Hi! Remember me? You know, the one who wrote all the way back in April about how I was spending too much time on my phone and not enough time with my sweet husband? Remember my little experiment of turning off my phone in the evenings for an entire month?
Guess what?
It was amazing! Brenton and I have become much closer, and while I don't keep my phone off every night these days, it has brought back the glow of our dating years, which is something we haven't had in awhile. Life is pretty fantastic lately.
So why haven't I written in over eight months? Great question. Those who read my blog probably already know me well enough to know most of our life updates: how we moved to South Carolina, Brenton's job is finally 9-5, M-F, and we are expecting our third little one at the end of July. Life is just about as great as it could be. I actually have tons to blog about, lots of ideas, and plenty of time to do it. So, why the sudden stop?
As it turns out, my prime time to blog was during Brenton's many, MANY late nights. I'd put the boys down, start up a Netflix show and settle in for a nice long blog entry. It was a stress reliever to write about the things that concerned me, my dreams for something better, and took my mind off the fact that my husband would't be home for several hours. But guess what? Brenton doesn't have late nights anymore. His phone calls of "Sorry Hunny, I have to work late tonight" means 7:30 instead of his usual 5:30 homecoming. Mere child's play compared to his former work schedule. So now instead of spending most nights alone, we put the boys down together, then have the whole evening to chat, play games, watch movies, work on the budget, whatever. The point is we're together, and it's awesome. Really, really awesome.
Having Brenton on a set schedule has also given me the freedom to do something for me, completely separate from him and the kids. Before, his schedule was never concrete, so even something as simple as a monthly Book Club meeting rarely worked out for me to be able to attend. Now I go out every Wednesday evening to participate in a singing group that I love. It is wonderful to get out of the house, wear something not covered in food and snot, and enjoy adult interaction with the rest of the world. Win!
In conclusion, it isn't that I don't enjoy blogging, because I do. And it isn't that I'll never write another post, because I will. It's just that the outlet blogging has been for me in the past is no longer necessary. Blogging filled a void in my life that no longer needs to be filled, and for that I've never been happier to see eight months go by without a single post. Here's to 2014 really being as wonderful as I hoped it would be a year ago!
Friday, December 26, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Reconnecting by Disconnecting
I haven’t written in awhile, and there’s a lot to catch up
on. We've been out of our home for three months, and have lived in three
places. It’s definitely been an adventure full of ups, downs, and every emotion
in between. I’m exhausted most days, and all of us are certainly tired of
living in one room, in each other’s space at all times. However, the end is in
sight, and Brenton should have his first assignment within a week or so. We are
very excited for his training to come to a close at the end of the month. He has
worked hard, and feels confident this temporary sacrifice will bring the
blessings we’re praying for as a family. I’ll try to post photos and stories
about this dreadfully cold, long winter we've experienced as the next few weeks
progress, but today I’m focusing on something else.
One month from yesterday will be a special day for Brenton
and me. We will be celebrating our fifth
wedding anniversary. I know that’s
pretty small as far as anniversary milestones go, but it’s our first big one
since the actual wedding day itself. In
those five years we've lived in six states, and seven homes. We've had two
children, two cars, and collectively held five jobs and 16 church callings. We've
watched our bank account rise and fall, our waistlines expand and shrink, and
our children thrive and struggle. Five years seems like a day and an eternity
all at once. We've done so much in such a short span of time.
In some ways we’re much closer. I absolutely love Brenton
far more today than I did five years ago. In other ways we’re disconnected.
When we were dating there was plenty of time to sit and talk to each other. We
went on dates and never ran out of things to say. That’s not really the case
now. At best we have a few hours together in the evenings if we’re lucky, and that
time isn't really spent with Brenton so much as next to him.
With his job in Kentucky, Brenton was often gone in the
evenings, so I would put the boys down to bed, settle down in front of Netflix,
and spend time with what has now become my other half: my phone. It just became
a habit. I’d scroll through Pinterest and Facebook, using the time to unwind
from the long day. Now that Brenton’s schedule is more concrete, he is home
most evenings. We put the boys down together, which I’m grateful for. But then
when they’re asleep, I find both of us sitting together with our phones. We
might engage in a brief conversation of, “did you see this photo?” or “watch
this funny video, hunny!” for a minute or two, but then it’s back to glossy
eyed, thumb scrolling. I used to miss him so much during the evenings he’d work
late, and now that he’s home I’m doing the same thing I did when he wasn't. It
needs to stop.
So, for the month of April, I’m giving Brenton 30 days of
phone-free time. Last night was Day 1, and once the boys were down I plugged in
my phone, put it away, and just sat and talked with him. We told jokes, and actually
communicated about our day. It felt like a mini date night right there in our
tiny, one-room hotel suite we’re stuck in for the next month. It wasn't
instantly magical, and I almost grabbed my phone a few times when I wondered
about the weather, or what actor was in that movie, or where so-and-so is
living these days. But overall the change has been a positive one, even after
one day.
I’m not saying I won’t ever pick up my phone for things in
the evenings, but I am taking the time to say to my husband, “you are more
important to me than a 4-inch screen. Our marriage means more to me than Sally’s
latest post of what she ate for dinner. I don’t need to see how many people
liked my photo, or who left a comment on the article I shared. I need you to
know I care about you, just you, and that you are the only person I need to “like”
me. I may be able to access the world through a device that fits in my hand, but
you were my world and held that hand long before it was holding a smart phone,
so I am reconnecting with you by disconnecting from it.”
I mean, after all, the best way to celebrate five years of
time together is by spending more time together, right?
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
2013: A Year of Healing
2013 is rapidly drawing to a close, and in just a few short days our family will be moving to our next big adventure, starting with a 90-day excursion in Chicago for Brenton's new job training. Having the year end at the cusp of a new journey for us has caused me to reflect much on this past year and our time spent in beautiful Bowling Green, Kentucky. This has been a place of great emotional healing for me. It has been a safe zone where I've had time to pause and reflect on how my past was affecting my present. So before we head into 2014 and our family heads to the Windy City, allow me to address a few things I've learned.
I finally became secure and happy enough in my life to recognize I have some very deep scars from past trauma. Some of it you are aware of, such as the scary birth of my first son, Ryan. That trauma was visibly brought to the surface during the birth of my second son, Jackson, but since his delivery went perfectly it allowed me to acknowledge the pain and heal from it. That was so freeing. I accepted the trauma, then let it go. In return I was given the precious first few days of motherhood I had never known. It has been one of the most beautiful manifestations of Christ's love for me as He helped me let go of all the pain and fear my mind and body had accepted as the reality of childbirth.
The other scars and trauma come from a part of my life most of you are unaware of. Previously I viewed those two years as a crippling weakness, a dark shadow of my life I never wanted anyone to know about. However, the events of this past year gave me the strength to seek out help, finally face the demons from my first two years of college, and acknowledge I wasn't as healed as I thought from them.
During my freshman and sophomore years of college I was involved in a severely abusive relationship. It affected my grades, family, friends, spiritual testimony, physical health, and self worth. Although I moved on and turned my life around, I thought simply suppressing all the pain was enough to carry on with the rest of my life. But this Fall when an innocent little girl grabbed my wrist hard to ask me a question and my whole body shut down, my blood pressure skyrocketed and I could barely breathe, I realized I wasn't as healed as I thought. That's when I noticed little patterns in my life that weren't normal. For example, I couldn't take the trash out at night without breaking into a cold sweat, vividly imagining I would be attacked. I couldn't roll over and look at the bedroom door in the middle of the night because I was too afraid. I couldn't go to a shooting range with my husband without breaking down into full, body-shaking sobs at the sound of a gunshot. When my little boy would throw a tantrum, often I'd put him in timeout just so he wouldn't see me emotionally shut down and cry, too. None of that is normal. It's textbook PTSD. So I faced my fear, pushed through my pride and called a therapist. It was the single best decision I made this year.
Through the help of my wonderful therapist, my incredibly supportive husband, and my relationship with my Savior I made huge (we're talking Grand Canyonesque huge) strides in letting go of all the trauma and fear associated with those two years. It has completely changed my concept of self worth, forgiveness, and mental health. In the past few months I've become a better wife and mother. I've let go of so much pain and grief and realized most of my fear was irrational and destructive. It has been so liberating!
Now I understand all this healing happened at just the right time. I was in a good place. My marriage and family were fantastic, and I had all the tools I needed to face the music, take the necessary steps to detach myself from the fear and look at it from a removed perspective. It was all part of Heavenly Father's plan for me. I don't know where Brenton's new job will take us, but I will be forever grateful for everything Kentucky has given me. I have a new son, a new perspective on childbirth, and a new perspective on life. Now I know no matter where we end up I will be more than just happy, I will thrive.
Fourteen has always been my lucky number. It makes perfect sense that I will go into 2014 a new woman, full of the confidence and strength I've always had but was brainwashed into believing wasn't there. This will finally be my year. Bring it on, 2014. This girl is on fire.
I finally became secure and happy enough in my life to recognize I have some very deep scars from past trauma. Some of it you are aware of, such as the scary birth of my first son, Ryan. That trauma was visibly brought to the surface during the birth of my second son, Jackson, but since his delivery went perfectly it allowed me to acknowledge the pain and heal from it. That was so freeing. I accepted the trauma, then let it go. In return I was given the precious first few days of motherhood I had never known. It has been one of the most beautiful manifestations of Christ's love for me as He helped me let go of all the pain and fear my mind and body had accepted as the reality of childbirth.
The other scars and trauma come from a part of my life most of you are unaware of. Previously I viewed those two years as a crippling weakness, a dark shadow of my life I never wanted anyone to know about. However, the events of this past year gave me the strength to seek out help, finally face the demons from my first two years of college, and acknowledge I wasn't as healed as I thought from them.
During my freshman and sophomore years of college I was involved in a severely abusive relationship. It affected my grades, family, friends, spiritual testimony, physical health, and self worth. Although I moved on and turned my life around, I thought simply suppressing all the pain was enough to carry on with the rest of my life. But this Fall when an innocent little girl grabbed my wrist hard to ask me a question and my whole body shut down, my blood pressure skyrocketed and I could barely breathe, I realized I wasn't as healed as I thought. That's when I noticed little patterns in my life that weren't normal. For example, I couldn't take the trash out at night without breaking into a cold sweat, vividly imagining I would be attacked. I couldn't roll over and look at the bedroom door in the middle of the night because I was too afraid. I couldn't go to a shooting range with my husband without breaking down into full, body-shaking sobs at the sound of a gunshot. When my little boy would throw a tantrum, often I'd put him in timeout just so he wouldn't see me emotionally shut down and cry, too. None of that is normal. It's textbook PTSD. So I faced my fear, pushed through my pride and called a therapist. It was the single best decision I made this year.
Through the help of my wonderful therapist, my incredibly supportive husband, and my relationship with my Savior I made huge (we're talking Grand Canyonesque huge) strides in letting go of all the trauma and fear associated with those two years. It has completely changed my concept of self worth, forgiveness, and mental health. In the past few months I've become a better wife and mother. I've let go of so much pain and grief and realized most of my fear was irrational and destructive. It has been so liberating!
Now I understand all this healing happened at just the right time. I was in a good place. My marriage and family were fantastic, and I had all the tools I needed to face the music, take the necessary steps to detach myself from the fear and look at it from a removed perspective. It was all part of Heavenly Father's plan for me. I don't know where Brenton's new job will take us, but I will be forever grateful for everything Kentucky has given me. I have a new son, a new perspective on childbirth, and a new perspective on life. Now I know no matter where we end up I will be more than just happy, I will thrive.
Fourteen has always been my lucky number. It makes perfect sense that I will go into 2014 a new woman, full of the confidence and strength I've always had but was brainwashed into believing wasn't there. This will finally be my year. Bring it on, 2014. This girl is on fire.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Our Mushy Romance
This past week marks six years since my and Brenton's first date. I know, this is the part where half of you think, "awwww! They're so sweet!" and the other half roll your eyes and think, "here she goes again with all that mushy romantic stuff. Gag me."
Well, that's exactly what this post is about. All that mushy stuff.
You see, when two hopeless romantics fall in love with each other, we tend to celebrate all the little stuff. First date, the day we became boyfriend and girlfriend, the day he proposed, you get the picture. But as sweet and special as all of that "mushy" stuff is, that's not the stuff I'm talking about. I didn't choose to marry Brenton because he remembers little anniversaries and buys me flowers, although those are wonderful things I appreciate about him.
I married Brenton because he pinched my nose closed today so I could swallow nasty medicine while mushy snot ran down my chin as I held our baby boy.
I married Brenton because he asks for seconds of my mushy pasta that I left on the stove too long while consoling our three-year-old who stubbed his toe.
I married Brenton because he has eyes only for me, no matter how mushy my waistline gets after having two children.
I married Brenton because he humbly changes mushy diaper after mushy diaper without a single complaint.
I married Brenton because he mows the mushy, overgrown lawn after a rainstorm so I don't have to.
I married Brenton because he still wraps me in his arms after a long day, even if my shirt is covered in mushed up baby food.
I married Brenton because he sits down and watches mushy movies with me that he wouldn't choose himself.
I married Brenton because he knew our marriage wouldn't always be perfect or easy.
Because when real life sets in, it's messy. It's mushy, often mundane, and exhausting. I think that's why we love celebrating all the little things so much, because it brings back the spark of what caused us to fall in love in the first place. But those sparks aren't the real reason we made the eternal commitment to be together. Our love is a strong fire built on work, trust, sacrifice, and unfailing loyalty. And those things are what sustain us through the rest of the mushy stuff.
So even though I hoped to spend today celebrating the 6th anniversary of our first date by splitting a butterbeer at Starbucks and perusing the half-priced bookstore being all mushy and starstruck, I was reminded of the true, deep, sincere love we have for each other as I used up an entire box of tissues on the couch while Brenton took care of our boys. That's real love, and I'm so blessed I found a man who understands it. Here's to another year of all that mushy stuff.
Well, that's exactly what this post is about. All that mushy stuff.
You see, when two hopeless romantics fall in love with each other, we tend to celebrate all the little stuff. First date, the day we became boyfriend and girlfriend, the day he proposed, you get the picture. But as sweet and special as all of that "mushy" stuff is, that's not the stuff I'm talking about. I didn't choose to marry Brenton because he remembers little anniversaries and buys me flowers, although those are wonderful things I appreciate about him.
I married Brenton because he pinched my nose closed today so I could swallow nasty medicine while mushy snot ran down my chin as I held our baby boy.
I married Brenton because he asks for seconds of my mushy pasta that I left on the stove too long while consoling our three-year-old who stubbed his toe.
I married Brenton because he has eyes only for me, no matter how mushy my waistline gets after having two children.
I married Brenton because he humbly changes mushy diaper after mushy diaper without a single complaint.
I married Brenton because he mows the mushy, overgrown lawn after a rainstorm so I don't have to.
I married Brenton because he still wraps me in his arms after a long day, even if my shirt is covered in mushed up baby food.
I married Brenton because he sits down and watches mushy movies with me that he wouldn't choose himself.
I married Brenton because he knew our marriage wouldn't always be perfect or easy.
Because when real life sets in, it's messy. It's mushy, often mundane, and exhausting. I think that's why we love celebrating all the little things so much, because it brings back the spark of what caused us to fall in love in the first place. But those sparks aren't the real reason we made the eternal commitment to be together. Our love is a strong fire built on work, trust, sacrifice, and unfailing loyalty. And those things are what sustain us through the rest of the mushy stuff.
So even though I hoped to spend today celebrating the 6th anniversary of our first date by splitting a butterbeer at Starbucks and perusing the half-priced bookstore being all mushy and starstruck, I was reminded of the true, deep, sincere love we have for each other as I used up an entire box of tissues on the couch while Brenton took care of our boys. That's real love, and I'm so blessed I found a man who understands it. Here's to another year of all that mushy stuff.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Live Your Dreams
One of my favorite songs of all time is "Rainbow Connection" sung by the timeless Kermit The Frog. It's a song about dreams, and how believing in stars or wishes is really just a catalyst for believing in yourself. Since I was a little girl, every time I hear those opening notes I picture Mr. The Frog sitting in the middle of a pond, strumming the banjo. It's what has always sparked my desire to learn to play it someday.
Someday.
Our lives are full of somedays. "Someday I'll do this, go there, learn this, try that. Someday, someday, someday. One of the biggest roadblocks to Someday is having children. Don't misunderstand me. Marrying my husband and having our two boys have been the three best decisions and greatest dreams of my life. I don't regret any of it for a second, and they more than make up for the sacrifices I make on their behalf. But when you're a mother, many if not most of your own personal aspirations get set aside in order to raise your children. At the end of the day the hours and money just don't add up for anything extra. That's why everything gets pushed to Someday.
About a month or so ago it came up in conversation with my mother that I've always dreamed of playing the banjo. But it's not a priority, it's a Someday dream. One that when push comes to shove will probably never happen, but is still fun to talk about because it makes me believe someday I will have time to persue new things for myself.
A week ago when when my parents were here visiting, my mother said they had an early birthday gift to give me. (My birthday's in December). And there it was: a beautiful, Kermit-approved banjo. I couldn't believe it! It meant so much more to me than just a really cool instrument that I couldn't wait to start playing. To me it was a symbol of never giving up on my dreams. Yes, being a mother takes a lot of time, and there are always going to be things I will put aside for Someday. But that doesn't mean I have to give up on myself. There are dreams I can persue now, and that's important. It will make me a better mom by taking time for some of my own dreams, too.
It has been such a blast learning how to play one of the coolest instruments ever. I feel like a million bucks every time I sit down to practice. And guess what song I learned first?
Someday.
Our lives are full of somedays. "Someday I'll do this, go there, learn this, try that. Someday, someday, someday. One of the biggest roadblocks to Someday is having children. Don't misunderstand me. Marrying my husband and having our two boys have been the three best decisions and greatest dreams of my life. I don't regret any of it for a second, and they more than make up for the sacrifices I make on their behalf. But when you're a mother, many if not most of your own personal aspirations get set aside in order to raise your children. At the end of the day the hours and money just don't add up for anything extra. That's why everything gets pushed to Someday.
About a month or so ago it came up in conversation with my mother that I've always dreamed of playing the banjo. But it's not a priority, it's a Someday dream. One that when push comes to shove will probably never happen, but is still fun to talk about because it makes me believe someday I will have time to persue new things for myself.
A week ago when when my parents were here visiting, my mother said they had an early birthday gift to give me. (My birthday's in December). And there it was: a beautiful, Kermit-approved banjo. I couldn't believe it! It meant so much more to me than just a really cool instrument that I couldn't wait to start playing. To me it was a symbol of never giving up on my dreams. Yes, being a mother takes a lot of time, and there are always going to be things I will put aside for Someday. But that doesn't mean I have to give up on myself. There are dreams I can persue now, and that's important. It will make me a better mom by taking time for some of my own dreams, too.
It has been such a blast learning how to play one of the coolest instruments ever. I feel like a million bucks every time I sit down to practice. And guess what song I learned first?
Saturday, September 14, 2013
An Appointment at Vanderbilt
This past Thursday Ryan had a doctor's appointment at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital. It was nothing serious. At his three-year wellness appointment his pediatrician noticed his hip and leg alignment was a bit uneven, and that he has flat feet. He wanted pediatric orthopedics to see if there was anything we needed to do to fix it, and the closest office was at Vanderbilt. For those unfamiliar with the hospital, it's top notch. Like St. Jude, it's a research hospital with many doctors known for their breakthrough procedures.
As we made our way through the building, I noticed how bright and friendly everything looked. If I didn't know better, I would have thought we were in a fun children's discovery museum. There were neat displays of toys, bright star-tiled floors and friendly staff at every turn. Everyone treated Ryan like he was a superstar. I was so touched by their kindness, knowing they treated every child that way whether he was there for a simple check-up or something far more serious.
Despite the friendly decor and cheerful staff, you could feel the tension and pressure of the hospital's purpose at every turn. The air was thick with it. The friendliness was almost unnerving because I knew the motive behind it. While you couldn't see them in the front lobbies, dozens of children were inside fighting for their lives, with devoted parents praying for a miracle. I said a silent prayer of gratitude that I wasn't one of them.
As we sat in the waiting room of orthopedics, I looked around and saw several children in wheelchairs, some with limbs curved in ways they shouldn't be, others in casts or braces. Beside each one of them was a mother and/or father, looking tired and a bit lost. But I sat there watching my healthy, three-year-old little boy hopping from one giant-painted dinosaur footprint to the next with ease. So often I forget what a miracle it is that he's even alive, let alone has no side-effects from his scary birth. He could have easily been one of the children in the upper floors of that hospital, having yet another surgery as a result of his complicated birth, with me and Brenton anxiously pacing the halls, praying for yet another miracle. But he wasn't, and we weren't.
As it turns out, the very friendly and wonderful doctors informed us Ryan's knocked knees are nothing to worry about, and will correct themselves over time. They had him run up and down the hallway giving the staff high fives to check his alignment. And we also learned his flat feet are just genetically built that way, inherited from his daddy. There's nothing to do because Ryan's feet have beautiful arches, they just disappear when he stands. If he has pain we can give him extra arch support in his shoes, but that's it. No big deal. He skipped out of the room all smiles, proudly showing off the Mickey Mouse sticker he put on his shirt upside down in order to face him as he looked at it.
We enjoyed the rest of the day as a family in Nashville, and as I watched Ryan run, laugh and play while I pushed Jackson in the stroller, my heart was so full of gratitude for my two healthy, beautiful children. Later, I sat in the car feeding Jackson and said a prayer for those parents who didn't get to leave the hospital that day to take their children to the park. I thanked the Lord for my family and for the precious gift of their health. It made me hold them a little tighter that night before bedtime kisses. I sure love my family: flat feet, knock knees and all.
As we made our way through the building, I noticed how bright and friendly everything looked. If I didn't know better, I would have thought we were in a fun children's discovery museum. There were neat displays of toys, bright star-tiled floors and friendly staff at every turn. Everyone treated Ryan like he was a superstar. I was so touched by their kindness, knowing they treated every child that way whether he was there for a simple check-up or something far more serious.
Despite the friendly decor and cheerful staff, you could feel the tension and pressure of the hospital's purpose at every turn. The air was thick with it. The friendliness was almost unnerving because I knew the motive behind it. While you couldn't see them in the front lobbies, dozens of children were inside fighting for their lives, with devoted parents praying for a miracle. I said a silent prayer of gratitude that I wasn't one of them.
As we sat in the waiting room of orthopedics, I looked around and saw several children in wheelchairs, some with limbs curved in ways they shouldn't be, others in casts or braces. Beside each one of them was a mother and/or father, looking tired and a bit lost. But I sat there watching my healthy, three-year-old little boy hopping from one giant-painted dinosaur footprint to the next with ease. So often I forget what a miracle it is that he's even alive, let alone has no side-effects from his scary birth. He could have easily been one of the children in the upper floors of that hospital, having yet another surgery as a result of his complicated birth, with me and Brenton anxiously pacing the halls, praying for yet another miracle. But he wasn't, and we weren't.
As it turns out, the very friendly and wonderful doctors informed us Ryan's knocked knees are nothing to worry about, and will correct themselves over time. They had him run up and down the hallway giving the staff high fives to check his alignment. And we also learned his flat feet are just genetically built that way, inherited from his daddy. There's nothing to do because Ryan's feet have beautiful arches, they just disappear when he stands. If he has pain we can give him extra arch support in his shoes, but that's it. No big deal. He skipped out of the room all smiles, proudly showing off the Mickey Mouse sticker he put on his shirt upside down in order to face him as he looked at it.
We enjoyed the rest of the day as a family in Nashville, and as I watched Ryan run, laugh and play while I pushed Jackson in the stroller, my heart was so full of gratitude for my two healthy, beautiful children. Later, I sat in the car feeding Jackson and said a prayer for those parents who didn't get to leave the hospital that day to take their children to the park. I thanked the Lord for my family and for the precious gift of their health. It made me hold them a little tighter that night before bedtime kisses. I sure love my family: flat feet, knock knees and all.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Jackson Rafael Hoyos' Birth Story
My heart is so full it's hard to know where to start. Jackson's birth was a completely different experience from Ryan's. It was a day of great emotional healing for me. I had never experienced a birth where everything went right. I didn't realize how big the hole was in my heart after Ryan's birth, and how Jackson's would fill all the loss I'd been suppressing for nearly three years. But it really did, every whit.
The night before Jackson's scheduled delivery I hardly slept. I was far too excited/nervous, not to mention uncomfortable with a full-term baby inside of me. Luckily, we had to be at the hospital very early so at 4:15AM I gratefully got out of bed to get dressed and ready to go. After packing up some last minute things and Brenton eating breakfast (I had to fast), we loaded everything up and set out for the hospital. I felt so calm during the drive. With no traffic the trip flew by as we followed the pink sunrise to the hospital.
Upon arrival Brenton gave me a blessing stating all would be well and Jackson would be perfectly healthy. I felt calm and very prepared as we walked into the hospital together. After registration and making sure my orders were correct, they taped on my wrist band and lead me to Labor and Delivery. There was no rush, no panic, just friendly nurses who chatted away as I laid on the bed and started an IV of fluids. I began to feel the excitement of knowing in just another hour I'd be holding Jackson. It buoyed me up as they took a blood sample and I swallowed the nasty antacid suspension. Then it was time for Brenton to suit up in his scrubs for the OR.
At this point I was ready to be moved to final prep before surgery. This was the part I was most dreading because I knew it would hurt and Brenton couldn't be in the room with me. Suddenly, I was filled with anxiety as my mind flashed back to Ryan's traumatic delivery. I began to sob uncontrollably almost out of nowhere. It was completely unexpected. I knew all would be well. I knew nothing that happened during Ryan's delivery would happen with Jackson's, but being back in a hospital setting flooded my mind with all the fears and emotions I had suppressed for three years. No matter how I tried I couldn't get myself to calm down. I sobbed all the way down the hall as I was wheeled to the room for the spinal block and waited. Noticing it was taking a while for the doctors to come, Brenton asked if he could sit with me until they performed the spinal block. The nurses agreed and I began to calm down. I felt so foolish for falling apart like that, but I really had no control over it. Thankfully, with Brenton holding my hand and stroking my hair I was able to compose myself somewhat until Dr. South arrived and it was time for the spinal block.
My anxiety returned somewhat when Brenton had to leave, but knowing Dr. South was there and we were minutes away from the surgery gave me strength to handle the spinal block on my own. The nurses and anesthesiologist were very kind. One of the nurses kept talking to me, asking me questions about Jackson to keep me distracted. It was very helpful, and even though I was still crying, it kept my mind off the pain. After a few minutes the spinal block was in and I was wheeled to the operating room.
At this point my anxiety was at its greatest. The last time I was in an operating room was very scary, and the memory of it was almost too much to handle. I was so terrified I began to shake. They brought Brenton in quickly and he helped me calm down significantly. Then, almost as soon as it had started, I stopped crying. I felt a wave of peace flood over me and knew everything was going to be just fine. The worst was over, and in minutes Jackson would be born. As this wasn't an emergency c-section, Dr. South was able to carefully take her time with each layer of the incision. I paid much more attention to what was happening to my body. There was a lot of pressure, and instead of the baby being pulled out of the birth canal as Ryan was, I felt them push down on my stomach to help Jackson come out. It was so much pressure at one point I couldn't breathe. Most importantly I wanted to hear Jackson's first cry. I never heard Ryan's as he was unresponsive at birth. I was afraid it would be too noisy and I'd miss it, so I kept asking the nurses, "is he coming?" about every thirty seconds.
Before we knew it, Jackson was pulled out and Dr. South said, "what a chubby guy! He's huge!," and then I heard it: Jackson's first cry. It was a culmination of relief, joy, gratitude, and love. They brought him over to me right away. I felt his tiny hand that moments earlier was in my belly, wrap around my finger as I watched his perfectly healthy lungs rise and fall with his first breaths. Brenton was right next to me; our baby was fine. It was the moment I had dreamed and wished for three years ago but never got. It was perfect, and more beautiful than I imagined. Jackson Rafael Hoyos was born July 24th, 2013, at 7:59 AM weighing 8 lbs. 14 oz. and 20 1/2 inches long.
They put a diaper on Jackson and wiped him down, then placed him on my chest. I felt as though my heart couldn't possibly hold all the love I felt for my sweet baby boy. Just minutes earlier he had been inside me, and now here he was, resting peacefully on my chest, perfect as could be. After a minute or two the nurse adjusted him so he could try to breastfeed. Almost instinctively, Jackson rooted and began to nurse. The other doctors in the OR couldn't believe it. Apparently it is very rare for c-section babies to nurse right after being born. They said they'd only ever seen it happen twice before. I was so proud of him!
Dr. South took extra care with stitching me up to minimize scar tissue, and then I was wheeled to Recovery to be cleaned up. Brenton went to the Nursery where Jackson was cleaned, weighed, and measured. I missed them so much, but couldn't leave Recovery until I could move my toes on my own. I remember staring at my feet, willing every neuron in my brain to make them move, but they just sat there, discouragingly still. Every ten minutes a nurse would come and massage my tummy to help my uterus contract, and each time it hurt more and more, which was a good sign the spinal block was fading. They'd ask, "can you move your toes?" and I felt like a six-year-old misspelling the word 'cat' as my feet stubbornly refused to move. The nurse would give me a patronizing smirk and say, "I guess we'll try again later, won't we?" It was maddening. Finally, I begged one of the nurses to bring Jackson while I waited for the spinal block to wear off. After a few minutes of lecturing and informing me it wasn't procedure to bring the baby into Recovery, I stubbornly insisted they bring him anyway. Looking distinctly ruffled, the nurse called up to the Nursery and a minute later Brenton and Jackson were wheeled into my little partitioned bed space. I was so happy to hold my baby I didn't even realize my feet started moving seconds later. I covered his little face with kisses, and the nurses upon seeing my wriggling toes quickly released me to Postpartum, just like that.
At this point we were ready to call parents and family to announce the good news. Jackson was finally here, safe and sound! My wonderful doctor didn't make me wait 24 hours to eat solid food and had Dining Services bring up a huge celebratory breakfast. Brenton called family while I inhaled my food gratefully. I couldn't believe Jackson was resting so peacefully with me and doctors weren't coming in left and right to check on him. He wasn't hooked up to any monitors or being given any medicines. No one came in insisting they take him away for tests or scans. Everything was different from what I experienced with Ryan. I had all the time in the world to bond with my baby. It was wonderful.
It wasn't until Jackson was born and safely in my arms that I realized how much healing I desperately needed from Ryan's birth. I had no idea how scarred his delivery had made me, and how warped my perception of childbirth was because of it. While I knew Jackson was my second child, for those first 48 hours it was as if I was experiencing motherhood for the very first time, getting to enjoy all the precious first moments I'd dreamed of having but never received. Jackson's birth filled the gaping hole in my heart I never realized was left there. After only two days in the hospital, we were both discharged. It was wonderful to go home all together with no legal battles, haggling with nurses, or flood of paperwork to fill out.
A year ago I was writing posts about the heartbreak of negative pregnancy tests month after month. Now here I sit cradling my sweet baby in my arms, filled with so much gratitude my heart could burst. I have two miraculous little boys. Ryan is proof that miracles happen in a sincere moment of need. Jackson is proof that prayers are answered and the Lord keeps his promises. I am so in love with my sons. They are my two greatest achievements. In a very special blessing I was given in my youth I was told I'd have a "great posterity to raise up unto the Lord." I always assumed that meant I'd have a lot of kids. But maybe it means while my children may be few in number, they will be truly great. Looking into their sweet faces, how could it be anything but the latter?
For those who missed it on my Facebook page, here is a photo slideshow of Jackson's birth. We're so happy he's finally here!
The night before Jackson's scheduled delivery I hardly slept. I was far too excited/nervous, not to mention uncomfortable with a full-term baby inside of me. Luckily, we had to be at the hospital very early so at 4:15AM I gratefully got out of bed to get dressed and ready to go. After packing up some last minute things and Brenton eating breakfast (I had to fast), we loaded everything up and set out for the hospital. I felt so calm during the drive. With no traffic the trip flew by as we followed the pink sunrise to the hospital.
Upon arrival Brenton gave me a blessing stating all would be well and Jackson would be perfectly healthy. I felt calm and very prepared as we walked into the hospital together. After registration and making sure my orders were correct, they taped on my wrist band and lead me to Labor and Delivery. There was no rush, no panic, just friendly nurses who chatted away as I laid on the bed and started an IV of fluids. I began to feel the excitement of knowing in just another hour I'd be holding Jackson. It buoyed me up as they took a blood sample and I swallowed the nasty antacid suspension. Then it was time for Brenton to suit up in his scrubs for the OR.
At this point I was ready to be moved to final prep before surgery. This was the part I was most dreading because I knew it would hurt and Brenton couldn't be in the room with me. Suddenly, I was filled with anxiety as my mind flashed back to Ryan's traumatic delivery. I began to sob uncontrollably almost out of nowhere. It was completely unexpected. I knew all would be well. I knew nothing that happened during Ryan's delivery would happen with Jackson's, but being back in a hospital setting flooded my mind with all the fears and emotions I had suppressed for three years. No matter how I tried I couldn't get myself to calm down. I sobbed all the way down the hall as I was wheeled to the room for the spinal block and waited. Noticing it was taking a while for the doctors to come, Brenton asked if he could sit with me until they performed the spinal block. The nurses agreed and I began to calm down. I felt so foolish for falling apart like that, but I really had no control over it. Thankfully, with Brenton holding my hand and stroking my hair I was able to compose myself somewhat until Dr. South arrived and it was time for the spinal block.
My anxiety returned somewhat when Brenton had to leave, but knowing Dr. South was there and we were minutes away from the surgery gave me strength to handle the spinal block on my own. The nurses and anesthesiologist were very kind. One of the nurses kept talking to me, asking me questions about Jackson to keep me distracted. It was very helpful, and even though I was still crying, it kept my mind off the pain. After a few minutes the spinal block was in and I was wheeled to the operating room.
At this point my anxiety was at its greatest. The last time I was in an operating room was very scary, and the memory of it was almost too much to handle. I was so terrified I began to shake. They brought Brenton in quickly and he helped me calm down significantly. Then, almost as soon as it had started, I stopped crying. I felt a wave of peace flood over me and knew everything was going to be just fine. The worst was over, and in minutes Jackson would be born. As this wasn't an emergency c-section, Dr. South was able to carefully take her time with each layer of the incision. I paid much more attention to what was happening to my body. There was a lot of pressure, and instead of the baby being pulled out of the birth canal as Ryan was, I felt them push down on my stomach to help Jackson come out. It was so much pressure at one point I couldn't breathe. Most importantly I wanted to hear Jackson's first cry. I never heard Ryan's as he was unresponsive at birth. I was afraid it would be too noisy and I'd miss it, so I kept asking the nurses, "is he coming?" about every thirty seconds.
Before we knew it, Jackson was pulled out and Dr. South said, "what a chubby guy! He's huge!," and then I heard it: Jackson's first cry. It was a culmination of relief, joy, gratitude, and love. They brought him over to me right away. I felt his tiny hand that moments earlier was in my belly, wrap around my finger as I watched his perfectly healthy lungs rise and fall with his first breaths. Brenton was right next to me; our baby was fine. It was the moment I had dreamed and wished for three years ago but never got. It was perfect, and more beautiful than I imagined. Jackson Rafael Hoyos was born July 24th, 2013, at 7:59 AM weighing 8 lbs. 14 oz. and 20 1/2 inches long.
They put a diaper on Jackson and wiped him down, then placed him on my chest. I felt as though my heart couldn't possibly hold all the love I felt for my sweet baby boy. Just minutes earlier he had been inside me, and now here he was, resting peacefully on my chest, perfect as could be. After a minute or two the nurse adjusted him so he could try to breastfeed. Almost instinctively, Jackson rooted and began to nurse. The other doctors in the OR couldn't believe it. Apparently it is very rare for c-section babies to nurse right after being born. They said they'd only ever seen it happen twice before. I was so proud of him!
Dr. South took extra care with stitching me up to minimize scar tissue, and then I was wheeled to Recovery to be cleaned up. Brenton went to the Nursery where Jackson was cleaned, weighed, and measured. I missed them so much, but couldn't leave Recovery until I could move my toes on my own. I remember staring at my feet, willing every neuron in my brain to make them move, but they just sat there, discouragingly still. Every ten minutes a nurse would come and massage my tummy to help my uterus contract, and each time it hurt more and more, which was a good sign the spinal block was fading. They'd ask, "can you move your toes?" and I felt like a six-year-old misspelling the word 'cat' as my feet stubbornly refused to move. The nurse would give me a patronizing smirk and say, "I guess we'll try again later, won't we?" It was maddening. Finally, I begged one of the nurses to bring Jackson while I waited for the spinal block to wear off. After a few minutes of lecturing and informing me it wasn't procedure to bring the baby into Recovery, I stubbornly insisted they bring him anyway. Looking distinctly ruffled, the nurse called up to the Nursery and a minute later Brenton and Jackson were wheeled into my little partitioned bed space. I was so happy to hold my baby I didn't even realize my feet started moving seconds later. I covered his little face with kisses, and the nurses upon seeing my wriggling toes quickly released me to Postpartum, just like that.
At this point we were ready to call parents and family to announce the good news. Jackson was finally here, safe and sound! My wonderful doctor didn't make me wait 24 hours to eat solid food and had Dining Services bring up a huge celebratory breakfast. Brenton called family while I inhaled my food gratefully. I couldn't believe Jackson was resting so peacefully with me and doctors weren't coming in left and right to check on him. He wasn't hooked up to any monitors or being given any medicines. No one came in insisting they take him away for tests or scans. Everything was different from what I experienced with Ryan. I had all the time in the world to bond with my baby. It was wonderful.
It wasn't until Jackson was born and safely in my arms that I realized how much healing I desperately needed from Ryan's birth. I had no idea how scarred his delivery had made me, and how warped my perception of childbirth was because of it. While I knew Jackson was my second child, for those first 48 hours it was as if I was experiencing motherhood for the very first time, getting to enjoy all the precious first moments I'd dreamed of having but never received. Jackson's birth filled the gaping hole in my heart I never realized was left there. After only two days in the hospital, we were both discharged. It was wonderful to go home all together with no legal battles, haggling with nurses, or flood of paperwork to fill out.
A year ago I was writing posts about the heartbreak of negative pregnancy tests month after month. Now here I sit cradling my sweet baby in my arms, filled with so much gratitude my heart could burst. I have two miraculous little boys. Ryan is proof that miracles happen in a sincere moment of need. Jackson is proof that prayers are answered and the Lord keeps his promises. I am so in love with my sons. They are my two greatest achievements. In a very special blessing I was given in my youth I was told I'd have a "great posterity to raise up unto the Lord." I always assumed that meant I'd have a lot of kids. But maybe it means while my children may be few in number, they will be truly great. Looking into their sweet faces, how could it be anything but the latter?
For those who missed it on my Facebook page, here is a photo slideshow of Jackson's birth. We're so happy he's finally here!
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