My Bucket dilemma.

I have a bit of a dilemma and I'm asking for advice... 

My sweet little boy, Spencer, came up to Tony & I today and asked if he could be baptized. I was a little more than taken aback by his request. He's 6 years old. SIX YEARS OLD. How can a six year old boy even begin to  understand the magnitude of this request? I suppose I shouldn't be this surprised. It was last year at this time that he asked Jesus to come live in his heart. This little boy is wise beyond his years and has a heart the size of Texas.

"Do you know what it means to be baptized?"

That I believe that Jesus died for me and He loves me.  

"Why do you want to be baptized?"

So that all of my sins are washed away.

"Did you know that your sins were washed away when you first asked Jesus to live in your heart?"

They were!?

"Yep... Do you still want to get baptized?"

Yes.

"Why?"

Because I want to live the way Jesus wants me to and I want everyone to know I love Him.

So here I am with this problem. I want to grant him his request, but is he old enough? Does he fully understand what he's asking? Am I holding him back by saying no? Am I forcing him into something he may not fully "get" if I say yes? I would love ANY and all feedback on this one... I don't want to break his little heart, but I'm not sure he's ready and I want him to be fully aware of his decision and to do it for the right reasons. 

This little man of mine just has a heart for Jesus and I don't want to disappoint him.

6 years ago my life changed forever...

Spencer asked me last night, "how was I born?"And this is what I told him:

6 years ago today, in the middle of the night my belly started to hurt. Every 5 minutes it would hurt. When Daddy finally woke up at 5 in the morning I told him it was time to go to the hospital. I walked around the hospital with Daddy for 8 hours to try to get you to come out, but it didn't work. You wouldn't listen! Surprise surprise. ;) So the doctors gave me some medicine to help you come out and you STILL wouldn't listen. Then the doctor popped the bubble of water around you with a big crochet hook to try and get you to come out and you finally said okay. So I pushed REAL hard and I pooped (insert an insane amount of 6 year old little boy laughter).

Then I pushed again and out you came! And you were HUGE! The doctor put you on my tummy and I said, "He's an angel. An angel sent straight from heaven." (insert said little boy's sweet little "awe") And that is how I became a mommy for the very first time.

Your face was so red and swollen and you didn't have a chin (insert giggle) and you had dark black hair and looked like a little eskimo baby. Scratch that, a BIG eskimo baby. And the whole time we were at the hospital the nurses would pop their heads in and say, "I just wanted to come see the 10 pound baby! Oh my goodness! He's so huge!" 

And here you are 6 years later, even HUGER. So grown up, so sweet, so smart and so loving. It's hard to remember you were ever so "little." Sometimes when I am feeling nostalgic, I'll pick up a 10 pound bag of sugar in the grocery store and think about my baby boy. I am so proud of the little boy with the HUGE heart that you have become. I love you Spencer, Happy Birthday!

Grateful.

I decided to organize the "office." I know, to most of you that have been to my house, it seems like quite the feat! BUT, after 2 1/2 days of gutting and purging, I can finally say that it is ALMOST done. :)

So last night, as I was going through some paper work, I came across this:

I know this piece of paper and 3 pieces of card stock wouldn't mean much to most, but to me, they represent an extremely depressed time in my life full of disappointment and pain.

If you look closely, you can see the date: 3/16/07, the day I found out I was pregnant with baby number 2. I had bought Spencer a shirt and painted the words "big brother" on it, took pictures of him in it, and added a page to his scrap book so we could always remember how happy we were at that moment in time.

I was so excited.

But that excitement soon turned to sadness when we ended up losing the baby. I remember being so angry, feeling so hurt and confused. I took out the pages from the scrap book and tore up the pictures. I never wanted to be reminded of the hurt again. I guess I forgot to discard the page itself and tucked it away somewhere, not ready to let go of what had happened. A couple months later, I was pregnant again. This time would be different, this time I would have a healthy baby in the end. But this time was the same, but even more painful. How could this happen? I was healthy. I had a healthy first baby. Why? Still confused, a couple months later, yet again, I was pregnant, but this time I was terrified. I spent my entire pregnancy scared that this too would end in pain. But it didn't. It ended in Tatum.

So here I am, over 4 years later, looking at this piece of paper, this physical reminder of pain, and yet I feel so overwhelmingly happy.

I can honestly say that 2007 was one of the hardest years of my life. There was a point I truly believed God was punishing me for something and I was only going to be able to have one baby. But here I am 2 babies later. God had a plan for me. I am not in control, I never was. I think God wanted me to learn that so that I could truly let go and embrace the plan he has for my life. I would never want to ever experience the loss and disappointment I experienced that year ever again, but I also think that I wouldn't be where I am with three beautiful babies if it weren't for that loss. I am so very grateful for my children. And who knows, maybe I'd still have 3 babies, had I not lost those 2, but I wouldn't have TATAUM. I wouldn't have LUCY. And I wouldn't know and feel deep down in my gut how truly blessed I am to have them.

Sleeping through the night.

I don't know about you mamas, but since the day my first was born, I have NEVER slept through the night.

A typical night for this mother of 3:

The kids go to bed around 8:30. I say "go" because they don't necessarily sleep. Tatum and Lucy will fall asleep within a matter of minutes. Spencer, however, will stay up, look at books, play in his room, until around 10 or 10:30. So when he's fallen asleep, I'll finally make my rounds to check on everyone before going to bed myself around 11. I, like Spencer, have a hard time falling asleep. So, I will turn on my Pzizz app and listen to the melodious music and some strange man tell me that "it is time for sleeping..."

I'll fall asleep around midnight.

Around 3:30 I ALWAYS wake up and have to use the leu. Ask my mom, I've NEVER been able to hold it through the night and have ALWAYS had to wake up to tinkle in the middle of the night. Thank you Mother for always putting my bedroom directly across the hall from the bathroom growing up. ;) I use this time to check on my babies another time. I start at the bedroom farthest away and I put Tatum back on her pillow and cover her up, whispering "I love you sweetie pea, sweet dreams" in her ear. On to Spencer. As I get closer to his bed to lean over and give him a kiss, I step in something. Awesome. He had to pee and thought his bedroom was the bathroom again. Poor guy. He has mama's bladder and was so asleep he didn't realize he wasn't peeing in the toilet. SO, I get the cleaner, clean it up, check to see if he got it on his bed or himself and clean up accordingly. This time I had to wake him up and have him change. But for some reason he didn't want me to leave so I spent another 10 minutes praying with him and singing to him so he'd fall back asleep. Finally I make it to Lu's room and I cover her back up and tell her how much I love her.

I make it back to bed around 4 and spend another 30 minutes (with Pzizz back on) trying to fall back asleep, intermittently kicking my husband to get him to stop snoring. Tony will make it into the shower between 6 & 7 and I'll usually get up again to use the bathroom. If I keep one eye closed I can usually fall back asleep in a matter of minutes before being awoken by Spencer around 8am.

So I'm curious. To all those mamas whose babies are sleeping through the night... Does sleeping through the night for your babies mean you as well? Because I'm pretty sure this is my nightly routine for the rest of my life.

A day like any other...

Maybe I'm having a pity party, maybe not. Okay fine, I'm totally having a pity party. But do you ever have one of those days that feels pretty normal, but just isn't quite right? I mean, there really wasn't anything bad that happened today.

I woke up at 8 when my 5 year old alarm woke me, fed him breakfast, fed the baby breakfast, fed the 3 year old breakfast, gave each one a bath, then finally sat down for breakfast and a cup of coffee at 10am after getting the baby down for a nap. Maybe that was the problem, delayed caffeine consumption...

Time out. 3 year old is melting down.

Time in. So she's screaming because while she and the 5 year old were playing in her room, he moved her high chair. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? This is what sets a 3 year old off? I don't get it. I don't get it at all. Try paying bills, having a mortgage, fight over real things kid.

Anyway. It's been a pretty normal day... Feed kids, bathe kids, clothe kids, feed kids, get one kid to nap, feed kids some more, make sure no one kills anyone, etc...

Tony comes home, starts talking about his day at work.

Time out.

Sorry, had to go lock myself in the bathroom. 3 year old is screaming again, and 5 year old wants to talk Pokemon and I'm just done with noise today.

Time in.

So my husband, Mr. Important, comes home. He has a new job, if you didn't already know. He's pretty important. He is now a Senior Manager at Waggener Edstrom (a PR firm in Portland). He's big time. Whatever. Don't get me wrong, I'm super proud of him. I really am. But here comes the pity party... He's telling me about his day, he's telling me about how he went to lunch with some other important people at work and this is what gets me... He says, "... and they all said they really want to meet the kids. That I should bring them in sometime."

Now let that marinate.

Maybe I'm crazy. Shoot. I know I am. But I am now sitting in the bathroom writing this post feeling like my part: carrying, birthing, feeding, and making sure they don't kill each other, is ridiculous and unimportant. Tony doesn't get it. I mean really. I feel completely disregarded, like I'm some inconsequential middle man. No one really cares about the spouse who doesn't have a "real" job who stays home with the kids. Let's just skip right over her and meet the children.

Funny side story, I was at Costco just this afternoon with the kids eating lunch and I invited this super nice elderly woman to join us since there wasn't much room elsewhere. We had a really nice time and I enjoyed our conversation. When we got up to leave, she looked at me and told me straight faced "you're a good mother."

Do you know how often that happens? Not nearly as much as it should. Not just to me, but to any mother. It makes the dirty diapers, the screaming, the fighting, the poop & pee NOT in the toilet, the mess, the feeling of little to no self-worth so much easier to swallow.

Later on, we got home and I was unloading the van when I picked up the 10 pound bag of sugar I bought. I thought to myself, this sure is heavy. Then I realized, I gave birth naturally to a baby slightly bigger than that. How cool is that? I did that. ALL by myself.

And here I am, sitting on the bathroom floor, almost 6 years later, wondering, how did this happen? I should feel empowered. But I don't.

And now my computer is saying "you are now running on reserve battery power."

Ain't that the truth buddy, ain't that the truth.

Where's My Slurpee!?

Oh Lulu Bell. One year ago, little did I know what a spunky yet sweet little lady I was about to meet. Last year, at 7am, your Daddy & I headed over to the hospital and got hooked up to some nice labor inducing drugs. A few hours later, I got me my epidural, and life was good. At 6:46pm I started to shake and cry (that was always my indicator with your brother and sister that I was ready to push) and your Daddy told the nurse it was time. Much like your sister's birth, the doctor was busy eating dinner. So... we waited. 10 minutes later, she came in and told me to push and I told her to sit down first. Good thing I did, because I sat up, asked for a refresher course on how exactly I was supposed to do this... and, what must've been a push later, you were here. You were a SMELLY 9 pound 7 ounce and 22 inch baby COVERED in vernix. BUT, you were absolutely beautiful and with so much dark hair, your father questioned his part in your arrival.

Such a sweet and quiet little baby you were. Those first few days, we would just cuddle and your brother and sister would ooh and ahh over you, until you pooped. Then they'd leave.

I was so grateful that all I needed to do in order to put you to sleep was to rub your sweet smelling, soft hair.

You were such a cuddler, still are. I love how you still lay your head on my shoulder when you know it's time for bed.

Such a strong little lady. You had your head up only days after you were born

.

At 6 months old you were quite the little chunk. And to everyone's surprise, your hair didn't fall out! It grew... and grew... and started to grow in blonde! What? I just tell everyone that you went through a goth phase while you were in my tummy. ;)

And then, at 7 months old, you gave your mommy and daddy a run for their money and got the sickest any of my babies has ever been. You and I spent many nights together in the hospital while I rocked and prayed over you. Despite your exhaustion, you were a fighter. And with God's help, you were healed. You lost a chunk or two, but it didn't take long for you to gain it back.

And now, you are the most beautiful, crazy curly, two-toned hair colored, feisty, stubborn, warm, loving, curious, attached, Ba of a Lulu Bell and I will always adore you my little mini-me. Happy Birthday Lucy Olivia! Slow down... you're growing up far too fast for your mama.

Holy snap my baby girl is 3.

3 years ago today I laid in bed wide awake. I laid there deathly afraid of what was to come the next morning. I knew tomorrow I would have a baby girl. You see, after the monstrosity that was baby Spencer, my doctor thought it might be best if I were induced in my subsequent pregnancies. So here I was, baby number 2... ready to be induced the next day... May 6th, 2008.

I won't lie. I was a ball of nerves. Spencer was such a hard baby that cried all the time, was sick all the time, a horrendous nurser, didn't sleep until he was one and when he finally did sleep he had night terrors and would wake up screaming. I was terrified of having another baby like that. Lord knows I MUST have REALLY wanted another baby after that debacle.

So there I was, in bed, completely awake with my thoughts, and fearful of the inevitable. This baby had to come out... tomorrow.

With your first baby, every thing is new, so the absolute horrific pain and terror that is natural birth is a lot more real the second time around. All I could think of was pain. Absolute pain. So that morning when I went in I knew without a doubt that this time Mama was getting herself an epidural!

So I got to the hospital, got hooked up to some pitocin and took it like a man... Until the doc decided to break my water, then I got me my epidural. And let me tell you... It was a night and day difference. Such a peaceful experience. I'd even go so far as to say it was blissful... in comparison to my previous experience.

So when it finally came time to push, what did I do? Completely freak out. Duh. Doesn't everyone? I was terrified. How was I going to take care of two babies?! I'd totally be outnumbered. And oh snap, if this baby was anything like the first, I just might die before she turned 1. BUT, just like my labor, just like my easy 4 minute delivery, my beautiful baby girl was EASY. Blissful really... The quietest, sweetest, sleepiest, most peaceful baby there ever was.

3 days old...

1 year

2 years old

And here she is, 3 years later...

A snarky, opinionated, beautiful little drama queen. And I wouldn't want it any other way... most days. :) Happy birthday to my Lumpty Shake-a-boo.

I've found my calling in life...

It's true. Some people spend most of their lives trying to figure out what they really want to spend the rest of it doing and by the time they figure it out, they've neared the end of it. Not to brag or anything, but at the raw age of 28, I've totally figured it out. I was born to sculpt edible materials. Fondant & I go way back... We first met at Spencer's 1st birthday when I created an M&M cake for him.

We took a small break for a couple of years. We reunited when Tony requested a 1up cake for his birthday.

Feeling pretty confident in our relationship I made Spencer a Bumblebee (the transformer, not the insect) for his 3rd birthday.

I mad this Elmo cake for Tatum's 2nd birthday.

And now that Tatum is turning 3, I've felt some crazy urge to push our relationship further... It's like I'm in competition with my previous cakes. I know. I feel like I've lost my mind... but here it is... The Tangled tower.

I took some creative liberties, as any artist should, and altered some of it to my liking. I started a week early, on Saturday and moulded the rice treats (as Buddy prefers to call them). Sunday I carved them until they resembled something close to what I wanted the finished product to be.

Monday I conquered the top of the tower then continued on with the base on Tuesday.

I took a break on Wednesday and baked the actual cake on Thursday.

This morning, the day of my baby girl's birth, I decorated the cake and put the finished touches on the tower. And welp... Here it is... You be the judge.

The rock path in the back...

The other side...

Movin' on up...

It's official, I have my own website! I have been trying to sell my wares on Etsy for almost 2 years now... And after much thought and a bit of anxiety, I decided to go out on my own. My reasoning: Etsy charges a fee per listing, takes a cut and then paypal takes yet another percentage. AND if your listing doesn't sell within 3 months it expires and you have to pay the charge to relist. So... not much fun.

So here I am... Got me a name, got me a website, got me some goods.

It's called The Paisley Underground and I'm selling all sorts of funky accessories. It all started when my poor little bald Tatey was born and I wanted soft headbands for her noggin that wouldn't leave marks.

I soon realized I too wanted to rock the headband look and so I started making fabric rosette headbands.

Last November I decided to teach myself to crochet, and that lead to all sorts of funky head adornments, hats,

headwraps, crazy button headbands...

And my latest creation... seriously latest, as of 2 days ago, I started making these dainty little petal flower bobby pins.

Cool enough for mama to rock, but wee enough for my sweet baby girl Lu.

Tell your mama, tell your friends. You can check it all out at: http:www.thepaisleyunderground.com.

Good things come to those who pray...

I dont' think I've ever gone to bed hoping & praying that my baby would wake up and want to nurse all night... But I totally did last night. Before bed she nursed at 4:30, 7:30 and then again at 8:30. She finally went to sleep around 10:30, and woke to nurse at 11:00pm, 2am, & 5am. Praise God.

So here we are... Playing the waiting game. The nurse & the med student that came in this morning both agree that she's ready to go home. Just waiting on our team of doctors to come in, evaluate her, and sign the paperwork... Which as the nurse says, could take all afternoon, but hopefully it will happen sooner rather than later and we can head home!

I even made her a going home hat seeing as it snowed last night and it was not near as cold when we first came to the hospital on Wednesday the 16th!

Touchdown...

All day I've felt like I'm the quarterback and Lucy is the wide receiver and I've thrown this amazing pass her way and all she has to do to win the game is catch it.

She's been refusing to eat, bottle or boob for a week now. So this morning at 10am she received yet another feeding through the tube in her nose. Soon after she seemed really irritable and we decided to give her Tylenol through her feeding tube. I wanted to do it that way because they Tylenol here tastes like poo and I didn't want her to associate anything nasty with her mouth. As the nurse pushed it through, it leaked all over the place. You see, there was this teensy hole in her tube. The nurse who put it in had taped it up to avoid having to replace it resulting in more unnecessary pain for Lu.

So our current nurse decided there was no way the tube could withstand another feeding without completely busting. So she pulled the sucker out. Soon after the docs came in and we discussed our plan for the day. We decided to leave the tube out and give Lucy a 12 hour window to make up her mind on eating. If she didn't have a decent amount of liquids, via boob, bottle, or otherwise, they would replace the feeding tube. No pressure.

So at 1 I gave it another shot. Still rejected. No boob, no bottle. Every time I would try she would arch her back and scream at me. The lactation consultant came in to observe and she was baffled, as was the doctor who came to check on our progress. We decided to try "real food." At 4:30, after attempting to feed Lu ice cream, a popsicle, carrots, peaches, & rice cereal and her being completely disgusted by it, I thought I'd give the boob one last shot.

I laid Lu down next to me ready to be disappointed. I laid there and to my surprise she turned her body and latched on. I stopped breathing. I didn't move. Tony didn't move. I laid there with a smile on my insides for 5 solid minutes. You can't even begin to imagine the joy I felt at that moment.

She continued to thrive the rest of the evening... 7:30, 5 more minutes of nursing. And then to my total surprise she was hungry again at 8:30!

We just spoke to the nurse and she thinks if Lucy continues to eat throughout the night and has some good solid diapers in the morning, after we see the doctors, we will most likely be able to go home. I am beyond excited. I just praying that she'll continue to eat so we can all go home. I am so grateful for all of your kind words of encouragement today. I really needed it. And I think Lucy needed it too. ;)

Hump day...

Lu is officially off oxygen, they even took the tube off her face! She is no longer hooked up to monitors that were watching her blood oxygen saturation, breaths per minute, & heart rate. The nurse took out her IV this morning! So no more taped head. :)

The only toob (I keep writing toob instead of tube because I have boob on the mind) left is the one that feeds her. She is being an awful stinkerton (as we say in our house) and refusing the boob as well as the bottle. It is officially the ONLY thing keeping us from going home. If she would only eat. I am praising Jesus for healing her lungs but at the same time am feeling completely rejected by Lucy.

But it's Wednesday, and since it's Hump Day I'm really hoping she'll get over it and we can go home and see our other babies whom I miss like crazy!

A Good Day...

From the moment she woke up at 7:30am Lucy has been a different baby. She's all smiles, so talkative and has been playing with her toes and trying to chew on every wire that she's hooked up to.

The doctors decided to stop feeding her through her tube to try and encourage her to nurse or take a bottle. All day, every 3 hours I've offered and she's given me the shaft. I have to say, it's extremely discouraging when every time I offer, I am rejected. Then I'll pump and offer a bottle and she'll just scream at it. So when she doesn't take the milk orally, they give it to her through the tube in her nose.

She's doing so well other than the eating issue though. So well that we're being moved downstairs to the general population! If only she would eat... Doctors say it's the only thing still keeping us here. So I keep praying that one of these times she'll decide she loves me again.

I just HAD to make her a new headband seeing as her IV kinked in the middle of the night and they had to cut her fashionable hospital grade one off.

Lucy's Struggle

Tony brought a cold home from his latest trip to California, surprise surprise and we all got it.

Monday the 13th: Spencer & Lucy developed fevers and weren't feeling so hot, so I took them to the doctor. Lo & behold, Spencer had pneumonia for the 9th time. Ugh. Antibiotics. Doc also thought Lu might have a sinus infection since she had a fever, but no ear infection, lung infection, etc. Antibiotics.

Tuesday the 14th: Lu woke up at 7am and puked up everything she had nursed that night. She refused to nurse for nearly 12 hours. Since she doesn't really dig the solid foods, I was starting to worry since nursing is her main source of nutrients. That night she nursed maybe once.

Wednesday the 15th: All morning Lu decided she had given up the boob. She now had raspy breathing and looked like she was working pretty hard at it. I decided it was time to go back to the doctor. If she had a bacterial infection and was on antibiotics for 48 hours, she should be feeling better by now. We got to the doc and he gave her a breathing treatment because she sounded wheezy. After the treatment he checked her saturation levels (how much oxygen is actually being absorbed by the body) and they were 89%. He said she had a pretty bad case of bronchiolitis and he sent us straight to Salem Hospital to have her admitted. After much craziness... juggling 3 kids, waiting for Tony to get home from work in Hillsboro, pack me a bag and meet us there... She was put on a liter of oxygen (the tubes through her nose) and given an albuterol breathing treatment. Tony came and took the kids home after my mom & brother came and sat with me while we waited. As soon as he left they decided she was wickedly dehydrated and started to try and start an IV. After 4 failed attempts, they finally found one in the crook of her elbow.

Meltdown #1 for Mama.

I stayed with her all night as they gave her an epinephrine breathing treatment every 2 hours because she wasn't responding to albuterol.

Thursday the 16th: No change.

Friday the 17th: Lucy worked down to nearly no oxygen and epinephrine every 4 hours by night time. They started her on intravenous steroids in case there was an underlying asthma factor.

Saturday the 18th: 3 am, I wake up to find 3 nurses and the respiratory therapist in our room hovering over Lucy. I'm slightly drugged (took some benadryl earlier because I find it extremely hard to sleep in hospitals), and the nurse in charge starts talking to me in a rather, "I'm trying to stay calm" voice. She tells me that Lucy is having a really hard time breathing. The amount of breaths a baby her age should take per minute is around 40-50. She kept jumping up to 85 and have to work really hard to keep up. They were giving her breathing treatments every hour and her oxygen was turned back up to 1.75 liters. The vein where her IV was had collapsed and they were trying to find another site. They finally found a vein in her foot and got an IV running. After 5 minutes, it too collapsed. They called in the NICU nurses to come find a new vein since they couldn't. They finally found one and inserted an IV in her head.

Meltdown #2 for Mama.

The nurse said if she didn't turn around soon they would have to send us to Portland because she was working too hard and was so tired that she might just give up and stop breathing and they didn't have what she needed if that were to happen.

Meltdown #3 for Mama.

I called Tony at 4am to come in because I was having a hard time holding it together. My amazing neighbor stayed at our house so he could come in. Meanwhile, they called the doctor and she decided to have her do 3 hour long breathing treatments of albuterol since the epinephrine was no longer working for her. By the time she was done her heart rate was over 200 beats per minute and she was shaking from all of the drugs in her system. They gave her another dose of steroids. She finally relaxed and it looked like the worst was over. They continued breathing treatments every hour throughout the day and into the night.

Sunday: 3 am. After maybe an hour of sleep, I wake up to find the charge nurse rocking my baby and giving her a breathing treatment. (Not normal since it's usually the RT that does it and the treatments are only 5-10 minutes long). She says she's worried. Her saturation levels dropped again and she was back on albuterol and the doctor said to do it straight for 2 hours to try and open up her airways. Her breathing is shallow and 84 breathes per minute.

Mama meltdown #4

2 respiratory therapists and my nurse all tell me that they can no longer take care of Lu in the way she needs and that she should go to Portland. The doctor comes in later that morning and we all decide it's in her best interest to get her transferred up to Doernbechers.

Mama meltdown #5

My big brother comes up and sits with me & while Tony heads home to pack some bags and we wait for the ambulance. "This is what you want" he tells me. That she is going somewhere where she'll get the best possible care. It takes some time, but he convinces me this is a very good thing.

The Panda transport team arrives later that afternoon and we make our way up to OHSU.

After getting hooked back up to all of her monitors, oxygen and settling in, a team of 2 doctors, 2 med students, an RT and a nurse came and assessed Lu. She received one albuterol treatment and they decided since she didn't really respond to it, that they weren't going to continue treating her with it. They took her off oxygen to see how she would respond. The nurses, RTs and doctors continued checking on her throughout the night. Her sats dropped to 82 at one point, but came back up after upping her oxygen to 1 liter. By the morning she had worked her way back down to .25 liters. But never once did her heart rate go over 130. Never once did her breathing rate go over 55.

Today: This morning 3 doctors, 6 med students, a nurse, the RT, and the dietician all came in and assessed Lucy. I felt so at ease. I felt like she was special. Important. That they were here to do everything they could to take care of my baby girl. They've been here all day. The entire time we were in Salem, the nurses had to call the doctor to figure out what to do. Whereas here, there's a doctor available at the hospital, all the time. Very reassuring.

Since being transferred to Doernbechers Lucy has done so much better. After speaking with all of the doctors, nurses, and RTs, they all agreed she should have been transferred here days ago because she was obviously being overdosed and bombarded with drugs that were working against her rather than with her. She's improving so much faster and has even had a few moments where she actually wanted to play!

As of right now she is no longer on oxygen or any breathing treatments! She's still pretty wheezy, but everything else is improving. She currently has a feeding tube placed down her nose where she's being "fed" Mama's milk. The more nutrition she gets, the better she seems to feel. I feel so much more at ease here. It feels less like a crazy stressful situation where people are running around with their heads cut off and more like people are trying to figure out the source of the problem and not just treating the symptoms with drugs that aren't working.

I want to thank each and every one of you for all of your prayers, offers to help, food, coffee, & company. God is good and I have the most amazing friends and family.

Would you rather...

The moment I was cleared after Lucy was born, I started running. It was the only way to lose the weight. Or so I thought. I was running 3 miles every other day for 2 1/2 months. But November came and with it the rain. I don't have a treadmill so the running kind of... stopped. I ran once in November. Then December came, and well, it was really COLD. I ran once. With December came Christmas and with it came all the tasty cookies and candy. I didn't really diet. Okay, in all honestly I didn't diet at all. I completely let myself eat whatever I wanted. I couldn't help myself. I love chocolate and it was in too much abundance.

To my surprise my pants kept getting bigger. Against my better judgement I weighed myself this morning. I had lost 10 pounds. What? Wait, I had basically been a lazy piece of crap the last 2 months and I lost 10 pounds and a pant size? Awesome. I did come to the realization that a lot of my muscle tone had turned to tub. But it's a tradeoff I guess...

So here's my question...

Would you rather be a flabby thin person or a more toned bigger person?