Now.

I had almost forgotten how much fun summer could be.  Maybe it was the way I processed my grief.  Maybe it was because for two years I trained myself to avoid parks and playgrounds during the day.  And maybe it was because my heart ached each time I heard about summer play groups and play dates.  I walked away from sandboxes and always averted my eyes from umbrella strollers.  Maybe it was a combination of all of these things.  But it probably had to do with more than that.

Last year I knew that summer was happening but we were very much removed from it.  Eddie was born on the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend and we spent all of the major summer holidays in the hospital with him until we came home on the 24th of July.  And although we were immeasurably happy to have Eddie in our family at that time, the first weeks that we spent together were not exactly what we had envisioned summer to be like with our new baby.

From the onset, I did not know what this summer would feel like but after being shut inside all winter I knew that whatever was lying ahead of us had to be better than what we had been through.  We could not wait to be around people again.  To be able to spend time with our family and friends.  And we were very eager to not to have to worry about germs.

And so far, Eddie's days as a toddler in summer have been simple ones and they have been filled with firsts.

He enjoyed his first play group, his first swim in a pool, and his first time at a splash pad.  He loved his first root beer float and sunk his teeth into his first bite of corn on the cob.  He attended his first of many barbecues, his first of many family reunions, and he loved being on his first hay ride with his cousins.  He slept in a cabin for the first time and he also spent the night in a hotel.  He held a sparkler for the first time and wished our country a happy birthday.  He rode (very slowly and safely) on an ATV for the first time.  And then he celebrated being out of the hospital for one full year.  He went to his first rodeo (he actually went to two in the same week) as well as the zoo and the aviary.  And he played in the dirt, swung on a swing, and had a picnic in the park.  All for the first time.

Now that Eddie has gotten so many firsts out of the way we have found ourselves in the happy position of being able to repeat things.  Some things we have done many times and some we have only done once but either way, Eddie has been busy.

And now that he is gradually figuring out that life can be much more rewarding on two legs rather than four, I suspect that life with Eddie will get much busier.  And fairly soon.

Big.

Eddie knew that big changes were in the air.  

Although he couldn't read a calendar and know that spring had finally come, he figured that it must be getting warmer because his parents weren't bundling him up in so many blankets and jackets like they used to.  He could also see that more sunshine was coming through the windows in his house.  Last week, he was able to sit outside on the front porch with his mom for the first time in a very long time.  His mom took his socks off so he could feel the breeze in between his toes.  

He grabbed his feet and squealed with delight.  He smiled a lot. 

The next day, he went for a long walk with his dad and his trusty dog Riggins.  It was a little colder that day but he didn't mind.  He flapped his arms and legs in the wind like a baby bird and he enjoyed saying hello to his neighbors.

He could see that things were starting to get green around his neighborhood.  He noticed tiny flowers starting to make their way out of the dirt and it made him happy to see their pretty colors.  He thought that since the flowers were starting to grow and his grass was getting greener by the day, that maybe he should work extra hard to be ready to play this summer.

He hadn't been swimming in a swimming pool yet, but he knew that he would be going a lot very soon.  So he got busy working on his impressive physique.

He also figured that while he would be at a swimming pool that he would likely be eating tasty foods at summer barbecues.  He hadn't had a lot of table foods quite yet but he thought he should eat more to prepare.  So he worked on developing his pincher fingers and feeding himself.

He also started eating more solid foods like squash, sweet potatoes, yogurt, and cottage cheese, and he liked everything he ate...except for peas.

And as he started to eat more solid foods his gums started to hurt a bit.  And then a little bit more.  And a little bit more.  And then one day, his very first tooth started to grow.  It hurt a lot and it kept him up a couple of nights, but he was excited to have it.  He liked to put his fingers in his mouth so that he could feel it.

And he noticed that once he had his tooth that he could make more grown-up noises like "ga ga" and "ba ba."  He loved hearing himself make these new sounds and he practiced them a lot.

And he thought it was probably a good time to master sitting up.  He had been working on it for a few months but hadn't seen a need for it until the weather got nicer.  He thought he should probably try a bit harder.  He is still working on it, but he knows he will be sitting up all on his own very soon.

But in order for Eddie to feel completely ready for the times he could meet his friends and play with his cousins, he thought he should be able to move.  He had noticed that most people can move around without being held.  He was especially interested in watching Riggins walk and dance.  He really liked being with Riggins.

And so, today, he decided to crawl.

And now, once people stop coughing and having runny noses, Eddie has made enough big decisions that he will be able to be outside and finally meet the people who love him so very much.

And he couldn't be more excited about it.

Seven.

Seven years ago today Rob and I were married for time and all eternity in the Salt Lake temple.  

I knew on that day that I was making the right decision.  There was no doubt in my mind that not only would Rob would be an incredible husband, but that we would be immensely happy together.  Growing up in my church, I was taught about the importance of marrying in the temple so that my family could sealed and bound together so that death could never separate us.  I always knew that this was a true and important principle but I never could have known how soon the blessings of eternity would bless our little family and impact my life.  Thanks to the decision that we made to be married in that sacred and special place, we will be Mr. and Mrs. Rob Koelliker forever.  What is more, thanks to that wonderful fall day, we will always have our Eddie, and someday, we will be reunited with our Henry.  My heart swells with emotion when I think of everything that November 10, 2005 gave me, because it gave me everything.

What a blessing it has been to be Rob's wife, his friend, and the mother of his children.  I look back at our years and experiences with a joyful heart and as I look to our future I only see more reasons to smile.  And on this happy day of celebration and reflection I cannot help but cheer.  

Rob, here is to our past, our present, and all of the millions more inside jokes that we will share in the next seven years and beyond.  

I cannot wait.

Home.

It looks like Eddie gained at least another ounce today.

His cheeks are a bit more chubby, his index fingers are bulging, and his tremulous double chin appears to be even fuller today than it was yesterday.  At closer inspection, it looks like his thighs have started to form the beginnings of what will surely be a most impressive roll of baby blubber.  His head, still covered in fine hair, must have also grown more round because his blue eyes seem bigger and more piercing.  And, much like his brother's, Eddie's shoulders look to be increasingly more broad and strong.

I look at him now with eyes that have watched him grow.  Eyes that followed him from room to room and bed to bed in the NICU.  Eyes that compulsively watched his monitors and vital signs.  Eyes that begged and willed those monitors to stop their beeping and blaring.  Eyes that pleaded with Eddie to have an easy course in the hospital.  And eyes that have cried so many tears.  Tears of shock and disbelief that yet another precious child was in the NICU.  Tears of immense relief to hear the cries of a tiny babe for the first time and then tears of joy to learn that Eddie was following his own course and blazing his own trail.  Eddie's final week in the NICU was a happy one.  Each day he would take a little more from his bottle or spend just a little more time nursing and day after day we were greeted by happy nurses and doctors who were genuinely impressed with Eddie's progress.  We could scarcely believe our good luck in going home three weeks earlier than expected and we were sent home with loving smiles.  

On Thursday we learned that our Fighter reached another important milestone; he now exceeds 6 pounds.  He was 6 pounds and 3.5 ounces and at that point he was exactly 11 weeks old and 39 weeks and 1 day gestational corrected age.  He was so big.  

No.

He is so big.  

And technically, he is not even supposed to be here until Wednesday the 15th.

And my, how he has changed!  I think back to the very first time I saw him on that surprising day in May and I cannot help but think of how kind these past 11 weeks have been to our boy.  They have allowed him to rest.  To overcome jaundice.  To be carefully scanned, assessed, and checked his whole body over only to be left alone so that he can continue to grow.  They have allowed him to be cradled, swaddled, and caressed by many tender and caring hands.  Blessings were administered and thousands upon thousands of prayers and pleas were uttered on his behalf by us and so many others.  These past weeks have allowed him to learn how to cry, to suck, to swallow, and to breathe.  His bones have lengthened, his muscles have been strengthened, and fat has accumulated in all of the right places.  And now he has been home for two and a half weeks.    

The days since we brought our Fighter home have been typically transitional.  All of us have been adjusting to new schedules, new sights, new sounds, and new sensations.  Eddie is getting a taste of normalcy.  He lives in a world free of monitors, fluorescent lights, and isolettes and he has taken to it with characteristic ease.  Riggins, ever the faithful family pup, is adjusting to no longer being the baby and fur baby of the house.  And Rob and I are at last getting to taste the sweetness of sleepless nights, full arms, and full hearts.    

And on days like today, it truly is good to be home.   

One.

Eddie turned one month old yesterday.

In four short weeks, our fighter has gained half a pound (and two ounces) and is literally growing before our very eyes.  He has graduated rooms and even has outgrown his tiny diapers.  His preemie pacifier is one of his closest friends and he sucks on it often.  His lungs are maturing and what once sounded like a kitten mew has developed into a strong infant cry.  His cheeks have become fuller, his eyes more expressive and even more gorgeous, and his smile is more frequent.

And even though he has grown and developed, his feet are still impossibly cute and tiny.  Indeed, almost everything about him is still tiny.   It is hard to believe that one day he will be big.

Not a day goes by when I do not worry (actually, not an hour goes by when I do not worry).  Apparently the worries that I had during my pregnancy were truly just the beginning.  But the more that I think of it the more I realize that every parent essentially feels the same way.  Situations may change and all children are different but the fact remains that parents love their children too much to not worry.  The trick that I still have to master is to not let my worries consume me so much that I forget to focus on what is in front of me.  Until that day comes, I know that I will be thinking, worrying, praying, and rejoicing over every move our little fighter makes for the rest of his life because on the 24th of May a new chamber formed in my heart, and it is completely and utterly his.  

Growing.

Eddie will be turning three weeks old on Wednesday and I can scarcely believe where the time has gone.  I initially intended to update my blog weekly but much like other homes with new babies, ours has been hustling and bustling.  I am constantly amazed by how quickly the hours fly by and I have found myself saying time again that it is almost a full time job to just update our family and friends (good thing it isn't a job though, because if it were, I would have been fired days ago).     

Over the past week, Eddie made great strides and not only re-gained the ounces he lost in the first two weeks but he has exceeded his birth weight.  At almost 31 weeks, he is eating well and is now up to a fighting 2 pounds and 11 ounces.  He has "graduated" twice and was moved from the first room in the NICU to be with the "big kids" in a more open room with older, more stable babies.  

First week in the NICU

He is one of the smaller babies in the unit but what he lacks in size he makes up for in personality and feistiness.  It seems that not more than a day or two goes by before a nurse or doctor remarks on Eddie's fighting or feisty spirit and he continues to live up to pugilistic nickname (he gets particularly upset when he has a dirty diaper or has to get it changed).  He is full of determination and curiosity and has multiple periods throughout the day when he is alert and is taking in his surroundings.  But for the most part, much of his time each day is spent eating and sleeping in his isolette (or incubator) so he can continue to grow.  

Needing some peace and quiet - first week in the NICU

Eddie's lungs are still developing so he is breathing with the help of a high flow nasal cannula.  He is doing remarkably well for a baby his age and the cannula provides him with a continuous flow of air to remind him to breathe.  His caregivers are weaning him off of his machine in stages so he does not have to work too hard and can use most of his energy to grow.

Mom's first time holding Eddie 

I am exhausted when I think about what has transpired over the last three weeks.  I can only imagine how Eddie feels.  He made his debut in a big way and we have been running to catch up to him ever since.  When I look too far forward, I feel overwhelmed by uncertainty.  I think about the weeks ahead and how much has to happen before our little one can come home and it feels like a daily battle to remind myself to simply live in the present.  To stop myself from thinking about "what if's" and "maybe's" and to just focus on the here and now because Eddie is here and we are his parents now.  And we have much to celebrate.

We have experienced many emotions since Eddie's arrival but one of the greatest has been gratitude.  As you know from my last post, his birth was completely unexpected and we do not know what would have happened if just one thing would have been off on May 24th.  What if we would not have made it to the hospital in time?  What if Rob were out of town?  Or what if my doctor would not have just happened to already be in the hospital?  It seems that each time we talk about the events leading up to his birth it becomes more and more apparent how carefully our family was watched over that day.  I like to believe that Henry, ever the watchful big brother, was the one who prompted me to get to the hospital so his little buddy could enter our family as safely as possible.  And I also like to think of him, along with several others, being by Eddie's side at the moments when we cannot be.

We may not know exactly what lies ahead, but we do know that we have a new addition to our family and he has already made our lives that much more sweet.  I am eager to watch our little fighter gain weight and continue to make strides in his development and growth...and, knowing Eddie, I imagine that each and every one of them will come in his own time and in his own way.

Eddie.

One week ago this morning I woke up with a start after a particularly vivid dream.  I went to bed the night before with a slight ache on the lower right side of my abdomen that was just uncomfortable enough to make me stop and pay attention.  The ache carried over into my subconscious and that night I dreamt that I went into labor.  The contractions, the delivery room, the IV, were all so real that it took me some time to believe that it did not actually happen.

My little ache accompanied me as I went through the motions of my day.  As far as days go, it was rather non-typical since we had a doctor's appointment in the morning and I had an event for work that night.  Our appointment was standard and everything checked out beautifully.  Kaempfer's heart beat was perfect, all of my stats were spot on, and my doctor told me to call back later in the day if my little ache persisted. Rob and I then went to get lunch and I returned to my desk to prepare for the evening ahead.  Yet as the day progressed my ache did too and by the late afternoon it was becoming more forceful and coming in set increments.  Worried, I laid on my side and drank a lot of water thinking the ache would dissipate.  It did not.  

Knowing it would at least ease my mind to call my doctor, I called the nurse and she transferred me to OB Emergency Services.  The nurse that I spoke with advised me to go home, take a warm bath and drink copious amounts of water.  If my ache continued, she wanted me to come in.  I settled my affairs at work and on the drive home my ache transitioned from a mere ache to a pain.  I waddled up the stairs to my house and drew a bath immediately, hoping it would help.  It did not.  In fact, it was while I was in the bath trying to relax that one of my pains caused my stomach to tighten and sent a jolt of pain straight through my body. I cried aloud and a single word came into my mind, screaming at me to pay attention. "Hospital."

Rob raced home, running every red light and stop sign that came into his path and we checked into OB Emergency Services at 4:00 p.m.  At about 4:10 p.m. they notified me that I was fully dilated and that my baby was coming today.

I cannot easily relay the rest of this story since what followed in the next hour involved a lot of people rushing around.  A quick ultra sound was administered and it was discovered that not only was Kaempfer breech but he was also frank.  There were then multiple pokes and emergency shots, hurried phone calls to parents, and an emergency C-section - all for the sake of a tiny babe in a hurry to make his dramatic debut.  And finally, there was a hearty scream from a baby born 12 weeks earlier than expected.  

So it would appear that much like his brother before him, Kaempfer decided to be born on his own time and his own unique way and his arrival suddenly made a  non-typical day a birth day.

Edward Henry Koelliker

May 24, 2012

5:12 p.m.

2 lbs., 8 oz.

Edward Henry came into this world in a frenzy and has been fighting ever since.  Rob was truly inspired on the day he confidently gave our little Eddie his German nickname since he has already had to slug it out in the ring and so far, he is keeping his head tucked and getting in some money shots.

Eddie will live in the NICU for several weeks and it turns out that my plans to "expect the unexpected" with our little one have truly come to fruition.  We are in the midst of making our regular trips between the hospital and our home and we are very much riding the emotional roller coaster that all parents must ride with a child in the NICU.  But today was a good day and we will continue to appreciate good days.

Welcome to the world, sweet Eddie.  You are the cutest prize-fighter around.

Expecting.

Today is my birthday.  And I am in trouble.

I have difficulty remembering odd numbers.  For reasons unknown to me birthdays, anniversaries and ages that all end in an odd number are essentially doomed in my memory.  Weirdly enough, single odd digits are not as difficult for me to remember as double ones.  But once a two is assigned to a solitary odd digit it practically receives the kiss of death in my memory unless I write it down.  And as you have undoubtedly guessed, my age would seemingly be difficult for me to remember this year.  You see, it is unfortunately in the double digits and it has that dreaded odd number assigned at the end.

Now that I have approached this odd age, I have tried to make sense of the time that has passed since my pregnancy with Henry.  I think of what Rob and I have experienced, where we have been, what we have seen, and what we have done and it just does not add up.  How has it only been two years?  How has grief not turned my hair completely white and taken a more insidious toll on my body?  How am I not older?  How has the emotional insight that I have (sometimes begrudgingly) gained from loss not propelled me twenty or thirty years into the future?  And yet, how can it already be two years?  How can it already be two years since we first laid eyes on Henry?  Two whole years since we held him, smiled over his perfectness, and basked in the joy of being parents.

Two years.  Just two years.  That is all.  A period of time that to many other couples is a desirable gap between children.  An intentional pause to stop and reflect.  A time to grow, to relax, and recuperate.  Time to adjust to a new lifestyle, a new addition, and a new happiness.  Just two years.  But our two years cannot be easily described as just just because they have been so much more and so much less than I could ever imagined.

There was great joy and there was great pain.  There were moments of great strength and times when darkness threatened to lurk forever.  There was emptiness that seemed all-consuming and there was so much grief.  There were countless hours spent crying in agony, frustration, and sometimes even happiness.  There was so much crying.  And yet there was Rob.  There was Henry.  There were our family, our friends, and even strangers who are now life-long friends.  There was Riggins.  There was hard work, our dreams, and our hopes of a happier time.  And there was our faith.

So I ask myself, on this, my birthday: how am I possibly going to be able to remember my age when I have felt so much?  Is there room for more?  And how will I ever remember this odd age in what has proved to be an incredibly odd period of my life?

Thankfully, something or rather, someone, has answered that question for me.  And he tells me that this will be a year to remember.  Because at last, Henry is going to be a big brother.

Our second son is due on August 15th and as you can imagine, our expectations are exceedingly high.  We expect nothing less than a successful and redemptive experience in the delivery room, pure love at first sight when we lay eyes on our son, and endless smiles from our family and friends. 

A celebratory balloon sent to heaven for the proud big brother.

We are expecting the unexpected and our joy is full.

Last.

Last month, we went into a building and walked out as the owners of our first house.  We nervously walked into the title company that day fully aware of the importance of the decision we were making.  But above all else, we walked with excitement.  Like most of the other "big" things in our marriage, purchasing our first house was a process.  We did our homework and conducted an exhaustive, exciting search that took us into houses of every shape, size and condition.  While I daydreamed about throw pillows and glossy floors, Rob habitually checked websites and databases so that we could weed out the homes that were either too big, too small or too expensive.  And finally, just before we were about to take a break from searching, we found a place that met our most important criteria.  We found a place that has just enough charm and space to be our first house. 

Technically it has only been over a month and a half since we got the keys but in many respects, it seems like we have had it much longer.  We have not moved in yet but have been busy putting as much "sweat equity" that we possibly can into this house to help it reach a small portion of its potential.  The first order of business was to replace and re-key the door.  Rob then removed the storm door (this is an outdated picture, the white door is now gone) and we unceremoniously tore out the carpet (goodbye beige shag - hello, hardwood!).  We updated some of the electrical wiring, have had the hardwood floors finished and are working on painting the interior.  Much has been done, but there is still much to do. 


Now we are at the point where it is safe to start carefully packing up our belongings to prepare for our new adventure.  So last week we revisited the contents of a blue steamer trunk.  From the outside, the trunk is unremarkable save for its nostalgic robin-blue color.  But an inside look of this trunk reveals hundreds of cards, several carefully-packed hand-knitted sweaters, souvenirs from around the world and an assortment of tiny blankets.  The monetary value of these items may not be great, but this unassuming blue trunk is where we keep Henry's keepsakes and everything in it is invaluable to us.  Although we have been putting things into this trunk for the past year and a half, we have not spent a lot of time dwelling on it.  Until now.  Since we are moving on to a new space and a new place for memories we thought it would be fitting to evaluate the precious items within it.  

My senses seemed to be heightened as I sorted cards, hats, onesies and stuffed animals into piles.  It was not easy to be confronted with these special things.  Yet in a way, I enjoyed the sensation of fingering Henry's outfits and smelling his blankets; items which will be forever associated with him, his brief life and his ongoing memory.  I took great care in organizing and arranging the piles within the trunk to ensure that nothing would get disrupted or broken in the move ahead.  My hands seemed to be in agreement me, as if they knew that the things that I was sorting and looking over were fragile and special since my movements were slower and more deliberate.  And now that I think about it, in a way, it feels like I handled these trinkets and clothes the way that I would care for Henry if he were here.  That I would be cuddling and caressing his skin rather than his shoes which have yet to be worn. 

I was and am grateful that Henry even has a trunk-load full of things that we consider to be his.  I gratefully think back to baby showers which gave me opportunities to fall in love with the tender presents I was given.  I treasure the memories I have of receiving such gifts and immediately attaching them to our son.  I vividly remember wondering when Henry would be old enough to wear the bow ties, sweater vests and booties that we were so graciously given.  And I am now beginning to understand the wisdom in a mother's desire to ritualistically nest for her little ones.  I think of the days that I spent feverishly cleaning, washing and arranging to make things perfect for little Henry's debut.  Those times are so important to me, more so now than ever before, because I know that I prepared for him as best as I could with the information that I had at the time.  And that if he ever would have come home with us, he would have had a beautiful room to call his own.


Last night we officially packed up the rest of Henry's nursery.  Up until yesterday, we had left his crib, changing table and little dresser intact because it was too painful to think of packing up a room so precious immediately after his death.  I suppose that if one positive thing came out of boxing up all of his things it was our recognition that we had reached another milestone in our grief and understanding of this process.  That although we still felt a dull ache in our hearts as we looked around at the things that have never been used, that we were able to pack box after box of new diapers, baby lotions and  pacifiers without feeling completely decimated and destroyed.  I wanted to sob aloud.  I wanted to lose myself within that room and spend hours touching, smelling and crying over everything within it.  If Rob had not been around to provide me with strength and peace I just might have let myself stay in that room forever.  But we have been weathering this storm for seventeen months now, and this unfortunately, was just another aspect of it.  

So tomorrow I will paint, pack and not be afraid to let my hands get dirty in building new, happy memories.  I will weed our new yard and water our new grass and I will try my best to keep looking forward because thankfully, I can always look back. 

Team.

Life has not gone exactly as planned.

I did not plan on being in the situation I am in now nor could I ever have imagined it. Henry's death was an unexpected nightmare but sometimes it feels like living through these first months without him is more difficult than letting him go. Yet aside from the tragedy that we continue to cope with, life has brought other unexpected things my way, some of which I have been ready for; some I have not. Looking back, I can see that most of these little surprises in my life have afforded me with opportunities to simply grow, whether I have wanted to or not. I am not yet at the point in my grief or my life where I can comfortably say that losing Henry has caused me to grow as a person. And to be honest, I do not foresee that realization coming anytime soon. For the past eight months and as of tonight I am surviving and to me, survival does not feel like growth. But I know that in time I will feel differently.

But I must write and acknowledge that I do feel that in just the past two weeks my grief has progressed a couple of steps. There are many reasons for this progression (most of which involve Rob and other family members) but the one that has been the most apparent to me lately is my involvement in an unlikely project.

I have been honored to have worked on Peter Corron's gubernatorial campaign since the beginning of May and it has been an incredible ride. Initially, I felt like an outsider. I knew practically nothing about politics, especially Utah politics, and I was in the thick of my grief which incapacitated me significantly. If you have ever mourned a loss you understand the feeling of numbness that settles over your entire body. A grief so complete that it causes you to feel as if you are walking, talking and thinking through Jell-O. Any mental acuity or sharpness that I had prior to Henry's death seemed to have left with him and it was intimidating to be thrown into a fast-paced environment when my body demanded quiet.

It took a while for me to feel it again; to feel the familiar adrenaline rush that comes from meeting new people, achieving small tasks and working hard. There have been growing pains along the way and naturally there were difficult days, but I realize now that my journey on the campaign has greatly impacted my grief.

The people in the picture above were once strangers to me and in the beginning it seemed like I would never be able to have the relationships with them that I knew I needed. They knew nothing about me, my background or what I had been through and I did not plan on advertising it until I knew I had a kind and trusted ear. There were only a couple of instances where I told someone directly about Henry because thankfully, I did not have to do it often. News of my circumstance trickled out and people that I had only known for a month mourned with me and helped me to feel comfortable, supported and valued. I am deeply indebted to this team of individuals who gave me a purpose when I felt like the one that I so desperately wanted had been taken away from me.

For those of you that are not aware, Peter is a Democrat and his running mate, Sheryl Allen, is a Republican. Over the past seven months I have had the opportunity to work extensively with both of these lovely people as a fund raiser on their finance team and I voted for them last Friday. They have my support for many reasons but largely in part that they are a bipartisan team in a very partisan political environment right now. I respect them and their values, which coincide with my own, and I appreciate their desire to make Utah an even better place to live than it is now.

If you have not already had the opportunity to do so, I encourage you to vote tomorrow (November 2nd) in what is turning out to be an extremely important race. It is our right as citizens of this country and also our duty so that we can keep our leaders aware of our needs and help our state and nation grow.

Backward.

A couple of months ago I wrote that grief has felt like the kind of toy car that must be pulled back a few inches before it can move forward. I use the same metaphor now to explain that the past weeks have been difficult and there have been moments when it has felt that not only has my little car moved back a few inches, but has reversed two or three feet. To be honest, there have been days when I would have liked nothing more than to simply stop moving. It is exhausting to apply the work that it takes to move ahead when I know that I will inevitably take a curve too fast, lose sight of the road, or just run out of gas. There are still times when I tire of driving. Times where I am angry to be reminded of what I do not have right now and I get frustrated that my car is not moving in the direction that I want it to be moving in; a direction which it was supposed to be taking but has been forced to take a painful detour.

The causes for these emotional reversals are expected ones. Mother and Father's Days proved to be large speed bumps and just when I felt that my car was finally on track it was pushed off again by seasonal detours. Lately my motor has been struggling uphill as it has driven past family barbecues, fireworks in the park, and brightly colored strollers. My car has tried to speed past fathers and sons walking in the park and the sight and smell of baby sunblock. And it has tried to find other roads so as to avoid five-month-old babies, but it has been and will continue to be unsuccessful. I know that there will be a day in the future when the pain of seeing these once-friendly and welcoming sights will not hurt as much. But today is not that day and there are times when I grow impatient for the future.

That being said I do feel that my car has moved forward again. Although it endured driving in what seemed to be relentlessly rough conditions (some of which, I confess, were self-imposed), it has turned another corner. Last night Rob and I spent an ordinary evening together. We sat together on the coach, reviewed the events of the day, and inevitably started talking about Henry. At one point Rob talked about the first moment he saw Henry after he was born and how painful it was to see him so ill. As I listened to Rob and thought about that day I too felt worry, pain and fear. But then I felt a surge of joy which was so complete that it took me off guard. I felt a sense of pride in thinking about Henry's appearance. I thought about his curly blonde hair, his sturdy little limbs and his handsome profile. I then experienced a feeling of great peace in knowing that my son is a person. That he fought to be here with us and that he is still ours. And as difficult as it was to experience these past weeks of hardship and roadblocks I would experience them all again to have those same feelings of joy in thinking about my Henry.

A portion of this same peace has stayed with me through the day and I felt like I was at last able to write about our trip to Europe and do it justice. My tardiness in writing about our adventures has been horrifying but I think you will understand when I write that although Europe was beautiful, there was something and more importantly someone else that we would have rather been concentrating our efforts on.

Strolling along the Thames

Our journey started and ended in London and it took us to Belgium, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. Yet unlike the other countries which we were regrettably only able to spend a day in, we had three full days in London and we became smitten. It is an easy city to love because from what I can tell, it contains something for everyone. Rob and I took every opportunity we could to hit the major sites and we did not shy away from being "touristy" (because we were ones). We rode on a double decker bus (which has to be the slowest mode of transportation anywhere), ate fish and chips, popped in and out of red telephone booths and breezed through a couple of the major museums. We visited the British Museum, British Library, King's Cross station (to pay homage to Mr. Potter, of course), caught a production of Macbeth at The Globe and even went on a chilling Jack the Ripper walking tour. It was fabulous and I suppose my whirlwind description is fitting for our whirlwind tour of such an incredible city.

The Courtauld Gallery

I took many more photos of London and our trip in general but I thought I would just share the highlights on my blog. If you are a glutton for punishment you are welcome to check out an album on my Facebook page. I will post about the other cities soon.

Architecture at its finest

Although we were only in London for a couple of days, it was where we were able to spend the most time and it was special for us because we were able to walk, explore and disappear into its busy streets. Seeing London, and Europe in general, had been a fantasy of mine for years especially since I had been reading and writing about it as an art historian. To be able to walk through galleries filled with masterpieces by Michelangelo, Turner, Rodin and van Gogh was heavenly; but being able to walk through cobblestone streets with my sweetheart was truly memorable.

Mutant?

Due dates are not an exact science. Women rarely go into labor when they are predicted to and I am perfectly aware of that. Yet, I cannot help but be excited by the fact that Sprout is due exactly one month from today. Naturally I am trying not to get my hopes up. If pregnancy has taught me anything it is that each woman is so individual that it is impossible to know exactly what will happen and when. But that has not prevented us from guessing. Rob and I have both been working on our fortune telling skills and as of right now Rob feels like the baby will be right on time if not a day before or after his due date. I, on the other hand have an inkling that he will be either early or late by at least a week - but I am not sure as to which one yet.

One thing is for certain though, as the weeks progress and our little Sprout continues to put on the pounds my body is becoming an increasingly more uncomfortable place to be. Not only have my ribs and back fallen victim to spontaneous bursts of pain but my stomach is also highly concentrated on practicing for his big day. My Braxton Hicks are still irregular but are becoming more frequent and intense with each day. Last week I attempted to describe the feeling of said Braxton Hicks to Rob. I tried to explain the intense pressure in my abdomen and the sensation of feeling like I have been stretching to capacity - but I ultimately felt like these efforts were futile.

I then tried to describe the feeling through movies and images (my favorite things) and at last the thought came to me...

Granted, Wolverine is a bit of a sensationalized and overdramatic comparison (and yes, scary), but it certainly conveys the feeling of one's body undergoing such profound pressure and tension that it feels like the skin is about to burst open with life.
What do you think fellow mothers and mothers-to-be? Is my example on par or can you think of a better one?

Novice.

Another week has come and gone. Our Sprout-countdown is now down to five weeks, which means that in just one month and one week our little man will be a tangible, physical presence in our home. Rob and I now find ourselves not only daydreaming about Sprout's appearance but of his limbs, his smile, and the feel of him. What will his tiny toes look like? How will his skin smell when it is lathered up in Babysoft lotion? And more importantly, how long will we have to wait before we can get him to laugh, smile, and share in our revelry?

However, not everything about my pregnancy has been completely blissful. I would not be realistic if I did not gripe about the white-hot pain that randomly surges through the center of my spine, the pressure that is applied to my ribs each time Sprout shifts his weight, or the impossibility of sleep with such a rotund belly. Yet these complaints are tolerable if not simply for the fact that in just a matter of weeks he will be here and my life as I know it will forever be changed. This change has already manifested itself in my thinking, my worrying, my shopping - all of which inevitably lead back to baby and husband. You out there have been witnessing the strongest evidence of this shift in this very blog. Initially when I became pregnant I foolishly thought that I could still maintain my posts, that my commentary would be business as usual. Obviously that has not been the case. And considering how much of my day is consumed by this little man it is quite fitting that my blog has reflected this natural shift.

Before I sink my teeth into the crux of my post (which will be brief, I promise) I want to thank each of you that responded to my cry for baby books last week. Your comments about natural instinct were particularly comforting and soothed my first-time jitters (and mother or not, it is always good to hear from you Hillary and Cullen - thanks for reading and contributing). Thank you for your good advice.

And finally, a new aspect of nesting has taken hold: cooking. I have always enjoyed cooking for Rob, mainly because he is so easy to please. But lately I have liked it more than usual. The idea of having certain recipes, specific foods and dishes that I am good at concocting is becoming more and more appealing to me.

Because after all, Sprout will be hungry when he is born and will expect a good meal. And I want to cook it for him.

What are your favorite things to cook? And what is the one recipe or food that you wish you were master of?

Sprouting.

After six long weeks of feebly trying to keep our lips sealed, we are finally ready to spill the beans - I am delighted to announce that I am pregnant with our first child. We have at last reached the twelve week mark and heard our little "Sprout's" heartbeat for the first time this morning. Its bup-da-bup-da-bup-da-bup was music to our ears and brought on a myriad of emotions - relief, excitement, wonder, and most of all, joy. 

Up until now this pregnancy has felt like a dream.  At times real (such as when I have been curled up in the fetal position clutching my stomach or giggling over the phone with my mom and sisters) and at others a big mystery (something - someone is growing inside me?!). Without a cute little bump I still look normal. I have not gained excess weight and my waist is still intact but if you look closer the top button of my favorite jeans is already unbuttoned, my face has broken out in hormone-induced acne, and I have a knowing smile on my lips. Yet my smile does not come close to equaling this baby's Daddy's. If you want proof of his excitement, just ask him about the night vision baby monitor that he bought at 4a.m. a couple of weeks ago (it's going to be perfect). 

Above is Sprout's first picture, which was taken when I was just eight weeks along. To anyone else it is just a blur. A little jelly bellian-like sea monkey in a black oval. But I will say that watching a baby, our baby, move was incredible. I look forward to that feeling coming over me again and again as watch our little one grow, develop, and finally join our family.

For now my days, nights, sleeping and waking thoughts are consumed with thinking, wondering,  and worrying about this tiny thing. Am I eating well enough to give it what it needs? Should I be getting more rest? What will it look like? How big will my belly get? And will my morning sickness ever end? Thankfully I have a lot of people I can turn to for advice and I will need it all the more as the weeks go by so please, keep it coming. 

By the end of next month or the beginning of October we will find out what it is and I greatly look forward to that day but for now I am enjoying its anonymity.  Right now my mind is not filled with visions of tutus and dolls or basketballs and trucks. Instead I am simply enjoying that Sprout is just that. Our Sprout.

Peace.

Outside is one of the things I love most about the summertime. The weather is warmer, the sun stays up longer, and therefore people are constantly biking, hiking, and walking their dogs. Lately Rob and I have been taking advantage of the midsummer evenings by walking up City Creek Canyon. Initially we started for the sake of exercise - since going up hill for a couple of miles and then down has its aerobic benefits. Yet as we continued to make time for our walks it became obvious that simply being outside and being together was more beneficial than the actual exercise. 

I have never been a big workout nut but City Creek is unlike any other trail, track, or treadmill. The landscape is varied and the foliage shines deep green from the setting sun (not a typical Utah trait for July). Almost every other bend in the road makes us both stop, catch our breath and spontaneously mutter "this is my favorite spot," or "this is beautiful." At times like these I finally (and I mean, FINALLY) feel the advantages of exercise. My mind is clear, my body is working hard, and everything around me starts to make sense. With my "walking eyes" on even the simplest things become sublime.

Our routine is not strict nor is our path necessarily set. Depending on the day we can push ourselves 6 or 7 miles. Other days we keep it down to 3 or 4. Perhaps this is what makes us want to go back again and again. We understand each other's limitations we know each other's moods. Yet sure enough, it only takes a short reprieve for one of us to suggest another walk or a picnic in the canyon and then we find ourselves setting out on the familiar stretch of pavement.
Forgive me for being cliche, but our walks are magical in a way.  If I have a worry about something or if I have had a rough day at work somehow our walks seem to work them out. My issues, much like the road that bobs and pitches, always seem to flatten out when we are done and I am inevitably left feeling lighter, happier, and free. 

This magic no doubt comes from a patient and long-suffering exercise buddy. 

Wild.

Two weeks ago we were sleeping in a hut in the middle of a South African game reserve. No windows, no doors, no electricity and no fences to keep us in - or to keep the wild things out. Giddy from a day of adventure and the thrill of seeing animals without cages or bars eat, move, and act as they please.  Full from a pleasant overdose of adrenaline, dutch oven cooking, and togetherness we nestled under thick duvets closed our eyes and huddled under our solitary mosquito net to relish a truly African experience. Unthinkable images from the day raced through our brains - a giraffe's long neck, zebras serenely drinking from a watering hole, the flickering tail of a cobra racing through the grass, the unnerving glow of a lion's eyes in a spotlight, and the orange sun setting through African acacia trees.  Can this be real? Were we actually five feet away from two male lions? Did we see massive elephants eat from the trees?  And if we go to sleep, do we really get to wake up and do this all over again?

Our trip through Madikwe was everything that a safari should have been. A bumpy ride through the Sahara in a Land Rover? Check. Tall grass just mysterious (and spooky) enough for a lion to pounce in? Check. Impalas jumping with their legs high in the air just like in The Lion King? Check. Perma-grins plastered on our faces from seeing things in person that we had only seen before on the Discovery Channel? Check, check, check, and check. In a word, our safari was perfect. Rob's parents outdid themselves booking us on a rustic and authentic South African adventure that was unforgettable - and luckily, it only made up a portion of our trip. 

     

Decked out in our safari gear and ready to go - since it is fall in South Africa it was chilly in the mornings, especially since the wind whipped through our hair as we drove on the hunt for "the big five" (elephants, lions, cape buffalo, rhinos, and leopards). Much of our time was spent peering at bushes, trees, and rocks daring them to move and reveal an animal. We never knew when something would pop out from under a tree or be around the next bend in the red dirt road.
This was our greatest surprise on the first day. The sun had set, night enveloped the sky, and it was pitch black save for our headlights and a spotlight. Adrenaline surged through my veins as we drove five feet away from this lion and his equally large and impressive brother. Never in my life had the impulse to flee been so strong. Thankfully, he was full so he left us alone and graciously posed for some pictures.
The next morning we came upon this mama white rhino and her baby. Unlike the lions, we could not get close since rhinos are so unpredictable and dangerous - but I think they are like any other mother that wants to protect her little one.
Of all of the animals that we saw the elephant was our favorite.  Who would have thought that the largest land-mammal would camouflage so well into its surroundings?  Though we spent over an hour and a half searching for one, it was worth it to see something so majestic be at peace.
And that concludes the portion of our safari trip. Stay tuned in a couple of days when I reveal or exciting trip to Cape Town and the sights, people, and places around Johannesburg.