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.

The Battle

For the last year, I have been struggling with Why.  "Why weren't you there?  Why didn't you make the truck come one minute sooner?  Why did that 4-wheeler park there?  Why?  What is this all for?"

And then there's this doozey: "Where were you?" 

I felt a separation from God because, if I'm just honest for a minute, I was really angry.  Seeing Rich struggle to walk, the pain in his eyes....It killed me bit-by-bit.  For the first time in my life, I questioned God.  I mean REALLY questioned Him.  Why DO bad things happen to good people?  Really?  Are you there God? It's me, Autumn.... And on and on it went.

Then, thanks to a good friend, I read the book of Job.   

The fact of the matter is this: There's a battle going on right now that no one wants to talk about, but we all know it's there.  It's the battle for our souls.  God wanted His children to choose Him (versus making drone-like people that already love and worship him because, really, how flattering would that be?)  So, he gave Adam and Eve free-will.  Along with that beautiful thing, comes the flip side - The evil that happens when a human chooses to ignore God.  So, whether we like to acknowledge it or not, there IS a battle going on here between God and Satan.

After all, this isn't Heaven yet. 

So, why do bad things happen?  I believe it's because we are in the middle of a spiritual war.  Every single day, the Devil is trying to win us over to his side while God is trying to protect our souls.

So, here is a little bit of the conversation I imagine took place between God and Satan minutes before the accident:

S: Okay God, it's time.  Time for some pain.  I feel a really big one coming on.  Something that is really going to shake people to the core.  How about them? (Satan points to us)  I bet I can get them on my team.  There is no way they are going to make it through this still believing in your Goodness.  They will cave when the pain gets to be unbearable. 

G: (Shaking His head) If you must, then I will allow this to happen to them. They will not come over to you.  I can promise you that.

S: Wanna bet?  This is going to be bad, really bad!

G: (Knowing the pain that Satan is able to inflict)  I'm sure it will be, but I know them - they are my children and they are strong.  I know they will not falter.

S: Alright then (smiles, rubbing his hands together in a sinister way).

Then, I picture God with tears streaming down His face, watching as the truck pinned Rich onto the tailgate of Dan's truck.  Watching the blood stream out of him. Watching the chaos that happened on the road that night.

I picture God bringing His angels and the chariots fighting to keep Rich alive while the Devil smiles down at his masterpiece.  I picture God sending the helicopter, I picture him getting the E.R. ready - whispering a pep talk to the doctors and nurses.  I picture His hands guiding their hands.  I picture His hands on Rich's chest, keeping his heart beating.

I picture Him breathing life into my husband. 

So now, when I ask God, "Where were you?"  I know that He was there with His chariots and angels fighting and fighting and fighting.  And when I think, "But you must have lost the battle then?"

He says, "No, no I didn't.  We lost Rich's legs, yes, but I fought for your souls.  And I won." 

Friendships: Super Girls (and Guys)

It's a subject that's been popping up in my brain a lot lately.  I've had some "Friendship Seminars" for my third grade girls during lunch (I am pretty sure third grade is that magical time when the whole idea of "She's MY BFF" comes alive for many girls).  Sometimes, the need to be a part of a half can drive out rational thought if you're 9.  Or 99.  So between mediating third grade friendships and watching my daughter set her first excited footstep on  Friendship Road has got me reflecting on my own friendships.

The cool thing about my friendships is that we play different roles in one another's lives - all equally important, yet all uniquely different.  There are work friends, friends that go "way back", family members who are friends, new friendships, Rich's friends that have now become MY friends too, and on and on....

While all of these friendships may have started for different reasons (some out of choice, some out of situation), they all involve the same core value: a genuine concern for one another. 

I see that genuine concern for others in my 8 and 9 year olds, and I see it in my own friendships.

Thank God we are not meant to walk through this life alone.  Thank God we have friends that can walk alongside us in the hard times and skip alongside us in through the fun times.

Ironically, as I'm typing this, Annessa announced to me that she and her friend at school are "Super Girls" - "We save people when they are hurt.  We draw pictures for people in the hospital."

Yes, my dear, that is what friends do - save each other when one is hurting.  Offer your unique gifts to bring them happiness.

To all of my Super Girls (and Guys): Thank you for your friendship.  Thank you for giving yourself when it may not have been convenient because your plate was full with your own stuff.  Thank you for loving the good, the bad and the ugly and never, never judging.  May I be able to return the favor now and forever. 

Love,
Autumn