Hi! I'm Lindsay. I'm not sure about you, but I generally like to see the person who is talking to me or writing to me. So, this is a picture of me. I hold a lot of positions in life (like wife, mother, daughter, friend), but at the core of it all, I'm just me. Thanks for stopping by! I hope you stay. Enjoy!
I have been wanting to write a "me" post for some time, but I couldn't decide what to write about. I've been thinking about a lot lately, but I haven't really been thinking in much of an organized, logical manner. Tonight, however, I got some inspiration...
I wanted to make up for my lazy day, so I decided to be proactive this evening. I let Mike relax while I took full kid duty. I also got the dishes done, and made a fresh batch of choc. chip cookie dough. I decided to bake a couple of cookies for Mike and I, and I was determined not to burn them! :) When the timer went off for the final time, I opened the oven door, and the smell of natural gas wafted out. Immediately, memories of my grandmother came rushing to my mind.
Believe me, I have smelled the smell of gas many, many times over the past four years. (Since we bought this home). However, I've never linked that smell to my Grandma Burke. Growing up, all of our appliances were electric. The only time I had the opportunity to use a gas range or oven was when I visited my Grandma during the summer or holidays. I'm not sure why that smell took me back tonight, but it was a welcome reverie.
My Grandma was very important and special to me. My visits with her are some of my fondest and most vivid memories of my childhood. My daughter is named after her. And, when I grow up, I would be honored if someone felt that I resembled her.
Did you know that smell is the sense that is most strongly linked to memory? I've always thought it was interesting, because, to me, sight would be the more natural sense to be linked with memory. However, studies show that the slightest trace of a specific scent brings back the quickest and most accurate memory. With the holiday season upon us, I'm looking forward to the scents, sights, and sounds of Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Do you have any scents that remind you of something special? Or even just a scent that gives you the warm fuzzies? Tell me about them! I love hearing other people's stories! :)
I think I must be the *ONLY* woman in the history of humankind that consistently and frequently burns baked goods. I swear it is the one thing that can make me go from perfectly happy and calm to madder than a hornet in 0.01 seconds. Do you know what happens?
My timer goes off, and my baked good inevitably needs 1 or 2 more minutes of baking time. So...I decide that I'll just let it bake another minute or two, and I don't need the timer for that. It's just a minute or two.
Five minutes later, my mind breaks itself out of it's reverie, and I realize (here's where the 0.01 seconds comes into play) that my cookies/brownies/pie/cinnamon rolls/pumpkin roll/banana bread/whatever-I-was-really-craving is still sitting in the piping hot oven, burning itself into a small mound of charred remains.
That's when I take my towel and fling it against the cabinet saying, "Gosh DANG it!!!" Unless the girl is asleep, in which case I clinch my fists until my fingernails dig into my palms, and I whisper very forcefully, "Gosh DANG it!!!" I usually follow it all up with a growl and some tears.
And tonight, I followed up the growl and tears with a blog post.
Seriously...I am the world's worst Betty Crocker. :(
It's the night before I'll bring my son home forever, and all I want to do is cry. Not even tears of joy, but tears of frustration, sadness, loneliness, and self-pity. What a beautiful place to be right before I witness one of the greatest miracles of my life, huh?
I mean, seriously, almost exactly four months ago, I was told that I had a less than one percent chance of bringing home a healthy baby. Heck, I was told I had less than a one percent chance of bringing home any kind of baby alive. Four months ago, I was fully expecting to bring home a small urn of ashes after a memorial service. That's the most I thought I'd ever see of the little life that was growing inside of me.
Instead, my God showed up in great style, and I'm bringing home a very healthy and thriving little boy named Burke Michael Goodwin.
Four months ago, I wrote, "Please pray fervently, warriors. We need our God to step in and do a big thing right now."
He did. And instead of feeling elated, ecstatic, encouraged, or excited, I feel irritable, lonely, frustrated, and worried.
I know that some of this is hormones. I'm still only three weeks post-partum, even though I feel like it's been months since I've had my little man. I'm trying to remind myself that my body isn't supposed to be back to normal yet, much less my emotions.
However, there's a small part of me that feels genuinely hurt. It's silly, stupid, and selfish, and I hate that I've made it this far without succombing to these types of emotions. However, they are here, and I'd be a big fat liar if I didn't admit that I'm feeling them. I talk all the time about being honest and real. And this is how I'm honestly, really feeling:
I feel like no one is excited about Burke coming home. I feel like it was more exciting for people when we were sure we were going to lose him. I feel like Mike and I are left to do this all alone (the bringing home thing), because we used up all our support points during the bedrest. I feel like our families are so worn out from the bedrest that they have no energy left to celebrate our newest member. I feel like our house got neglected and our preparation plans got thrown out the window because of the stupid bedrest, and now I'm left with a cluttered, uncarpeted, unpainted house with a still unfinished basement. And I'm bringing home a tiny little baby to this junk pit.
This was not how it was supposed to be. I mean, I got jipped out of the normal experience with my first kid. I thought for sure I'd get to experience all the fun stuff with my second. (Like decorating a nursery, nesting through the house, or having a regular ol' baby shower for goodness sakes...) I don't know why I even feel like these things are important. They really aren't. I just feel cheated. Not by people, and not even by God. I just feel like Mommies are supposed to get to experience certain things, and instead I got to experience the twisted messed-up version with BOTH of my kids.
And now I'm done. No more kids. No chance to decorate a cute nursery. No chance to have a baby shower with my husband's family. No chance to be discharged from the hospital at the same time as my child. No chance to know what it's like to have a baby without becoming very good friends with NICU nurses.
I just feel so odd. I can honestly say that, when I'm sane and non-hormonal, I really don't care about these things. But for some reason, as the hour of discharge grows closer, I feel less and less ready to bring this little guy home.
Tonight, I needed someone to come help Mike carry our dresser downstairs. I can't help, because I'm still under weight-lifting restrictions, because of the c-section. I called to ask if my brother or my best friend's husband could come and help us out. They sent another friend instead. I feel selfish and stupid for even being upset about that. It's just that I already feel so darn disconnected from our friends that it *hurts* that they couldn't take a quick twenty minutes to come help my husband move a small piece of furniture.
My parents are in town to help with the first few days of having Burke home. I know they've got to be exhausted. They have spent the last three weeks being virtual parents for Ruby, and I know (first-hand) that it's a tough job to be the parent of a 20-month-old. Still...when they said they preferred to go to their hotel instead of hanging out with me, I felt so alone.
And as I sit here and stare at the piles of mail that need to be sorted and the pieces of furniture that need to be arranged and the clothes that need to be put away, I just want to run away from it all. I want to take my husband, my daughter, and my son and just run away...from my house, from my family, from my friends, from everything.
This is what I mean when I say that I am at the end of my rope. I really, really, really need my life to return to normal very soon. I can't take this any longer.
Thank you , God, for delivering me right when I most need deliverance.
(Sorry for the supremely depressing post. I just needed to de-tox my mind. After many tears and all these words, I'm feeling re-juvenated...ready to sort mail, put away toys, and fold clothes. Whew...)
This morning I woke up at 4:00 and headed to the NICU to feed Burke. I have to walk through the labor and delivery unit to get from my parent room to the NICU. As I passed through the halls, I thought about the memories I have from Ruby's and Burke's birth experiences. Interestingly enough, I was put in the same room for both of their "labors". With Burke, it was not exactly a labor as much as it was a surgery preparation room.
I quickly moved past my groggy thoughts, and I got to the NICU. As I held Burke and looked at his precious little body, I became overwhelmingly grateful for my children. It's not actually as rare an occurence as I make it sound. However, it hit me pretty hard this morning.
After I finished feeding, I had to walk back through the labor and delivery unit. One of the doors to the labor rooms was slightly ajar, and I could hear the fetal monitor alive with one of the sweetest sounds I know: the heartbeat of a baby waiting to be born.
All of a sudden, another sound, rather the memory of a sound, rushed into my mind. The sound of odd and uncoordinated thumps beating at a far too slow tempo became as real to me as they were eighteen days ago. That foreign and terrifying sound was the heartbeat of a baby waiting to die.
Later in the afternoon, I received an e-mail from a blog reader, and I wanted to link her to some of my former posts. As I went back and read through some of Burke's journey in my own words, I was overcome with emotion.
Was it really just four months ago that I wrote a quick post to let everyone know that I had bought Mike a Wii for his birthday, but that details would have to wait, because my water had broken?
Was it really just four months ago that I wrote another post to assure everyone that I was full of hope, no matter the outcome of our journey?
Was it really just four months ago that I wrote two (not-so-) quick posts about having faith even in the hard times?
Has this all really happened to me? Is my son *really* here, healthy and close to going home? How did I have that faith? As I read those posts, I sat here with tears streaming down my face. The pure terror of losing my child was so real, and now that I've been given the absolute desire of my heart, I can't imagine a different outcome. Now, as I sit holding a miracle, I don't know how I could have faced any other result.
I don't deserve this. I don't deserve it all. In fact, I have a really good friend who was in a similar situation, and she didn't get the outcome we all hoped for. Still, her faith is strong, and she's constantly trying to hand more trust over to God. Incredible. I'm amazed. Another really good friend of mine is facing an unimaginable trial regarding children and family and the future. I honestly watch her and wonder if God really did choose to put an angel on Earth to teach me a lesson or twelve. I can't believe her faith and the way she is handling it all. Awe-Inspiring. I have yet another friend who recently heard that sweetest sound that I mentioned, only to lose her baby just days later. And she's still praising God. Beautiful Offering.
So, today I'm just thankful and grateful that my faith wasn't tested any further. And I'm reminded that I can always be asking for more faith and reaching for new levels of trust. And I'm choosing to shout from the mountain tops that I serve a God who is in total control and has good plans for the people who love Him. I know that He has something amazing in store for my three friends, and I know that He has something amazing in store for you, too, if you'll only receive it.
Sometimes it just hits you, you know? Reality, that is. It comes and smacks you in the face like that jerk, Philip Stuckey, in Pretty Woman. Thankfully, I'm one step up on Reality today. Burke has had a relatively good day, and...I've had music. Oh, music! :)
That doesn't mean that Reality hasn't gotten in a few good jabs. Last night, as we were coming back into the hospital from dinner, a family was leaving with their new baby. As I walked past them, the weight of separation hit me hard in the chest, and the tears were running down my face before we were even two steps past the family. This morning, I got a call from Mom that Ruby is running a low fever and has a bad cough. Since I absolutely cannot get sick, Mom didn't know if it was a very good idea for me to see Ruby. As I said the words, "I need to hug my little girl", the weight of separation knocked me off my feet once again. And once again, the tears fell. This afternoon, I was perusing a friend's pictures on Facebook.com. As I saw a picture of her with her toddler daughter and newborn son, I realized that I won't even have an opportunity to take a picture like that until my son is a month old...or even older.
Overall, I am truly okay. I think visiting with Ruby and getting a few things done around the house this weekend will help. I just enjoy my family so much that being away from at least one of them at all times is terrible. I can't wait until the day we take that first picture of all four of us standing *outside* the door of the NICU. It's not too far away. Two or three weeks. That's it. We can totally do this. We can.
I'm so thankful for everything. I mean, if I have to be in this position, I'm in the best position possible. My daughter is being loved and spoiled by people who love her. My husband is *really* enjoying his new job. He comes home with a smile on his face and laughter to share everyday. Thank you, God. Thank you so much. My son is making progress every day. My recovery was quick and complete. My swelling is going down. Thank you, God.
Wow...I'm already feeling 100% better after just journaling a bit. It's almost time for dinner. I hope you all have a great weekend!