Dear Elaina,

Do you know that your name means light?  That you were the light that shined through the darkness (John 1:5)?

Do you know how much we adore you?  I can't stop holding you, Daddy is mesmerized by everything you do, and Annessa pretends to be your mom. 

Do you know what a calm, relaxed baby you are?  Maybe you have calmer parents than Annessa did (the second time around is SOOO much easier), or maybe you just have a calm disposition. 

Do you know how fast you're growing?  You're exactly one month and 10 minutes old as I type this, yet I feel like you were born only yesterday.

Do you know how beautiful you are?  You have the roundest cheeks, the most perfect mouth and the bluest eyes. 

Do you know how happy you make us just by being you? 

Now you know. 

I love you so much it's unreal,
Mama

What's in a Name?

Okay, so I'm a big believer in finding out the meaning behind a name.  Not that I think the meaning of a name defines who a person is, I just find it interesting.  For example, Rich's name means "Great and powerful ruler" and in this case, it suits him.  It is also his grandpa's name.  I would substitute "leader" for "ruler, " but that's just semantics. 

So, when choosing a name for our second daughter, it was important to me that the name have some sort of meaning.  What?  I didn't know, but I just wanted there to be a story behind how she got her name. 

So - here's the story (I will make it quick).  We knew right away that her middle name would be Ruth.  Not the most beautiful, girly name, but it's Rich's late grandma's name.  The name sounds strong and so was she.  Following the unexpected death of her husband, Rich, she raised her two kids (Rich's dad and his Aunt Betty) as a single mom, living on the top floor of her brother's house.  I have always admired her fun attitude and through Rich's stories about her, I imagine her to be an atypical grandma: throwing pitches to her grand kids and letting them eat Spagettios in front of the TV.

As for a first name.....Now that was tricky.  I liked Eliza (joy) and Alexandra (my imaginary daughter's name when I was in high school).  Rich?  Skyler, Haley and a bunch of other names that we just couldn't agree on.  Then one night, he came to bed and said, "How about Elaina?"  Not bad.  Except for the fact that Elaina is a character on Vampire Diaries - not exactly the story I imagined behind the name....But - I liked it.  So maybe I just needed to get over myself?  Right?

Naw.  I did a little Google research (as any normal person would) and found out that Elaina means "light."  Hmm - light.  Well, now what?  Light is nice, but it's not exactly screaming with meaning.  Until i found this verse in John: "The light will shine through the darkness.  That darkness will never overcome the light."  Well.  There. You.  Have. It.

Elaina is our light that shines through a very, very dark two years.  She is the light that her sister, mom , and dad prayed hard for, and she is the surprising gift from God that we so desperately needed. 

To us, she is God saying, "Here - here is your little light.  You have made it through a dark time and you still believe.  So here is my perfect gift to you." 

In just a few weeks, we will welcome our new light into our lives with open arms. 

Dear Rich,

I don't tell you enough how remarkable you are.  You are the best husband I could imagine - you know when to push me and when to let me be.  You surprise me with little gifts now and then (and it's not about the gifts, it's the fact that you were thinking of me), you make me laugh, and you have this soft side that I love, yet you can be the biggest pain in the ass (which challenges me and pushes me to be patient).  Overall, you are the best thing that ever happened to me because together, we have built something special.

You love our daughters in a way only a daddy could.  They will always have a strong father figure in their lives, and for that, I am so, so thankful.  You are amazed by Annessa and you love watching her grow.  One of my favorite parts of the day is at night, in bed when we re-hash that funny/smart/crazy things she said or did that day.  You are meant to be the dad of daughters.

What is even more remarkable to me is that you do all of this without your own legs.  I watch you struggle day after day with the changes this has brought.  Each day I think about how faithful you are.  You could give up but you don't.  I know we are a big reason that you push on, and I can't tell you how loved that makes me feel.  If I had one wish, I wish "that day" two years ago never happened.  I wish you could run (not that you liked to....).  I wish you could walk through the woods instead of ride your 4-wheeler.  I wish we could go on a walk.  I wish we could walk on the beach and play in the ocean.  I wish you didn't have to think "is it worth it" before you climb up the stairs or go to a new restaurant.  I wish you could run beside Annessa as she tries to ride without training wheels.  I wish you could dunk a basketball like you used to (because I have a feeling you still could).  The list goes on.  I know you wish these things too.

But I can't end this letter on such a sad note, can I?  Today you beat the odds.  You are out bow hunting again.  Is it different?  Yes.  But are you doing it?  Yes.  And the truth is, even though I wish "that day" never happened, I would not chose a different path.  My life is good - it's full of love and I have you and God to thank for it.

I will never forget the phone call.  The helicopter.  Pam.  The wall I kicked.  The family that surrounded us and the friends that comforted us.  I will never forget.  But I will never stay there either.  We have great things in store for us.  I'm not sure what, but there is no one else I would rather be with as I find out.

Thank you for holding on- that day and every day.

I love you ,
Autumn

Magnents

This summer Annessa and I were partners in crime.  We went everywhere together (okay, so most of the time we were at the pool - but it was a hot July, right?).  Anyway, whenever we would walk from the parking lot to the destination, her little hand would find mine, just like staples find a magnet in my junk drawer.  Her little hand fits perfectly in mine. 

So, that got me thinking.  I certainly don't hold my mom's hand anymore, but I'm sure at one time, I did.  When did I stop?  Did it break her heart a tiny bit when I become "too grownup" to hold my mom's hand?

I am fearing the day when Annessa declares she can manage the walk from the car to the store without holding my hand.  I'm sure that day is coming soon as she has already declared herself fit to pick out her own clothes (thus the overly-accessorized ensembles she struts her stuff in), and buckle her own seat belt (which, actually I don't mind at all, especially since in three months I will be starting the car seat process all over again...). 

I guess my point is that I've seen my baby grow into a toddler, then a preschooler, and it has all gone by way too fast.  But, the flip side is that the more she grows up, the more I see who God has made her to be.  She is intelligent, talkative...., friendly and STUBBORN.  She is beautiful in every way. 

So for now, I will savor the fact that our hands are like magnets that always find their way to each other. And when the time comes that she is old enough to walk across a parking lot without holding my hand, I will try to smile and realize that as she grows, more good things are coming.   

Dear Baby No-Name,

As of right now, you don't have a name.  Oh, we've got lots of ideas, but no one can agree.  Your sister....well her names for you are very interesting: Sunshine Rose, Delancy Devon (a character in a Barbie movie I think??), and whatever crazy string of letters she thinks of on a daily basis.  Your dad's picks: very, very normal, common, popular picks.  Not that I don't like them, but I don't think we can have an "Annessa" and a "Jane" for instance (don't worry, Jane wasn't one of his picks, I'm just sayin'...)

And mine?  Well Dad hasn't like any of them.  And I haven't been thrilled about any of my picks either.  The problem is that I want your name to be meaningful because you are so meaningful to us.  I am just hoping a name will drop from the sky or we might just have to call you Sunshine after all.

Right now we are toying around with a name from a character on the "Vampire Diaries" that Dad has been watching.  It's not a bad name, and it means light - so that fits since you are a light in a time of darkness for us, but I am still unsure....I mean, I never thought I would name my daughter after a Vampire lover...

Good news is you have a middle and an last name!  No worries though we'll figure something out sooner or later - hopefully by the time we take you home. 

Dear Baby Girl,

This is the first of many times I will write to you.  I hope that someday, you will treasure these writings as documents of your youth (although I'm fairly confident that at some point, say when you are a teenager, you will roll your eyes at my need to excessively document your life, but I am also fairly confident that you'll get over it). I must admit, it is strange writing to someone other than your daddy or your sister.  You and I will develop our own bond and very soon, I will struggle to remember I time when you weren't with us.

I am so curious about your personality.  I can feel your gentle kicks inside me and they remind me that you are your own person - God created you to be someone absolutely unique.  I can't wait to watch you grow into the woman God intends you to be.

I want you to know right off the bat that you are so loved.  I can't even find the words to quantify the excitement and love surrounding your arrival.  Annessa has been praying for a little sister for over a year now and your dad and I have spent the last 3 years yearning for you to complete our family.  And now you are here and your timing is perfect! 

For us, you are a gift.  A true gift.  Someday you will know the hell that we lived through the last two years and I hope you will realize that to us, your arrival means a new beginning.  I have come to understand that God had you in mind before the accident, and He held onto you until He knew we were ready to live in the here and now.

Love Always,

Mom

This is the moment we found out you were a girl - we were all soooo happy!

  

valleys and mountains

Life -- there are moments when nothing seems to make sense.  When the world we are living in feels foreign Unfamiliar.  It is scary, to say the least.  And the pain....Well the pain of loneliness can be unbearable. The valley is deep and we are standing in the middle of it, questioning every decision, every stroke of fate, every relationship, and most of all, questioning ourselves. 

But, then there are moments (like now for me) when we are standing at the top of the metaphoric mountain.  The clouds have parted and the sun is shining again.  We breath in and it hit us: it all makes sense!  We turn around and look at the person in the middle of the valley, replaying that time in our lives, and we feel a proud sense of satisfaction.  We crawled out.  We made it to the top again and we are wrapped in a blanket of clarity. We stand here in this moment, and we are surprised by the sting of tears that build up in our eyes.  Tears of joy. 

Yet, when we look ahead, our valley-voice whispers a sweet warning: "enjoy the mountain while you can."  It knows that as beautiful things are now, life is fluid and ever-changing (despite our immature attempts to force everything and everyone to stay the same).  Our children get older.  Our parents get older.  The days and nights cycle through.  It is inevitable - we will find ourselves in the valley again.  Some of us sooner, some of us later. 

But, remember, when we are in the valley we can turn around, look up at the hill behind us and smile knowing someday that mountain will be ours again.  We will gather up the strength and courage to crawl back out because we refuse to stay in the valley. 

Two weeks before I found out I was pregnant, I took a test. 

"Mama - what's this?" Annessa asked while waving the home pregnancy test around like a magic wand.
 "Don't, don't, don't!  Put it down!  That's a test to see if there is a baby in Mama's belly."
"Well, what does it say?"

I looked at the test for the fourth time - hey, maybe if I stared hard enough I could see that vertical line faintly appearing over the horizontal one....No such luck.

"It says, 'Not this time'" I saw the disappointment in her eyes.  The same disappointment I would see in Rich's eyes a few minutes later. 

"Well, then we have to pray," she said matter-of-factly as she knelt down and assumed the position. "God, the next time my mom takes a test, PLEASE let it say there is a baby in her belly.  Amen."

 I was ashamed and proud all at the same time.  Why wasn't my first response when I saw that the test was negative to pray?  Instead, my first response was, "Didn't think so - figures..." 

"Mom, why isn't God giving us our baby?"
"He will - He just needs to make sure it's the right time."
"I know!  Maybe He is making our baby right now!  Or maybe he is busy making babies for other people."

Brilliant.  Perfect.  Absolutely.  She just knows God's heart...

The next test I took was positive.

(P.S. I am due November 24th - we certainly will have a lot to be thankful for!)

Arm's Length

So - I'll just say it - I'm pregnant.  Pregnant! Pregnant? Pregnant.  At some point I will write all about Annessa predicting it, the crazy way I found out, and what I REALLY think about this baby.  But right now, all I can say is that I'm holding it at arm's length.  Which is so unlike me. 

I was talking to my mom about this yesterday (about the whole, "Yes, I'm pregnant, but let's just stop ourselves from talking names and nursery colors).  This whole attitude of caution is SOOO different than with Annessa.  With her, the thought of miscarriage never even crossed my mind.  Never.  But now....I am all too aware of bad things happening to good people. 

When I was explaining this fear to my mom, she said something that made total sense (as usual...).  "Maybe you're just protecting yourself.  Like you had to do when you didn't know if Rich was going to live or die." 
Yep - that's it.  That's exactly how I feel.  Cautious.  Unsure.  Preparing (for either possibility). 

The truth of the matter is that The Accident changed me.  It's made me aware that no one is immune to the evils that this world brings.  There is a part of me that is just waiting for the other shoe to drop because that would just be par for the course.  Maybe that sounds negative, but don't judge until you've been there.  That's totally how it feels. 

So, for now, I will hold onto that heartbeat that Rich and I heard, and try to get through the next two weeks until we can hear the heartbeat again.  I really am excited.  Just not naive.

Confession

Annessa slept through the night at 3 months - that was one of my crowning achievements as a mom (not that I had that much to do with it, but as a new mom, I took any positive thing as I sign that I was "doing it right").  After that - you could call me the Cold Hearted Bed Nazis.  Bedtime routines were followed, bedtime was the same every night, and she always, always slept in her own room.  Once she was out of her crib, sometimes she slept on the floor with her blanket (did I mention she has a mind of her own), but I didn't care - as long as she was in her own room. 

Fast-forward 4 years.  Ever since "the accident" she has been sleeping in our bed.  It all started when Rich was in the hospital and the only time I really saw her was at night, so I just wanted to be as close to her as I could (plus the thought of sleeping in an empty bed was terrifying).  Then, Rich came home, we moved into our new house, and I thought, "Okay - Bed Nazis is in full affect.  Time to kick this habit."  Nope - didn't happen. 

"Snuggling in bed with her is just about the only thing I can do with her right now." Rich would say.  Okay......twist my arm.

Now.  It. Is. A. Habit.  A habit that is soooo hard to break.  And, I kind of have to admit (and it pains me to write this), I really love the whole "family bed" thing. 

Last Thursday, Rich was gone at his bothers, Grey's was on and I got a bug up my ass and decided, "This is it.  She is going to sleep in her own bed." 

It didn't go well.  Imagine this: 4-year-old stands in the doorway.  She yells, "I am NOT YOUR BEST FRIEND anymore!" Followed by, "I am NOT GOING TO PLAY WITH YOU EVER AGAIN!" (door slams.  Door opens.  Door slams again.  This time with so much force the pictures almost fall off the wall).  The tyrant doesn't get the reaction she wants (I am stone-faced with eyebrows lifted, biting the inside of my mouth so I don't laugh), when she says the ultimate: "I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR BUTT!"  Say what?!?  Oh HELL no she didn't. 

Needless to say, there was a stern talking to by me, then by her daddy when he came home.  And she stayed put, right were she was.  No giving in, man. 

In the morning, she was like: "Mama, do you forgive me?" Her big brown eye wide and meek. 

Of course.  I forgave you the minute it came out of your mouth, but I didn't tell her that. 

Hmmm. Wonder if she will have a door on her room when she's 16?  Something tells me we might just be taking it off its hinges every once in awhile.  Thank you, God, for this strong-willed girl. (Who, apparently, has a conscious). 

Dads and their Daughters

Last night Rich and I were talking about the fact that we have a little girl (as opposed to a boy.... or an alien or something).  He said something kind of interesting: "I think a man always imagines himself with a little boy -- fishing, playing ball.  But now that I have a girl, it's so cool because I WAS a boy."

Ummm....Yes - another obvious observation.

"No, I mean I know what it's like to grow up as a boy.  Now I get to find out what it's like to be a girl growing up because I get to raise one." True.  Never thought about it that way.  Is that how I would feel about raising a boy?

As I write this, Rich is chasing Annessa around in his wheelchair, shooting her in the butt with a rubber band gun as she pretends to be scared. "You missed me, you missed me!" she taunts.

I tell ya.

Anyway - when I see him with her, I see a playfulness.  A tenderness and a protectiveness.  I see pure, pure love.  I me?  I feel lucky just to be able to watch it unfold. 

"I will have you wrapped around my finger in no time.  Watch out!"

Superhuman

A friend of ours mom passed away over New Year's.  Wendy was sick for quite awhile (actually, she was diagnosed the same month my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and that was....seven-ish years ago I think).  At the time, of her diagosis, the doctors didn't predict Wendy would live nearly as long as she did. 

I was talking with my friend, Leigh, about this - how did she defy the odds and hold on so long?  I'm not sure what her family thinks, but from the outside looking in, it seems like being a mom and a grandma is what made her hold on year after year.  It seems like there was always a wedding or a birth to live for each year.

So, does being a mom provides women with superhuman strength? 

Hmm....I kinda think it does.  I can say honestly that I would never have survived the month Rich was in a coma if I didn't have to be strong for my daughter.  I'm also pretty sure that my mom has dug deep when she just wanted to give up.  I have seen it in my friends too - this crazy ability to overcome the hardest crap so they could be there for their children.  When you're a mom, you don't really have the option of curling up in bed and wallowing in self-pity for weeks, months, or heck - years. 

I can say with confidence that my daughter has given me superhuman strength.  I bet Wendy's two daughters and her son gave her the strength she needed to live just one more day.  Then another. And another. 

I can also say that the desire to become a mom gives you superhuman strength.  I know from my own experiences, and the trials of other women I know well, that the drive to be called "mom" is unstoppable.  We will do whatever it takes to achieve this title.  This love.  There were times during my fertility treatments that I was tired, bitchy, overwhelmed, and just too damn busy for another doctor appointment.  There were times that I was sick of blood tests and giving myself shots.  But.  Not tired enough to give up.  Take a break?  Yes.  Regroup?  Of course.  But stop?  No.

As women, we are superhuman.  After all - could a man talk on the phone, wash the dishes,cook dinner, and discipline his child with "the look" all at the same time? I think not.