Accepting Grace; Reflections on Easter Sunday

Today was Easter Sunday, and I need to be completely honest that it did NOT go the way I had planned in my head. (What usually does right?)

During the midnight feeding of my now 8 week old little girl, I was reading scriptures on my phone. It seemed fitting that I was reading from Mosiah Chapter 3 of the Book of Mormon. 

As I sat there, quietly reflecting on the Savior's life and death, it was all too obvious that it was literally BECAUSE OF HIM that I am a mother, that I have 2 beautiful children, and a husband--all of whom I can be with forever. They are MINE, but they are HIS first.

The night was a good one as nights with a newborn can tend to go. Waking up even felt joyous.

And then suddenly Satan/shame/uncertainty (you name it) struck. 

I was in the midst of getting ready. Staring myself in the mirror, trying desperately to LOVE my body, not despise it, because it is a gift and it is beautiful and has brought me 2 perfect children. I recently got my hair cut and today was the first day I had washed it, so styling it was rather difficult for me. (I chopped about 9 inches...it's a big change!)

So in the midst of this time that I was feeling vulnerable about my appearance, and guilty for feeling that I "had" to be ready for church on time, my sweet little baby started crying. She'd had a wonderful night, but it appeared that this morning was going to be a fussy one. 

My immediate thoughts were things like, "great, now I can't get ready." and "why can't she just stay asleep?" and "what did her dad do wrong in putting her down that made her wake up?" 

My grumpy spiral continued through the morning. I ended up throwing in the towel, turning some music about the Savior on full blast as I finished trying to do my hair and not hate my appearance while my loving husband tended both children. (I thank my Heavenly Father every day for him cuz he's seriously my saving grace in these moments). 

Unfortunately, I also spent a lot of the time I finished getting ready oscillating back and forth between feeling guilty that I was getting ready instead of breastfeeding my baby, and feeling like I wasn't a good enough mom because she hadn't nursed well. Deep down, I even admitted to myself that I was likely not able to comfort her because I wasn't able to comfort myself and stop feeling so uptight and stressed.

Babies are extremely sensitive, and so despite all my deep breaths, my underlying feelings of doubting myself and my worth overall were still so prevalent, that I'm sure my little babe didn't know how she could turn to me for help when I was so desperate for help myself. 

Motherhood is hard. 

But as I've reflected on today, and tried to list over and over all the things I'm so grateful and indebted to my Heavenly Father and my Savior for, I have been reminded just HOW much my Savior loves me. 

Late last night I was also reading a talk by President Uchtdorf and was reflecting on this and another talk by Elder Jeffery R. Holland.  The video linked above is primarily what my thoughts are on tonight. 

About 3 years ago, I was (and still am) struggling a LOT with the concept of accepting grace. It felt that the mistakes I had made in life up to that point, big and small, were too great for even the Savior's grace to be ENOUGH, because I didn't feel like I WAS enough. 

It's an ironic concept, the idea that we shun the Savior's sacrifice for us because we feel we don't deserve it. It's exactly what Satan wants us to do--whether our sin is great or we simply feel inadequate in our position as a mother as I so frequently do. 

But "one of the great consolations of this Easter season is that because Jesus walked such a long, lonely path utterly ALONE, we DO NOT HAVE TO DO SO." (Elder Holland). 

It's easy for me, for all of us I believe, to feel that our mistakes are just too big, too terrible for the Savior to possibly know A) how we're feeling in our despairing shame and B) for His Grace to be sufficient for "all men" and accepting that idea that "all" really DOES mean all. 

All men. All women. All moms. All dads. All brothers and sisters. All children. All bullies. All victims. All of us. 

When I make mistakes, have those terrifying "mom moments" where I yell at my children, or want to scream in frustration; or have to set my baby down and walk away from the room because I just can't take their cute crying face anymore, often I am instantly weighed down in those moments with shame for ALL my past mistakes in life to this point. 

When I first recognized that I was struggling with depression as a new mom, I literally felt like I was suffocating. Drowning in the depths of shame for every possible flaw and mistake I had made because I was feeling inadequate in SO many ways as a mother. 

I wasn't fully experiencing JOY in life because I was so busy anticipating what depressing, horrible, or tragic thing "could" happen that would dull that happiness. It was and is something I still struggle with, and I feel like it comes back to accepting the Grace of the Savior's atonement in our lives. 

Recognizing that His sacrifice IS enough--enough for me, enough for you, enough for ALL of us. 

Because of Him, we can have JOY. "Men are that they might have JOY."  2 Nephi 2:27. 

But I've found that accepting Grace is understood in these images. 

Our Savior stands knocking at the door. His Grace beckons to each of us, and He will always be there--knocking at our door, or walking our paths alongside us, just waiting for us to open the door and let Him in; to turn to Him and allow Him to take our burdens and bear us up. 

Motherhood IS one of those burdens. It's a joyous, difficult, stressful, taxing, emotional, exciting, and spiritual experience. Becoming a mother is one of the ultimate purposes of my life and I know with every fiber of my being that Satan does NOT want me to succeed. He'd be plenty happy with my family ending up as a broken and damaged fragment of the eternal potential we have together. He WANTS us to fail and so he targets our most vulnerable feelings about ourselves. 

He doesn't want us to accept Grace, as mothers, or as any person in any circumstance. He wants us to be "miserable like unto himself," and you know what? He's pretty darn good at that miserable part. 

But I know the ending to the battle between good and evil, and I know it doesn't end with Satan coming out on top. I have an eternal purpose, as a woman, and as a mother here on Earth. I can accept the grace of my Savior's atonement, and allow him to literally make my burdens light. Because of Him, I am me and am becoming my very best self. 

I'm so grateful for this knowledge and I pray that some of these thoughts have touched you this Easter season!

Reflections of a Young Mother-featured on Happy With Imperfection

I wrote this post about a month ago as a guest writer post on https://happywithimperfect.wordpress.com/

thanks Danielle for the opportunity!

I wake up to crying.

It’s 1:47AM.

My new baby is crying again, likely needing to eat. Never mind that the night before, she went 5 hours before eating after I last fed her. Tonight we’ll go three. Okay. Breathe. Open your eyes and move.

My eyes feel heavy and I struggle out of the covers and walk, blind in the darkness, to the closet where our little 4 week old baby girl was sleeping peacefully.

She nurses, I change yet another diaper; she nurses some more.

2:35AM. I can finally go back to sleep.

5:08AM. She’s crying again.

I nudge Danny on the shoulder, indicating sleepily that he can go try to pacify her, and if she doesn’t settle down, then I’d feed her. But honestly, every fiber of my being wants her to already be sleeping 8-10 hours at night.

My eyes close and I sleep lightly, jostled awake when Danny gets back into bed, but Tatum is quiet.

6:11AM. Cries come from the bassinet again. Time to feed, then some early morning snuggles, but just for a little bit cuz we’re waking up to the day in an hour or so…

7:47AM. Time to wake up. A little past time honestly.

My head is immediately spinning with all the things I feel like I need to do that day.

Laundry, meal plan, grocery shop, play with Joshua, get Joshua down for a nap, feed Tatum on time, every 3 hours minimum, fold diapers, pull out a freezer meal for dinner.

My list could probably go on.

Do you feel the monotony of my day? Writing it out like this, I sure can.

It’s no wonder it’s a struggle for me to want to get up in the morning right now. I’m obviously sleep deprived—what mother of a newborn isn’t right?

Ever since high school, I have been a type-A, checklist, to do list, get it done ASAP kinda girl.

I was always looking forward to the next big project, planning out in my color coded planners when I would complete which section of a paper due in 3 months; when I needed to do my math homework each week; when I could have time with friends; when I had swim practice; when I had a date.

Looking back, it’s no surprise that I have a hard time accepting each stage of life I’m in and just LIVING it.

But looking back to almost exactly six years ago, my senior year of high school, I can see where there was a shift. I’m not entirely sure if it was a shift for the better at the time, or if was just a little bit of an awakening to what I had going on in life.

Six years ago, I was a young, 18 year old senior in high school, planning on going into music education at Utah State University. I was working on my audition pieces, but my confidence was low.

It was low because at the time, I was in a relationship that was eating away at my spirit—both my passion for life and my actual spirit, in a religious sense. There’s no blame to be assigned to the boy or the relationship—I didn’t know, or didn’t believe at the time, that I deserved to have anything better. I was a stubborn teenager making decisions and choices that would continue to haunt me later as an adult. I made those choices, and I accept the responsibility for them.

Growing up, I was raised with strong morals and beliefs as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I often felt like I was thought of as a “molly Mormon” because I didn’t have a whole lot of interest in dressing immodestly (just wasn’t a temptation for me), in drinking or smoking; I was always raising my hand to answer questions, both in school and in church. I got straight A’s, I had a good number of friends from all kinds of social circles. All in all, I felt like a pretty well rounded person by the time I hit my senior year of high school.

Six years ago, however, midway through my senior year, I had what I remember being a pretty intense emotional breakdown after school.

I had come home and was feeling intensely upset with myself, ashamed even, because my straight A record was getting absolutely RUINED by my AP Calculus class that semester. Not even a full 2 months into the second semester and I had already had a C and D on major quizzes/tests.

Most of you are probably laughing a little inside. Honestly, I am too at the moment. Really? Freaking out over a C or a D on a quiz?

The problem though, wasn’t in the grade letter, or really even related to calculus itself.

The underlying issue was that I had such high expectations of myself academically, spiritually, morally. The fact that I thought I was failing miserably in all of those areas at the time was overwhelming to me.

I didn’t, and still don’t, deal with failure well. I’m not one to give up easily. Honestly, I probably take too much on my plate at times and then feel horrid when I can’t get it “all done.”

So back to this emotional breakdown I was having.

I came home from school on the verge of tears. My mom asked how I was doing and of course, the water works started. (I HATE crying. I don’t care if it’s in front of a group, in church, in an intimate setting with one person—I just don’t like the feeling of being so choked up you can’t talk.)

Being the wonderful mother she is, she helped me face some really difficult feelings I was having about myself:

Gremlins or dementors that were constantly whispering things to me, sitting on my shoulder; my little worry monsters would say things like, “You’re not good enough, you’re not pretty enough, you’ve made too many mistakes, why bother trying, no one cares about you…”

Over the previous winter break, I had made some choices I’m not proud of. In working to resolve those choices with the Lord, I unfortunately began to sink into a depression. At the time, I believed feeling so negatively toward myself was what I SHOULD be feeling. How wrong I was.

It was this emotional breakdown with my mom that helped me realize that I was not in a good place, and I was able to start seeing the positive a little better. I graduated, moved on, met my husband, was happily newly married, got pregnant with our first baby, and finished my degree.

But unfortunately, 4 years after high school, all those feelings, those nasty little gremlins, reemerged.

2 years ago, in March 2014, I had a 6 month old baby boy. Our little Joshua. I had carried him 41 weeks and delivered him at 10 pounds 2 oz. He was and is an absolutely JOY to have in our lives.

2 years ago, I was starting to sleep better. I was getting past the sleep deprived state I described earlier. But I wasn’t feeling better.

I didn’t like myself most days, I felt disappointed in my abilities as a mother all too often, I stared in the mirror and wished the baby weight away. I honestly felt like a shadow of my former self. My identity had changed, but now I didn’t know who I was, or how I was contributing to the bigger picture.

I’ve always been a social, get out and do stuff, easy to talk to kind of gal. But I felt out of place in social settings that I had once been totally at ease in. I felt excluded from life because I was still “trapped” at home with my baby a lot more than I wanted to be.

The feeling of being trapped as a new mom caused a lot of those old dementors to come out of my closet. Suddenly I was feeling guilty and ashamed all over again for the choices I had made and repented of back in high school.

Satan literally felt like he was standing heavily on my shoulder, whispering the worst of thoughts at me, only I didn’t realize they were his ideas; they felt like mine. I had thoughts that I wasn’t good enough to be Joshua’s mother, that I couldn’t ever have more kids, that I should have been able to lose more baby weight by now. Thoughts began to surface as the months past that no one would care if I was gone because I wasn’t worth much anyway.

When thoughts as serious as that began to taunt me, I immediately shoved them aside, hid them away and ignored them. And I most certainly never talked about them with anyone. But I was fearful they would come back. And the more I feared having those negative and depressing, and even suicidal thoughts, the more they would come.

I felt like I was going crazy in my own head. I couldn’t share with anyone because if I did, it would be admitting that I had something wrong with me, that I couldn’t just “handle” things on my own.

It took until May of 2014 for me to finally admit that something was wrong, that I needed help. My incredible husband, my circle of close friends and family, and an amazing counselor helped me see through those thoughts and clearly recognize them for what they were.

It took until September of 2014 for me to begin to consistently FEEL like myself, and for those who had been helping me on my journey through postpartum depression and anxiety to recognize that I seemed “better.”

Fast forward to today. I have a 4 week old beautiful little girl, and I have a LOT of fears that I’ll sink down into that same depression again with her. But I also have an inventory of tools to help me. A host of family and friends near and far who love and support me. And I am a much more open and vulnerable person than I used to be.

I am recognizing already things that are triggering my negative thought patterns, and I’m combatting them. I have positive affirmations written all over my kitchen (it’s my favorite room in my house…lol). Post its that say things like, “You are enough. You are a great mom. You are a positive person. You have incredible talents.” If I find myself avoiding looking at those little sticky notes, I know I’m not in the best place and I take a step back to figure out why. It helps, a LOT.

***

My story seems a little jumbled; mom brain is kinda taking over.

And honestly I can say I had lots of little nasty thoughts come into my head while working up the courage to just sit down and WRITE this post. “You’re not a writer, your story won’t help anyone” thoughts that I know for a FACT are false.

But I just want each of you reading to know that you’re NOT alone. No matter how alone you feel. Every one of us feels it at times and when you do, you’ve gotta look those feelings in the face and know that they’re not your thoughts. They’ve been placed there, carefully and sneakily, by the father of lies whose sole goal and purpose is to degrade our confidence in ourselves as women, as mothers, as men, fathers—whatever your role in life is at this time.

The best thing I’ve learned in struggling with my big and little worry monsters who like to perch on my shoulder is that the more I listen to and fret over something, the bigger he gets. The more I talk back to him and put him in his place, the smaller and more insignificant that worry monster becomes, until suddenly the gremlin is being drowned by the light of joy, happiness, peace, and love.

I am worthy of love. I am worthy of belonging. I am worthy of joy.

And you are too.

Negativity only has power when we give up the light. So don’t give up the light.

thanks for reading!! stay tuned for some delicious meal  plan recipe ideas and some thoughts on grace for Easter! 

Blessing Our Little Girl

On March 20, we were privileged to bless Tatum in sacrament meeting at church. It was a whirlwind of a day, full of family and friends, smiles and lots of baby snuggles.

I am so incredibly grateful for the wonderful father that Danny is to our children. He cares so deeply for them and his love shows every time I see him interact with them.

On Sunday morning, I woke up feeling giddy and excited. It might sound silly to those of you who don't understand how I grew up, but I was raised by parents who celebrated each new child in the family with a baby blessing. In the LDS church, it is the first time the new baby in a family is officially given a name and a blessing, and their name is recorded on the records of the church.

I took Tatum downstairs after feeding her. She cooed and gurgled plenty that morning. I definitely believe that she knew exactly what would be happening later that day. As I came around the corner of our stairs, I could see Danny seated at the dining room table, poured over his scriptures and a quickly filling page of thoughts and notes he had. I love that he reflected the morning of her blessing on what he might say. The blessing given is essentially a father's blessing for a child's life. He gave such a beautiful blessing for Joshua, and I knew that he was carefully pondering and intently listening for the promptings of the spirit that can only come with study and reflection in the scriptures. I love my husband. He has a quiet testimony, but it's times like these that I know without a doubt that he has a firm testimony in the guidance of the Spirit and the power of priesthood blessings.

The time of her blessing came quickly it felt like, and then suddenly we were trying to rush out the door to be at the church relatively early (saving seats can be tricky when you have tons of family local who plan to attend). Thankfully, even though Tatum doesn't exactly love the carseat or the car, she was quiet and relaxed on the car ride there.

As we walked in the door, Danny and I handed Joshua off to aunts and uncles (he's two and was very happy to go sit with them to play and sing songs), and pried Tatum's fingers off the carseat buckles--She hates the car seat and to all appearances is always trying to take off her straps. Then I gently dressed her in her blessing dress. She looked absolutely beautiful. Her dress has that miniature wedding dress feel to it. I felt like I was dressing her in a princess gown, which felt completely and utterly fitting because I know she is the daughter of a Heavenly King.

I handed her off to be snuggled by Grandma Debbie and fed her bottle of milk before the blessing. (She was wearing a big bib and a burpcloth cuz I was terribly paranoid about that dress getting spit up or poop on it, let's be real here). She was so calm and alert. I love this age of newborns--when they are recognizing people and voices.

It's so special to me that she turns her head to look at her Daddy whenever he talks. I can imagine that she stared up intently at him, sucking her pacifier for all she was worth, while he was giving her the blessing.

Sacrament meeting started and the time for her blessing was announced right after the opening hymn, prayer, and announcements for the ward.

I carefully handed my pretty little princess off to her loving Daddy and watched as an army of the priesthood holders in her life converged in a circle around her, each holding a hand underneath her little body to help hold her up and to lay their hands on her during the blessing. It was such an incredible moment to look up and see them in a circle around her: her father, her three grandfathers, and her uncles--my brother and brothers in law.



It's so hard to accurately describe how I was feeling as Danny blessed our little girl. Something about having a daughter makes it feel that much more special to me because I was once blessed in a similar sacrament meeting by my dad and his friends and brothers.

Danny's blessing was precious and is precious to me, so I won't be sharing specifics, but I know he was prompted by the Spirit to say the things he said in his blessing for our first daughter. I'll share the thoughts he wrote down with her when she is older. She is so well loved by her whole family and we are so thrilled she joined our family nearly 2 months ago.

We were so fortunate to spend the day with family and friends afterwards, take some fun pictures and celebrate this day with them! She is so loved!

Easter Bunny Scripture Eggs

Earlier this weekend, I went to Hobby Lobby with my 2 year old Joshua to return a few things. 

It being Hobby Lobby, I was of course naturally drawn to look at the current holiday decor. I haven't been to my craft night in a few months with a new baby, so I was itching for some cute spring and Easter decor at a modest price. ;) 

Hobby Lobby didn't disappoint! I found an adorable spring wreath, a green grass bunny rabbit, a GIANT nesting Easter egg (it's huge and Joshua made me get it...) and this cute little thing: 

Joshua was in LOVE. 

He seriously couldn't stop touching it. It's just a small little wood chip bunny. Not exactly the most toddler proof, but not very breakable either. cost? 6 bucks. I'm sure you could find something cheaper at walmart or the dollar store. 

All weekend, whenever someone came over to the house (Sunday we had all of our family over) he would confidently tell them that it was his "easter bunny. It lays me eggs!" 

Naturally, after hearing this a few times, I as his oh so observant mother just had to make that come true. 

So with a little creativity and Pinterest, I helped his bunny lay him some eggs. 

For those of you who don't know my faith well, in the LDS religion, we are encouraged to set apart one night a week for special family bonding and teaching time. We call this family home evening. Growing up we always tried to have it on Monday nights, but there isn't a rule about what night it should ideally happen on. ;) 

Our family night activity then was this:

I gathered together 6 plastic Easter eggs from my basket stash and numbered them to match the scriptures at this link: 

http://www.ohmyglory.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/easter-scripture-hunt.pdf

Supplies to create this activity: 

6-10 (depending on your preference) plastic easter eggs. You can get them for a couple bucks at walmart if you don't have any on hand

one smallish bunny, stuffed or decorative, to "lay the eggs" Small is funny to me cuz the egg obviously could never come out of that size of a bunny, even if bunnies did really lay eggs. ;) 

the printable linked above 

Yes I know there are 10 scriptures and six eggs--we doubled up on a few eggs! I printed this sheet of scriptures, cut out the numbered verses and stuffed them in the eggs with a couple little snacks for Joshua to find. (We don't really do candy at our house too often, so I had to improvise with raisins...)

Then I "sneakily" laid the first egg out by our bunny and left it for our toddler to find after he finished his dinner. Boy was he excited. You should have seen his face. Sorry--I didn't take a photo--but I wish I had! It was like a dream come true to his little toddler imagination. 

Simple, quick and now I'll just save it for next Easter again when our new baby girl is older and can enjoy it more with us. 

Happy Easter everyone! 

Tatum's Birth Story Part 1: The Birth

I've put off writing this for way too long, mostly because I feel like I hardly remember most of labor with Tatum cuz it went SO fast.

But I want to write it down, what ever I do remember, because it's such an important day to me now.

****

3:00AM.

I woke up to go to the bathroom. Again. I was supposed to call the hospital at 4AM to verify if we could come in at 5AM for our scheduled induction. Part of me was tempted to just stay up, but my labor and delivery friend Merri was chastising me in my ear for even thinking of being awake longer than needed right before I would *hopefully* be in labor.

Finally settled back down to sleep, I woke again to my phone's blaring alarm. I got up and tried to just find my voice (4AM is a hard time of the day for most people you know), and was dialing the hospital when they started calling me. I hung up on the other line and picked up the new call.

"Hello is this Danet Peterson?" a voiced asked (pronouncing my name danette as usual--those of you who are new to my French name--it's duh-nay).

"Yes I replied," my heart skipping a few beats. Usually the hospital would call you only if they didn't have the space or staff to induce you at the scheduled time. We had been scheduled for 5AM, hence the whole "call the hour before" thing.

"We have you scheduled for a 5AM induction. We're going to need to push you back a couple hours. Could you come in at 7AM?" the perky voice of the charge nurse asked.

"Of course!" I said, silently thanking Heavenly Father I didn't have to wait all day or a whole other day before meeting the little kicker inside of me. I was so DONE being pregnant at this point.

I hung up the phone, told Danny we had a couple extra hours to sleep, and went to sleep till 6AM.

While I slept, I of course had some CRAZY dream that they pushed back my time to be 1:48PM that afternoon. it was so weird that the time was that specific cuz it would never be that specific in real life.

Here was my thinking. I'd sleep for a few more hours, wake up and get ready, and with our new appointment being when it was, I would have time to say hi to Joshua before we left. This was actually a lot better in my mind.

6AM rolled around and I got dressed and ready, thinking to myself that it might very well be pointless to curl my hair and do my make up, but that I didn't do that when I was induced with Joshua and I wish I had--it's distracting in the best of ways and kinda relaxing for me. Those of you who know me well know I don't do well with uncertainty, which is part of why being induced is totally okay with me. At least I have a date that I know for sure I'll start having the baby. ;)

Alright so boring part: we met our nurse (not that she was boring--she was super nice, a girl named Stephanie), she checked where I was measuring for dilation and effacement. And we got all hooked up for the monitors, pitocin, etc.

The worst part of the whole first couple hours was that I swear, despite how experienced and great my nurse was, she could not for the life of her get my blood drawn from the vein she chose for the IV line. It was a good vein according to her (not like I know much about that) but for whatever reason, it wasn't letting blood out well at all. It was the most uncomfortable IV I've ever had thanks to all the extra squeezing and poking. I half wish she had just done a new IV site to get blood samples. :/

The horrid needle part aside, that morning went super fast. I ordered a light breakfast (I had only drunk my shakeology on the way over there) and then the pitocin drip was started at 9AM.

I honestly feel like the morning FLEW by. I hadn't really felt tons of the contractions I was having. They were there, but more of a nuisance than anything. Very regular--every 3-5 min apart. But just not painful.

Danny and I watched a movie on TV, I think it was called Air Force One? The one with the hijacked airplane, and the super awesome guy from star wars is the president? What's his name again--Han Solo, Harrison Ford. Knew it would come to me. ;)

It's a pretty intense movie, and we started watching it near the middle.

11:55AM. I had been bouncing a lot on the birthing ball for the last 2.5 hours. My nurse Stephanie had suggested I try rolling back and forth instead of bouncing during the contractions cuz that would help the baby more than the bouncing motion to descend in the birth canal. I had been doing what she suggested for a good hour it felt like. Not really sure on the times cuz honestly it's a blur thinking about it now. She had checked me at around 11:30AM to see where I was at. I started at a 3 and was super effaced, and she was now calling me around a 4.

I told her I don't even KNOW how many times that I knew this time SHOULD be faster, but that after 21.5 hours of labor with Joshua, I just didn't really believe I'd see a baby before late that night at the soonest. She countered and said she was betting we'd have the baby before she was off from her shift at 4PM that day.

It wasn't until 11:55AM that I started to really believe her.

I had been rolling into a contraction on the birthing ball. The contraction itself was more intense for sure, but still not totally unbearable. I tried to stand up and readjust so my hips weren't as uncomfortable, and felt a warm gush of fluid. I moved slightly again, and it happened again.

Those of you who haven't ever been pregnant: at 39 weeks and 1 day, you can't really see over your tummy while sitting down to check out what's going on "down there." So I stood up. It felt like I was peeing myself and couldn't stop. lol. How's that for an analogy for you?

I waddled to the bathroom and had Danny call in the nurse. Yes I admit to waddling.

"Hi," he spoke into the microphone. "My wife thinks her water just broke. Could you send in the nurse?"

He's so calm all the time. I was kinda freaking out inside. It's a good thing, but usually when your water breaks, baby isn't too far off, and if they still take a while, then you're bound to start really FEELING contractions and trust me, they're not fun when you're on pitocin. Not fun either way, but REALLY not fun on pitocin.

She came in, verified that my water had indeed broken, and we got me situated to be able to walk the halls. (Giant lady diaper anyone?)

I didn't know last time I was induced that I could request a monitor that could travel with me so that we could walk around. Danny and I spent the better part of the next hour in the halls, stopping to rock and do the "labor dance" to ride out the contractions as they got more and more intense and painful.

Still hadn't seen the doctor yet by the way. Dr. Huish was finishing his church meetings I'm sure.

My monitor started to beep at us, which apparently meant that we needed a new battery on the monitor. We took about 5 minutes to get back to the room and then my nurse came in to inform us that we'd need to let it charge for a bit, and that Dr. Huish was here and ready to check and see how we were doing.

I can honestly say at this point I was ready to cry. I had been enduring the contractions the best I could for the past hour, and I was to the point that I just felt yucky, shaky, and ready to have an epidural.

After informing my nurse I was ready for the epidural (and trying not to feel like I was weak for even asking---don't get me started on how much guilt moms have these days for having epidurals--labor is LABOR; we all deal with it differently and medicine is there for a reason!)...eh hem. So after letting her know I was ready, she had me get back on the bed so the Doc could check my progress since A) having my water broken, and B) contracting steadily and hard for about an hour since then.

12:55PM. "Well, your water broke!" the doctor said cheerily. "It's great that it broke on it's own. Things look like they're moving right along." Again with the perky voice. Another painful contraction was starting as he said this, and then proceeded to jerk around "in there" to make sure all the water was free. I felt another gush of fluid, and the contraction I was having literally left me unable to breathe well for a good 20-30 seconds.

My doc was great, don't get me wrong, but when you're in pain and he's the source of "extra" pain, he's not to fun anymore.

"I'd call you a roomy 4cm and pretty much completely effaced." Stupid perky voice. I wanted to kick him honestly.

My water broke. ON IT'S OWN. I had contracted heavily for an hour since then. I'd been TRYING to relax into the contractions. And I was still only a 4. Lovely. Gimme the epidural, was all I could think to myself.

Thankfully, the anesthesiologist was waiting just inside the room. She came in, got me prepped, and informed me of the general process. The whole "you'll have to hold very still, even when the contractions hurt like hell" schpeel.

I was so grateful that the epidural was GOING to be helping, but at the present moment as she was telling me this, I just wanted to fast-forward to when I couldn't feel anything.

Danny held my hand and I'm sure I pinched my own fingers tightly as she locally numbed the area of my back where she'd insert the epidural line. It happened pretty quickly in all honesty. But when she finished, I was still feeling contractions.

And they were getting worse. I was shaking more while trying to hold still, and I felt clammy and sick.

I remember my nurse and the anesthesiologist talking to each other quietly about me, and the anesthesiologist saying something about how sometimes having the epidural placed and started can cause side effects like I was experiencing. But I wasn't really paying a whole lot of attention.

1:15PM Finally she was done and she started pumping the medicine through my line. It didn't help right away, which I had been expecting.

1:25PM But what I wasn't expecting was to feel minimal contracting on my right side, and EVERYTHING on my left side. My nurse could see I was obviously still pretty uncomfortable, and so she had Danny help me move between contractions to let gravity pull the numbing agent to my left side.

1:30PM. "Is it feeling any better, or are you still feeling a lot on the left side." Cringing through another contraction, though it was actually less intense feeling than before, I nodded yes.

"And I'm feeling like...pressure sometimes."

My nurse paused and watched the monitor like a hawk. "You're feeling pressure how?" She asked. "Rectal pressure?"

We waited another 2-3 min for the next contraction to happen. "Yeah I guess like rectal pressure." I told her definitely.

She started moving quickly, grabbing gloves from the tray and lifting the hospital gown while explaining what she was doing.

"The baby has been having variables,dips in her heart rate, during each contraction. The rectal pressure is likely because she is descending further into the birth canal. I want to check, but I think you might be complete."

"Complete?" I asked blankly. You'd think I understood this after having a baby before, but I think I was going into shock.

"Dilated fully to a ten."

My heart skipped a few beats. 1:38PM.

This was so fast.

I checked my phone for messages from my mom and mother in law. (Cuz that's what you do when someone is stuffing their hand up your vagina to determine where the baby is)

"Yep, you're a 10! I'll page the doctor! This baby is coming now! And she has a lot of hair!" my nurse exclaimed.

I couldn't even use my phone. Danny had to send our moms a message to say to hurry over if they wanted to be here for delivery cuz this baby was coming and coming FAST.

1:44PM There was a knock at the door.

"Hello?" It was my mom. She had been too anxious to keep waiting after she heard my water broke, so she came over to the hospital as soon as she could. The text from Danny saying "she's a 10" had just barely sent.

Good timing mom. GOOD timing. ;) she proceeded to exclaim that I didn't even look like I'd been in labor at all. My make -up setting spray works wonders let me tell you. If you haven't tried on, check it out! http://www.lorealparisusa.com/en/products/makeup/face/makeup-primer/infallible-pro-spray-set-makeup-extender-setting-spray.aspx

The nurses were getting my legs up in the stirrups, prepping the bed for delivery and making sure things were ready for the doctor to come in.

1:48PM Dr. H came back in and in a very chipper voice asked if we were ready to meet our baby.

yes. we certainly were. :)

1:50PM "alright let's see what you can do," Dr H told me, indicating that I could start pushing.

pushing felt like a breeze compared to contractions. I could still feel just enough to know what I needed to do, and it honestly felt like second nature. #secondbabyperks right?

I pulled myself as far forward as I could, pulling my legs for all I was worth. It's not exactly an easy position with a big ol' preggo belly in the way. But we were doing this and this baby was going to be in my arms as soon as possible.

2 pushes later (2 full contractions of pushing--2-3 pushes per contractions), "Stop right there for me," Dr H said, concentrating. "I just need to rotate her, so I need you to help me with a couple of half-pushes. Can you do that for me?"

I nodded, feeling a little anxious. I squeezed Danny's hand, and he squeezed back. "She has a lot of hair," was all everyone kept saying. "And it's dark!"

Time felt like it was slowing down during those quick little pushes. "And we're good!" he exclaimed! Now give me a real good push and she'll be out!"

I held my breath and pushed for all I was worth. It was like a huge crowd was cheering me on. All 4-5 people in the room that is.

I released the breath I'd been holding as our little girl was born and leaned back. Her little cries broke the brief stillness that comes immediately following a birth. Tears pricked my eyes. She was so beautiful! And loud! (just like her momma!) My goodness she had a set of lungs.

It was like she was telling us she was much happier where she came from so put her back please!

Tatum Josie Peterson, born Janurary 31, 2016 at 1:58PM after exactly 4 hours and 56 minutes of labor. (4 times faster than her brother was born if you want to know).

Her tiny features, her long fingers and toes, everything about her was perfect.

Danny got to cut the cord of course, and within 5 minutes of her being born, his mom and sister arrived. They had received his text and headed right over in the middle of sacrament meeting.

From the moment I held her, she's nuzzled into my neck. Even now, at just over 6 weeks old, that's her favorite way for me to hold her. I'd like to think she likes to feel my voice and my heart beat up there, since she was listening to it every day all day long not too long ago.

I'll have to share another post about life since we've been home, but for now, just know that everything about this day was perfect. Shockingly fast, but perfect.

Part two to come: Sibling Love at First Sight

Raising the Dreamers

As kids we all have dreams.

Some of us dream about being firefighters. Some dream we will be Olympic champions. Some of us dream we will train dolphins, see space, invent something, fly to the moon, become a painter, a world renowned musician, a teacher. I could continue, but the list wouldn't fit in a single post. 

As long as I can remember, I've had some pretty crazy dreams for what I wanted to do, who I thought I wanted to BE when I grew up. Some were the ones that come from being in the moment: Experiencing sea world for the first time. Watching an inspiring movie. 
Danny and I went to see Eddie the Eagle for our first date night back after having our second baby, Tatum Josie(birth story to come), and I absolutely LOVED every minute of it. From the very start of the movie, you knew this was the true story of a dreamer. A TRUE dreamer who followed his dreams NO MATTER WHAT anyone told him.

He persevered through physical, mental, and emotional challenges. He was looked down on by his own dad; he had few friends; he failed OVER and over again. Honestly, I feel like if I had been in his exact situation, learning to ski jump for the first time (a sport that takes a lifetime of mastery), I would have given up long before he even considered giving up as an option. There was one person in his life though, who NEVER gave up on him and who always encouraged him to chase after his dreams: His mother.

She was the picture of the mother who wanted nothing more in life than for her little boy to be happy and to know he had value, he was loved, and he belonged with them. She was honestly the driving force behind how dedicated Eddie stayed to his goal of becoming an Olympic competitor.

I was so moved by this story, and by the mothers role in it, that I was literally standing outside in the hallway, jotting down thoughts as I listened to my two beautiful perfect children sleep on Friday night.

I've had many dreams, but the one that was always most important to me was to be a mom.

Nothing can even come close. I love teaching, yes, and I love music. I love doing hair, and I love interior design and decorating. But I have always had a firm belief that I needed to be and wanted to be a mother.

I remember playing dolls, playing house with my siblings. Can you guess what my role was? Even as the big sister, I wanted so much to be like my mom (though my siblings would disagree that this was a good thing because they didn't like my bossiness...haha).

My biggest dreams in life now revolve entirely around my family. I always want to be a mother my children can count on to let them dream big: as big as they can. I never want them to hear my voice in their head putting them down. I want them to see me jumping ecstatically when they draw their first pictures, when they try something new and succeed. 

And when they fail, I want to be there to hug them, help them dust off their knees, and get back up in life, with me cheering them on every step of the way.

At the very end of the movie, a quote plays across the screen:

"The important thing in life is not the triumph, but the struggle."

There's a reason we love watching the olympics. It's because it takes so much heart, determination, gut and courage to chase those dreams that we can't help but cheer when an Olympian athlete achieves something for the first time.

I want my kids to have that kind of heart, that kind of dedication, and the support and love and encouragement it takes to get there.

Since my kids are so young now, I'm not to a point where I'm really helping my two year old chase down his dreams of what he wants to be when he grows up.

But we sure do live the life of a pirate, and make pretend food with pretend blenders (that he builds himself); we draw masterpieces all over the fence in the backyard; we race around like airplanes, and then 3 minutes later, we're birdies.

I'm going to stop tossing the nursery coloring pages that come home from church every Sunday, stop asking Joshua to not play piano when I want "peace and quiet"--instead I'll start an art wall to celebrate every effort my son and future kids make to be creative, to be inventive, and to dream as big as they can.

That's what motherhood is really about; it's about creating, nurturing, and raising the dreamers.