I have moved

You can now find me at www.nikinikinine.com, where it occurs to me to write things down once in a while.

You can also find me on Facebook and Instagram where I manage to post about the shenanigans that are my life with much more regularity.

Thanks for your friendship and support over the years. I hope we continue to stay in touch!

What the hell is going on, Niki?

I have received several messages over the last few weeks with people wanting to know, literally, what the hell is going on? What is this stuff I am posting on social. Have I gone to the dark side? Have I lost it completely? Am I going to become one of those people?

I have a lot of posts I've started to write about where we've been and what is going on, but I felt compelled to hit publish on this one before those.

Since I'm using social media to market this new opportunity, I felt like now was a good time to at least share my why. As in, "Why the hell are you doing this?"

I don't plan to sell or market my new business on my blog, though this is a blog about my life and this business is now a part of it, so I can't say that it will never come up here either. But I would prefer (and I think others would too) for this blog to be my authentic space, and so I think it's best that the two remain mostly separate.

So, without further ado, why.

In February 2014, I came home from a long drive. Joe had already put our three older kids to bed, and was watching a DVR’d lacrosse game in his office. I walked through the door, my face stained with tears, sat down next to him and told him I was leaving. I was seven weeks pregnant with our fourth child, and I was scared as hell.

By May, our Barbie Dream House, the house I thought I’d spend forever in, was on the market. We had just custom built that home 18 months before. I drew the floor plan on a napkin, picked every fixture, painstakingly selected every tile. I dreamed of a day when one of our girls would get married and have a tented reception in that backyard.

Ryan – my son, my oldest, and one half of my dynamic duo (twins) – had just been diagnosed with Autism in September 2013, and transitioned to a special needs preschool in January 2014. His IEP is managed by our school district and county. I fought so hard for home-based and school-based services, getting him therapies and quantities of sessions not usually afforded to children. There was no way in hell I was going to risk giving up a single service, so I committed to finding a home in our county and our school district, that I could afford, that could fit five people.

We live in a small rural area, and another much less service-generous county comprises the majority of our school district. Finding a home that met all of these criteria was no small feat. I found our current home – the home I have lovingly referred to as the mint green shitbox, or the pistachio nightmare – on October 14, 2014, exactly one week before giving birth, and 36 days before the Barbie Dream House was set to close. That is 36 days before my three toddlers, my newborn, and I were homeless.

The mint green shitbox lived up to its full potential, coming in with over $22,000 of inspection failures. Radon, plumbing, electrical, sump pump, subfloors. You name the inspection, this house failed. It was the only house on the market that could preserve Ryan’s IEP and fit my tribe, so I poured every cent and every last ounce of energy I had into making it work.

The kids and I lived in temporary housing while the floors were fixed, and we moved into old minty on January 31, 2015. We had no kitchen and my refrigerator was plugged into my living room next to a pile of boxes. I washed dishes and bottles in the bathtub after the kids got out of it each night.

Let me tell you, if you’ve never lived with two four year olds, a two year old, and a 3 month old for four months with no kitchen, then you have not lived.

I am a communications consultant, and I worked my butt off to grow a successful business that would allow me to attend to my four children, and all of their various needs, while financially providing for them. This has meant that for the last two years I’ve worked nights, weekends, before the kids wake up, after they go to sleep. I have taken calls during nap times, sent emails while trying to get dinner down. I’ve run, I’ve rushed, I’ve pushed, I’ve pulled. But, most of all, I’ve juggled. And I’ve been exhausted.

In January, just as we were getting ready to move into old minty, Jamie Walker approached me about joining her team. I didn’t know Jamie, but she “knew me” through this blog.

She presented Rodan + Fields, and asked me to join her “Dream Team.” I listened to her pitch, heard her story, and said, “Thanks, but no thanks. This isn’t for me. I don’t have the time. I’m way too busy. I can’t possibly take any more money away from my children. This is too risky. I’m not cut out for this. But thanks.”

Jamie and I stayed in touch, but as friends. I had no desire to sell anything.

I enjoy our friendship, we share inspirational quotes, and stories about raising twins, and text message each other songs that have to make it onto a playlist. And over the next nine months, I watched her business grow. I wondered whether I could do this, but convinced myself that I couldn’t.

In that time, two more women I have met through other life experiences and hobbies – infertility and photography – each took the leap. One was a nurse, the other a teacher. Both were moms. I watched them start. I watched them take off. I watched them succeed. I watched their lives change. And I wondered whether I could do this, but convinced myself, again, that I couldn’t.

After a particularly harrowing day parenting and mothering and exwifing and homeownering, I woke up to find that one of these women I had been watching from afar succeeded to the point of earning a raise, another promotion, and a Lexus. Yes, people, a goddamned Lexus.

That morning I messaged my other friend that I’d had my eye on, and I asked her to share her experience with me too. Her business is smaller, but successful. Rodan + Fields has allowed her to take a leave of absence from her teaching job to stay home with her two children, but still earn enough to cover her mortgage payment.

And with that I decided to stop convincing myself of what I couldn’t do, and try to see what I could do.

Because even if I did nothing more than earn my business kit for free, I had tried something that could benefit my family without impacting them. If I only earned $500 a month – something that is SO doable with this business – I would be able to afford to buy my kids clothes (do you know how expensive it is to dress four kids across four seasons?!), or pay for my son’s therapies, or my girls’ ballet classes. And maybe if I really succeeded, I could climb out of the mess I created making this house work, and the mess of leaving my old life behind and starting again, or put money away so I can (hopefully) help four kids pay for college, or afford to finish fixing this shitbox (I have a room with no ceiling right now, people.)

I would do anything to provide for my kids, to be more available for them, to give them a better life. I would try anything.

As of writing this, I have been in business for two weeks. TWO. I am not a Lexus earner, or a million-dollar achiever, I am not paying off my house this year. (Though I have people on my team that are all of those things.) But, I will earn my business kit for free. And when my commission comes in next month, I will pay off the balance on my Gap card, which I used to for my kids’ school clothes.

I get that this journey isn’t for everyone. But I believe in the opportunity. Maybe you do too?

First Day(s) of School

The Truth About Marriage

I never dreamed about my wedding. I dreamed about being married. Having a family. Being part of something bigger than me, creating something bigger than me.

When someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my response was always, "a mom." I accidentally went to college for a Mrs. degree. My mom always told us that we'd never be in a place that would have so many attractive, eligible men on a path to success again. (My mom says a lot of stupid shit.) So when I got to college, I latched onto a boy and, for him, I changed the patterns of my life. When that didn't work out at the ripe old age of 19, I fell apart, and then put myself together by partying, and partying hard.

I wish someone had given me the tools to be a strong, independent woman. To forge my own path, and then accept a man who walked that path beside me. Not find a man to create my path. But I digress.

By my senior year, I settled into a nice balance of being a responsible, budding adult, and a complete fuck up. And then I met Joe.

Over the years he clipped my wings, in the best way possible, in a way I needed them to be clipped. He was the most stable thing in my otherwise unstable life. And for all of our bad qualities as a couple, we loved each other, he made me laugh, we acted like a team, he was my best friend. But I latched onto him for all of the wrong reasons, and I did what we all do, I moved through the steps.

Moving through the steps never leads to Happily Ever After. 

The truth about marriage is that it takes work. Lots of work. And love. Compassion. Respect. Trust. But mostly lots of work.

You cannot pile moves, job losses, job transitions, house problems, infertility, miscarriage, multiples, autism, disability, more moves, more transitions, more problems onto a foundation with cracks.

Guess what, people? Foundations can crumble. 

And the people who are fighting to hold on start dying. Like their person, their souls, they start to die. Joe and I loved each other enough to stop killing each other.

When we separated, so many people -- groups even -- reached out to ask me to share my story. Um, no thank you. I do not want to be the poster child for divorce. Cause here's the thing, while I believe it was right for me, I don't believe it is right for everyone.

This society is fickle, man. If you stay, you're a fool. If you leave, you're selfish. And every opinion in between. Our paths are deeply personal. I can't tell you what is right, I can't support it, encourage it. It's not mine to choose. Don't make me an example.

The only thing you can do is choose, each day, your path. The one that feels right for you, and hope that at the end of your life, all you end up with is the right regrets (gracias, Arthur Miller.)

The struggle to get here, to this place where I feel like I can even speak about what I have and am moving through. Lord have mercy. Visceral. So I am letting myself feel all the feels.

After the balance of the last year, and really the last eighteen months, I will tell you this: I believe in love, and I still believe in marriage.

2015 Theme

What is this year's theme? HAWK

The ability to see your life in perspective, to free you of unnecessary "baggage" and connect you to your ancestral roots...Once you know where you have come from and where you are going, your life will be filled with inspiration and enthusiasm, you will sense a new day dawning, and you will be able to make decisions with confidence.

How do I get there? EAGLE, drawn reversed

You may need to guard against the dangers of an overpowering intellect. The eagle, when it knows how to renew itself in the secret lake, is able to balance its masculine fiery qualities with the feminine, water qualities of the lake. But when it cannot find the secret lake, when we deny our minds access to the heart, our lives can become dry and sterile, our intellects harsh and overly analytical. Now may be the time to see whether your mind and your heart are in balance. 

Where should I start? CRANE, drawn reversed

The crane stands alone for hours on end, simply observing and patiently waiting. But it's also able to join its colleagues to fly in formation or to dance together. You may need to learn the right balance between being alone and working with others. Spending too much time alone can create feelings of isolation and separation. Conversely, having no time to oneself can be an avoidance of self-knowledge and the uncomfortable feelings of loneliness. Spend a while looking at your life to see whether you give yourself enough time to have both these experiences. 

Eliza's Newborn Pictures

These pictures were taken a week before we closed on Meadowbrook. You wouldn't know it by looking at them, but I was barely holding it together. Four kids, a newborn, packing, I had gone back to work the week before. We took all of the pictures in my bedroom, because it was the only room that wasn't completely or partially packed. Boxes everywhere, exposed nail holes on the walls. A mess. Me, the house, my life. I ordered 5 dresses from ASOS (free expedited shipping and free returns, can I get an hallelujah?!) and wore the only one that fit. And thank goodness one fit!

I have learned so much about myself over the last year; I imagine this growth is just the beginning. One of the things I have come to appreciate is that I don't let the bad stuff ruin what's good. A new baby. A new sister. The love that comes from that, all good stuff. The rest of it? It's over and I survived.

I knew even though so many parts of that week were parts I would want to forget, this moment wasn't one of them. It's so easy to talk about (or think about) our problems, but it's so much more enjoyable to talk about (or think about) our joys. These photos are some of my greatest joys.

Eliza's Birth Story

I am not sure how this happened, but my baby is a month old today. It's been a blurry whirlwind. I know all parents say that, but given the events of the last month, mixed with having a newborn, truer words have never been spoken. I thought, since I didn't get to it sooner, that today would be an apropos day to finish her birth story.

Eliza's due date is still a mystery to me, though I am sticking with my guns that her actual due date was October 18. Her chart at my OB still says October 15. So depending on who you believe she was either 3 or 5 days late. Friends couldn't believe that with all of the stress in my life, I didn't deliver preterm, but I kept saying that she was waiting for it to be safe to come out, waiting for me to secure us a house, waiting for it to be calmer.

In the weeks leading up to her birth my OB's talked frequently about induction. The first time was because her fluid was looking low, but they waited and checked her again a few days later and my fluid was better. The second time was because I was already 4 cm dilated and full-term, with a history of laboring fast. They warned me there was a good chance I wouldn't make it to the hospital. But I really wanted to have a gradual labor, with time spent at home, I wanted her to come on her terms. I wanted it to be just like the movies, where a woman's water breaks and she smiles and says, "it's time!" and gets driven to the hospital by the frenetic, but lovingly concerned husband.

The week of her due date I had an appointment to see my therapist and I talked to her about the lady at the pizza place and the night in the bathtub. We had already talked about my reiki sessions and the idea of spirit guides. Sidenote, what I love about my therapist is that she believes in spirituality and the law of attraction, but is also a real LMHC. In a conversation that I believe was no accident, she told me that all of the things I have been practicing and reading about were all based on a book called A Course in Miracles (which I have since downloaded but, sadly, have yet to read). She told me about Gabby Bernstein, who wrote a book called Spirit Junkie, and said that Gabby was fun to follow on Instagram.

The night I went into labor with Eliza, I climbed into the tub at the end of another long day, and began scrolling through my phone to entertain myself, as I often do in the bath. After surfing Facebook and clearing out emails, I hopped on Instagram. I remember feeling overwhelmed with life and wondering if this baby was ever going to come out. And I thought about my conversation with my therapist and remembered the suggestion about Gabby Bernstein and searched her profile. Her post that day was this:

I started thinking more about why Eliza had yet to come. As of my 40 week appointment I was 5 cm dilated and 70% effaced. I had been progressing steadily from week 37 on, and each week my OB's scratched their heads at how she was still hanging tough with my body so far along. I thought about this mantra, and wondered if my own fears were holding me back from delivering her. Fears of how I would survive as a single mom of four under four; fears about whether I am enough for these babies; fears about how raw it would feel to labor with her dad, who was no longer my husband, by my side; fears about being wide open and vulnerable and alone; fears about being homeless. So many fears.

I decided to give it a try. I sat back in the tub, closed my eyes and began to breathe. About a half hour later my phone buzzed with a text message from my brother asking if I was still awake and if I wanted to talk. It was 9:42 p.m. I jokingly told him that I'd call him when I got out of the tub so that it wouldn't be awkward, and we had a bit of stupid sibling banter (that I'm including, because the whole convo cracks me up).

By 9:50 p.m. I was on my fourth heavy contraction and calling Joe to get him to help me out of the tub. These weren't the little Braxton-Hicks contractions I had been having for months. I knew this was the real deal. I called Joe and he was walking the dog, I calmly said, "I need you to come home, I need help." And then I hung up and called our nanny. 

She was roughly 30 minutes away, and again I calmly said, "okay". But in my head I was thinking I didn't even have 30 minutes. I wondered if she would still want to work for our family if she watched me deliver a baby in my living room. I wondered if I would want to employ someone who saw that much of me. And then I had another contraction and my crazy thoughts disappeared. My contractions were strong and coming fast. I called my OB and left a message that I was in labor with the answering service.

Joe got home and we finished throwing stuff in my hospital bag, I paced my bedroom, bending over the bed or the dresser with each contraction. At that point they were under 5 minutes apart. Joe called our nanny for a sit rep two or three more times. She got to our house at 10:15 p.m. and I was already walking to the car. The contractions were coming faster and getting stronger. 

We flew down the driveway and got stuck behind the most conservative driver that ever lived. It was around that time that the on-call OB called me back. She asked all the normal questions (how far along I am, how dilated I was at the last appointment, how fast my contractions were coming, what kid was this for me, how far we were from the hospital) I squeaked out my responses in between contractions...over 40 weeks...5-6 cm...1-2 minutes...number four...35 minutes away. She later admitted she didn't think we'd make it to the hospital after speaking to me on the phone. 

We got on the highway and it was raining. I could see the speedometer reading 90-95 mph and I kept telling Joe to slow down, that I was afraid of his speed. He works at the hospital in which I delivered all four kids and he kept telling me to calm down, focus on keeping her in, and let him drive, that he knew the road, and he would get us there safely. We made it almost two exits before we got pulled over. Joe kept trying to get out of the car to tell the officer that I was in labor and I was screaming at him to stay inside so that the cop didn't draw a weapon or something. And then I was screaming in pain. Joe started shouting out the window, "My wife is in labor! My wife is in labor!" The cop took his sweet ass time getting out of his car and then meandered over to our car even more slowly. When he got close enough to be in earshot, he looked at Joe confused and then shone his light in on me. I was mid-contraction and moaning wildly. The officer, who was all of 22, looked panicked and started waving us forward, shouting, "You're all set! Just go! Just go!"

We passed four more cop cars on the way to the hospital, and didn't get pulled over again. So while this guy didn't give us a police escort (probably didn't want to deliver my baby on the highway), it seems like he did, at least, radio ahead. 

My contractions were 1-2 minutes long coming every 1-2 minutes. They were painful and I was literally holding her in with all of my might. Joe kept telling me, "Just keep her in, Nik, just keep her in." I was breathing and moaning and holding myself up with the oh shit handle, the whole time thinking I was going to deliver her in my husband's car. 

We got to the hospital and the valet was already gone. Joe threw the car in park and left it running. I was freaking out because it's not the best city and I was afraid someone would steal our car. In hindsight, it was a funny thing to be worried about given the fact that I was literally giving birth in the entrance of the hospital. There were no wheelchairs and the elevator was farther away from us than the stairs, so we took the stairs. I walked up two flights of stairs, stopping to breathe through each contraction, to get to the next bank of elevators that would take us to labor and delivery. A hospital employee who was on break or starting their shift or something, held the elevator door for us and when he realized that I was literally having my baby right there, he ran ahead of us off the elevator and alerted the nursing staff. 

Several nurses came running around a corner, one had a wheelchair, but I couldn't sit. I just did not want to sit. They got me into a room and I stood next to my hospital bed, leaning forward on it to work through a few more contractions. Joe went to go move the car. I remember thinking he wouldn't make it back in time. I took my clothes off and got into my gown. I was checked into the hospital system at 10:57 p.m. 

A young nurse came in to start my IV, I was having back to back contractions. I told her I didn't want an IV and she grabbed my arm to start the line, and that's when I verbally assaulted her telling her to stop touching me with her pointy stick. I didn't see that nurse again. 

They asked me if I wanted an epidural and I said yes and then no again immediately. I remember thinking there wouldn't be time, there wasn't enough time. I knew if it hurt that much that I was close and it would be over soon. A nurse checked me and I was 7 cm, when my OB came in a few minutes later she checked me and I was fully dilated and ready to push.

The first few contractions felt wild and out of control. My OB gowned up and sat down as I started to push, and my water exploded with a force that surprised everyone in the room. The pain got even more intense and I became even more frightened. I thought about the pain and the fears and all of the things keeping me wild and scared, and then something shifted with my next breath. I exhaled and let it all go, giving into the process, giving into the fear, surrendering. 

As I focused on my breathing, I got very quiet. And then I pushed and pushed and pushed. In between contractions I actually had (short) breaks to regroup a bit. I stayed quiet, except to say a few times that I was tired, or that I didn't want to ever do this again. And then on one contraction Joe, my OB and the nurse that was helping to hold my leg started encouraging me to push a little longer and a little harder. My OB told me to stop pushing, she adjusted Eliza and then she told me to push again and a few seconds later I felt her pass through my body and my perfect baby was on my chest. 

I looked at her and I cried, "We did it baby girl. We did it. It's just you and me. It was always you and me. We did it." And I wept and kissed her sweet face. I got to hold her for over an hour and nurse her. Her grip and her latch were strong, and we sat together. Nursing and clutching each other.

Eliza James was born on October 21 at 11:27 p.m. weighing 7 pounds, 13 ounces and was 20" long.

My perfect, spiky-haired, gorgeous baby girl came into the world 1 hour and 45 minutes after I opened my eyes in that bathtub.

Because I had no IV, they couldn't push pitocin to deliver my placenta and that took almost a half hour. I actually felt guilty for holding up my OB, but when my body was ready I could feel the contractions start again, and I pushed through one contraction and the placenta passed me, the room cleared out, and I was alone with my baby girl. Joe came back from calling his parents and our nanny and said goodnight and we were alone together again. My miracle baby and I, holding onto each other.

I now understand why people preach about natural births. I'm so glad I held out and let her come on her own terms. From beginning to end, her birth was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. Once I let go of my fears, it was so peaceful and so natural. I understand now why I was given the gift of this child, this little healer, this tiny warrior. I am thankful each and every day.

{ 1 week old }

{ 2 weeks old }

{ 3 weeks old }

{ 4 weeks old }

The Collapse. Midnight. Then Peace.

I have been meaning to capture Eliza's birth story before the tiny details escape me, but there is a slightly larger story to tell and one that I have been both afraid to share and covetous of sharing. It has been such a deeply personal series of moments that have brought me great pain and greater comfort and I hesitate to be that exposed. But if I am to tell the story of how she came to be born, then I feel I must tell it from the beginning.

It is not easy to go through a pregnancy and terminate a marriage simultaneously. In fact, at times it feels emotionally impossible. The night Eliza was born, I sat in my hospital bed holding her, nursing her, while editing the Memorandum of Understanding which executes my separation and precedes my divorce. The dichotomy of being filled with so much love and so much anguish concurrently is a space I hope to never feel again.

---

The Spirit Guide

About halfway through my pregnancy I felt heavy. My soul felt heavy. I worried about what this energy would do to the baby, how it was affecting her. So I began seeing a woman for Reiki with the goal of clearing out some of the darkness. I only managed to go twice in nine months. Taking care of myself isn't something I have a lot of time for, but the sessions were powerful.

During the first session, Eliza didn't stop moving, wriggling, writhing. It was like the movement of the energy was giving her new life. I woke up from the session with an unstoppable force of tears rolling down my face. If you know me, you know that I don't cry. I just don't cry. This release was so necessary and so important. The healer who performed the session hugged me hard when it was over. I joke now, that I paid $80 for a hug. Ill-timed jokes are my thing when I am maxed out or vulnerable. In truth, it was the best $80 I had spent all year. It was also the first hug I'd had all year.

I walked away feeling lighter, but not clearer.

Session two came nearly a month later, I drifted into that space between awake and asleep and felt the baby move and felt my fears rise and felt my breathing slow down, almost stop. I was literally drowning in the fear, I could feel myself holding onto it, worrying how I was going to do this all and do this all on my own. And that's when I felt something or someone hold my hand. It was warm and it squeezed my hand and I knew that I would find the strength to make it through, I knew that I would be okay.

---

The Dark Night of the Soul

On September 24, we received the first offer on our house. It was $70,000 below asking price. It was an offer we could never take, as doing so would mean I didn't even have enough money to start over again, to put a roof over my babies' heads. We were deep in the thick of our separation and feelings were everywhere. The offer ignited fear in both Joe and I, and manifested into how we each process that feeling of being afraid. It was a new low. I felt like this would never be over, we would never come out of it, I would never survive. And what came after between us took me to a place where I lost all hope.

After putting my babies down for bed, choking back tears, I slid into the bathtub where I cried. I cried so hard I vomited all over myself several times. I cried until the water went cold and then I cried long after it had gotten cold. And I prayed for death. I acknowledged that I didn't have the strength to survive, and I had lost the will. I acknowledged that the fear and sadness had consumed me. And I prayed for the end of it all. I prayed that god would just take me and let me leave the pain of this world and this body, but that someone would find me in time to save the baby. I asked god to send me a sign that everything would be okay or to just take my life, let me go, just save her.

That's when I felt something reach through me and embrace me. I felt something holding me up. I felt something comforting me. This force held me until I caught my breath. And, again, I knew that I would find the strength to make it through.

---

September 25, 2014

At nearly 37 weeks pregnant everything felt like effort. That Thursday was no different. All three kids had school, I had deadlines to meet for work, life wasn't stopping or even pretending to slow down.

The kids were zoo-y and Ryan's bus was late, making the girls late for school and me late for a conference call. I fought with Reese. I felt numb. After making it through what felt like the longest morning and afternoon in history, I got to 4 p.m. only to find out that Joe was stuck at work and, of course, I hadn't gone to the grocery store. There was nothing in the house to make for dinner and I was feeling too spent to attempt shopping with all three in tow.

Joe got home at 6:30 which is when we normally have dinner on the table, and we left to go to a restaurant nearby. One that we had never been to. The kids were still sideways and shouting and fighting and vying for attention. The adults were exhausted and trying to discuss the offer on the house, the day before, trying to pick up pieces and make them fit. We walked into the restaurant around 7:15 and were seated and then promptly ignored. And when the third drink got knocked over, after the fifth tantrum had started and the fourth toy was thrown in anger, we got up and left. And now it was 7:45 -- just fifteen minutes before bedtime -- and our kids still weren't fed, or bathed, or even home.

I called a local pizza place that has a sit down restaurant and placed a dine-in order over the phone. I explained that we had three overtired kids and we would drive around for 15 minutes before coming inside, to avoid pre-meal meltdowns. While trying to place the order my phone dropped the call four times. It seemed as though every part of life was trying to test me. When it rains it pours.

We sat down at the booth and the food came out shortly after sitting. Perhaps the only good thing about feeding our brood two hours later than normal was that they were hungry and it was finally quiet. There was so much to talk about in the quiet space, but all we could do was sit expressionless and be thankful that we were almost at the end of another day. We likely looked as hollow as we felt.

The waitress came to our table and asked us if we needed anything else, and I told her, "just the check."

To which she replied, "it's taken care of."

"What?"

"That lady sitting over there bought you all dinner, she's almost done with her meal. I thought you'd want to know before she left."

I walked over to her table, exhausted, leading with a 9 month belly that surely had tomato sauce underneath in the places you stop being able to see after a while. She was sitting with a near-empty pint of beer, middle-aged, unassuming, married (wearing a ring), but eating alone. I warned her that I was a hugger and that the pregnancy was making me emotional. She said to me, "then let me stand so I can be hugged."

She hugged me tightly.

I said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you. This has been a hard day, a hard few days, and it's not about money, but thank you."

She said, "I know. I love you." I pulled back slightly off-guard. "I love you," she said again. She pulled me back in, tighter this time, and said, "It's okay. I love you."

We hugged in the middle of the restaurant for minutes, me crying and her whispering, putting me back together. Then she walked over to the table and said hello to my children who were happily and quietly eating the meal she had just provided us. They chatted with her for a few minutes, she learned all of their names and they told her the random stories that toddlers tell. Then she reached down and squeezed my hand before leaving.

After she walked out Reese looked at me and said, "Mommy that lady was really cool."

Pumpkin Painting Party Invitations

Fun fact: my due date for E is the day after Lola's 2nd birthday.

Well, it was anyway. But I just found out that my OB switched the date. I have no idea how or when this arbitrarily happened as this is my first (ever) spontaneous conception. But apparently when you get pregnant outside of a lab, things like date moving take place? Seems like a whole lot of tomfoolery to me.

I had hoped that the girls would share a birthday. Four kids. Two birthdays. Only one set of twins. It was too awesome not to wish for, but given the state of the state, I don't think E will be cooking for that much longer.

Me being me, I had started planning Lola's second birthday the day after her first birthday.

Birthdays are a big deal around these parts. I grew up in a household that often forgot birthdays or used the acknowledgment of a birthday to manipulate. It was awful to have the very people who should be celebrating you make you feel insignificant, or worse. To me a someone's birthday is the day they came into the world. Without that day, this person you are celebrating wouldn't exist and then who would you love? It is special. And sacred.

On your birthday you should feel loved and appreciated and, most of all, happy. In a word, complete.

I am over the top with my kids' birthdays, and part of that is totally for me. But my special crazy is for them too. I want them to know how much they mean to me (to us), how loved they are, I want them to feel like the day that they came into the world was the most special day of a lifetime.

I know they feel it. Reese remembers every part of her third birthday and talks about it all the time. And this year on my birthday, when the day was over, Reese looked up and said to me, "Mommy, wait! Your day can't be over, we need the decorations and your friends." She knows a birthday is supposed to be celebrated with people you love. I have done my job. (Well, part of it.)

Anyway, I am working through my psychoses in therapy, I assure you. And cutting myself some slack. Or so I thought, anyway.

Specifically, I shelved Lola's original over-the-top second birthday ideas until next year when it can be a combined 1st and 3rd birthday for her and E. I whittled down the guest list. And I simplified by doing treats only, instead of a full meal with a party...

...and then, in what can only be described as cosmically bad timing, I planned the party for three days before my new (to me) due date.

Since I pared down so much of the party, I unleashed the crazy with her invitations -- hand painted pumpkins with custom tags.

Look, Rome wasn't built in a day and my crazy won't be fixed in a year.

Regardless, I'm really excited for Lo's little get together. I hope that even though there's a new baby coming into this world -- possibly on her birthday -- and there's a lot of chaos going on, in general, that she feels loved and special. October 17, 2012, was one of the most important days of my life. I am excited to share the culmination of my beautiful girl's second year in this world with our closest friends and family. And I really (really, really) hope I am around to host it!

Lemon Drop's Maternity Pictures

I almost didn't do photos because I thought with a third pregnancy (fourth kid) they were superfluous. But I started thinking about what it would be like to be the last kid born and not have pictures like these that the rest of your siblings had. And I've been so busy with the kids and life and work that I haven't taken a whole lot of time to just be in the moment with this pregnancy. These photos were a gift to my new precious baby and, even more, to myself. 

About a month before they were supposed to be taken, I had a hormonal meltdown and I wanted to set my closet and myself on fire. I just was so emotional and felt so grody that I said to hell with it, I'm not doing this, I'm not spending time and energy and money on silly photos. A few girlfriends pulled me up by my bootstraps and let me throw my hormonal hissy fit and got me back on track. I love you girls, thank you. The end result is a handful of images capturing, celebrating, reveling in my last pregnancy. I couldn't be more thankful.

 

Reese and Lo are so excited about number four. Reese sings itsy bitsy and the ABCs to lemon drop and when the song is over she asks me if the baby woke up and smiles widely at me and says, "did you feel her kick?" The baby usually doesn't, but I always say yes. Tonight, in an effort to thwart bedtime she told me she wanted to feel for the baby and when she put her hand on my belly lemon drop gave her a whopping thump and Reese's eyes bulged out of her head and she whispered, "I felt that." 

Bean lifts up my shirt and kisses my belly all day long. She sings and signs baby and blows my belly kisses. I don't know how, at her age, she understands that there is a baby in my belly. But she seems to know lemon drop is there, I just know she's going to be the best big sister. She's got so much love to give and she's such a gentle little girl. I can't wait for them to meet her. 

We had a pretty bad storm here a few weeks ago and Ryan was woken up by all the thunder and lightning. He ended up wide awake in my bed for several hours, and we just laid there quietly and held each other. Around 4:30 a.m. lemon drop woke up and started wiggling, which is her normal routine every night. I pulled Ryan's hand to my belly and he moved his tiny palm around my skin and played with his sister, giggling, eyes-wide, completely in awe and baffled by the movements that were happening. When she finally settled back in, he grabbed my hand and put it under his shirt and said, "momma, feel baby in my belly?" Sweetness. Pure, pure sweetness. 

Eight weeks until she's here and my little family is complete. By the time lemon drop is here, I will have been pregnant more than 800 days over the last four and a half years. That just baffles me. I thought I would never be a momma. And here I am with my arms and heart just bursting at the seams.