown: Connected

I don't know what I can say that has not already been said, but I know that I can not write about anything else, until I address what happened in Boston. It is hard to believe that it has only been a week. It is hard to believe that it happened at all.

You do not have to know me well, to know that I am from Boston. I live in Minneapolis but all of my family and some of my dearest friends still reside in and around the city. I have never been shy about my pride for my hometown. Boston is a remarkable place and I miss it very much.

Nick has commented to me on a few occasions that the city has a connectedness to it that is intimidating to an outsider. It feels like everyone knows everyone else. The house that my parents live in was built by my great-grandfather and that is not uncommon. Roots run deep and people love their city with a passion that is usually reserved for states and countries.

And it is with that connectedness, that passion, that my city responded to horrific tragedy. Watching my home splattered on national television was heart-wrenching. It felt like a nightmare and it stretched on for days. I sat on my couch trying to learn as much as I could. I flipped channels, yelling at national reporters for mispronunciations and at local reporters for pulling away from coverage to discuss weather and traffic. I endlessly texted and checked facebook and refreshed Boston.com. I worried about my family and friends and I prayed desperately for those I knew were not okay.

I commented in this post that before I go home again, I will have traveled a long way. I could never have imagined what that meant. I wish so badly that I could be there now, to look upon the people and the place and reaffirm that they are there, picking up the pieces and moving forward. It helps to see videos and to hear stories. It helps to know the strength of my city and the humor that peeks through, even in times of horrendous tragedy.
 
Boston, you have my heart.