Tommy.

This post has already been written in my mind for months. It has been reworked and reworded many times and even though I had to emotionally prepare myself for the possibility of posting it much earlier than I ever wanted, the framework has essentially stayed the same. And it has always started with the joyful announcement of the arrival of our third son, Thomas Ray Koelliker.

Unlike his brothers before him, Thomas has the distinction of having a completely expected birth. The ventilators, isolettes, and feeding tubes that were so integral to the other births in our family were tellingly and blessedly absent.  This third boy in a family of boys will someday tell his own special tale about the day that he was born.  A day that did not include a frenzied drive to the hospital, an emergency procedure, or having to separate from his parents and go to the NICU because even though the countdown to get to his arrival was a storied one, the actual day of his debut was mercifully peaceful.     

On the morning of Thursday, March 5th, 2015, Rob and I walked hand in hand through the doors of University Hospital.  We could not help but giggle as we made our way to the maternity ward.  We had already spent countless hours in those familiar halls and units.  Henry had been born and died in the NICU where Eddie spent the first nine weeks of his life and I was officially closing the door on a pregnancy that required a lot of medical attention.  And as we went up the elevator and checked in to have our baby we could not get over the fact that we were checking in and not being rushed in.  That for the first time my hospital bag was pre-packed and organized and most of all, we could not believe that we had made it to March.  That after all of the emergency visits and scares and the hours spent worrying and planning Plan B's and even Plan C's, that we had made it to 36 weeks and 6 days gestation.

Due to construction, the maternity ward sent us across the hall to the place that Rob and I knew all too well, and as we checked in at the desk of OB Emergency Services I was relieved to do so for the very last time in that pregnancy.  We were visited by nurses, doctors, and anesthesiologists and we were assured multiple times that the NICU was on call in case our little one needed expert attention.  (In fact, several of our favorite NICU nurses stood at the ready that day and all weekend just in case we needed them.  It was a gesture that gave us incredible reassurance and peace in an uncertain time.) Because even though I had made it as far as I could physically go with my pregnancy there was still no guarantee that Tommy would be born healthy.  My doctor was ecstatic that I had basically made it to 37 weeks but she cautioned us that even at almost full term, Tommy would very likely need to spend time in the NICU.  And so, with much reason to fear, but every reason to hope, I walked to the OR to have our baby.

And in what felt like a matter of minutes, my doctor lowered the sheet and told us to get the camera ready because Tommy was coming.  Rob and I clutched hands and drew a collective breath.  I steadied myself in Rob's gaze as the moment that we had been worrying about and praying for was finally about to arrive.  

I closed my eyes and willed my ears to hear the cry of a healthy baby boy...

...but Tommy's cries could not necessarily be described as sounding like mere cries.  He bleated.  He wailed and he screamed. 

Rob and I hugged, cried, kissed, and prayed.  And then we did it all again.  And as they closed me up and the pediatricians examined our tiny treasure, I laughed out loud.  I laughed and released the trauma that began in a delivery room just down the hall from my operating room almost exactly five years before Tommy's birth.  I laughed and gratefully accepted the cheers of joy and congratulations from the medical team in our room.  But mostly, I think I laughed at the unfamiliar sound of a baby being born because although Tommy may be our third child, his cries were the first we had ever heard from our children in the delivery room. 

  

Rob followed Tommy and the pediatricians to the nursery for a thorough examination to ensure that he was healthy.    

And as they were stitching me up Rob came back into the room with an enormous grin and announced that Tommy did not need to go to the NICU and that he wanted to be with his parents in the recovery room.  

So, for the first time, we were able to hold one of our children on the day that he was born.

And he got to stay with us during the entire weekend while I recovered.

The poor boy battled extreme jaundice due to my negative antibodies fighting his positive ones and at one point we thought he might have to stay in the hospital under the lights or even get a transfusion.  Thankfully he was ultimately deemed healthy enough to leave and his peaceful delivery was book-ended with a peaceful journey home.

Sweet Tommy will be turning 3 months old this Thursday and not a day has gone by since his miraculous arrival that I have not thanked Heavenly Father for His mercy in allowing Tom to be in our family.  He is sweet, genial, and incredibly patient.  And I am certain there are not enough positive adjectives to describe just how much we love and appreciate having him with us.

Welcome to the party, Tom, we absolutely adore you.

Time.

In the middle of last July I felt pregnant.  I did not have physical evidence quite yet but there was just something within me that knew that someone else was in the picture.  After seeing a few negative results from over the counter tests I scheduled a blood test with my doctor's office.  When the blood test came back negative I was stunned.  I still felt pregnant and as the weeks went by I could not shake the feeling. I began to worry that I was developing a psychological condition.  I wondered if my desire to become pregnant was causing my body to create hormones or sensations that led me to believe I was pregnant even though the tests said otherwise.

By the beginning of August I became seriously concerned that I was imagining things.  Symptoms were starting to materialize and in fact, they were too big to ignore.  I told Rob that I was going to take one last test and then I needed to see my doctor to seek help.  But as I suspected all along, the "final" test I took was not really the last because it came back positive.  And that test was really just the first in a series of blood tests, scans, and procedures that became routine to monitor our baby and keep him safe.  In the first few months alone, this baby easily beat out his older brothers by the sheer volume of appointments, ultrasounds, shots, and prescriptions that were necessary for what became a very high risk pregnancy.  

From the first meeting with my doctor it was made clear to us that although things were starting well, that due to my complicated history, there were great risks associated with having another baby.  Even though Henry was born at 37 weeks and was technically full term he was still early and I was given an increased risk of early deliveries after he was born.  Eddie only fulfilled that risk and then some when he was born much more premature than we ever could have expected.  His abrupt birth was the wild card in my pregnancy deck.  Much like other premature births, the exact cause of Eddie's sudden arrival was and is still unknown and so there was no telling how long this next pregnancy would last.

And so, it seems that from the very beginning we truly did not know what was coming with this new babe.  My track record was not much help since it is punctuated with two surprise births, a tragic loss, long hospital stays, and quite a bit of trauma.  Initially, the risks did not seem to matter as much.  Although we worried, prayed, and loved our new little one since the moment we knew he was coming, we did not have cause to truly worry until the second trimester.  By the beginning of the third trimester we were operating in full panic mode and did everything we could to keep our baby in where he belonged.

I became well acquainted with OB Emergency Services at the University of Utah Hospital.  One of our greatest concerns was that I would repeat the process of Eddie's premature labor and I would be too dilated to keep the baby safe.  My doctor was understandably worried about that too so I was instructed to go straight to the ER any time I could not get contractions to stop at home. Between the beginning of November 2014 and the week before Tommy was born, I was in the ER seven times.  

(It got a little old...)

I originally wrote the majority of this post in the middle of January but I was never able to complete it.  At the time, I was on modified bed rest and had been to the emergency room for contractions four times within a matter of weeks. I had just started my third trimester and although it was absolutely incredible to be past 28 weeks (the week that Eddie was born), I did not feel like I could be honest enough about my feelings to blog about them. I wish I would have mustered the energy and courage that was necessary to detail what it felt like to be in the throes of what was to our little family, something very stressful/wonderful/scary, but I could never quite put my feelings into words.  Looking back, I think it is mostly because I did not want to remember every part of that time in my life.  It was my hardest pregnancy yet and it challenged me in almost every aspect of my life.  And to be honest, some things are too humbling to own up to in writing.

But for posterity's sake, I think I owe it to my family to at least make an attempt to describe that important chapter in our family's history.  And aside from the fact that I am taking this quote completely out of context and I have never been able to get through more than three chapters of A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens puts me to sleep faster than Benadryl), when I think of my pregnancy with Tommy I think it truly was the best times, it was the worst of times.  It was a time of the fulfillment of dreams, it was a time of great anxiety, it was a time of unending love and service from family and friends, and it was a time of physical pain, sleeplessness, and sacrifice.

It was a time when these two cemented something that was already special and made it into a bond that is unbreakable and completely limitless.

It was an eerily quiet time, a time of forced rest, great sickness (poor Ed), and snuggles that turned into peaceful afternoon naps.

It was a time to sit at every possible opportunity.

And it was a time for my profile to expand to limits that I never thought I would see again. But most of all, it was a time for us to appreciate time and to be grateful that we had it. 

(This was taken the night before Tommy was born and it was our final picture 

as a family of four. I'm certain that Henry is right next to his dad.)

Control. Pt. 2.

When Rob and I decided to start having children we somehow knew we needed to handle our expectations with care.  Although we did not have a reason to believe so at the time, I think we both felt like it could possibly take longer to get pregnant than we would like.  We trusted our instincts and we were patient.  For almost one year I tried not to obsess over calendars and kits.  I purposely distracted myself with my job and eventually, with applying to grad school.

I was accepted to grad school in March 2009 and from then on my excitement and preparation for furthering my education seemed to take pregnancy even more off of the forefront of my mind.  After I was accepted I felt like it was clear that that was the direction my life was going to take for a while.  We shifted our focus as a couple and planned on waiting a bit longer for our children to start arriving.  But by the beginning of that July I experienced persistent stomach pains that led me to believe I was getting an ulcer.  Imagine my surprise when I learned I was pregnant and I was still expected to be starting grad school the following month.

I should have taken notice of that process and how it played out.  The timing did not work exactly like I thought it would and even though I was okay with it at the moment, I did not have exact control over events that would change the course of my life.  Although I suspected it would take a little time to start having children I never could have guessed just how little control I would have in getting them and keeping them here.

After Henry's death I felt powerless.  Although I still had faith in God I struggled with the notion of how much control I actually had in my life.  I had the ability to make my own choices but my behavior and personal righteousness no longer felt like a guarantee against life's hardships.  Prior to Henry, I believed that things would work out the way I wanted if I kept being a good person.  When Henry was born I felt like Rob and I had paid our dues but even though we were loving and devoted parents we never took our baby home and that was a reality that shook me deeply and could have sent me spiraling.

I started to think about my motivation for being good at all.  If I was just being good to avoid tragedy and it still found me, then what was the point?  Why be kind, why be patient, and why be faithful when during the times that it really mattered life did not seem to work in my favor?  Henry's death alone seemed to be too much to bear but that was not the end of seemingly unbearable things for us.  We lived through infertility, a devastating miscarriage, a very premature baby, and then nine long weeks of his hospitalization.  So why even try to do what is right if it could not give me my children when and how I wanted them?

I then came to understand the obvious: even though good behavior definitely has its benefits, no one is guaranteed an easy life.  No one.  No matter how saintly they may be.

I now see practicing goodness in a very different way.  I try to be good not because it is insurance against disappointment or grief, but because I enjoy it.  I like to smile, I love to laugh, and thankfully I am not prone to violent crimes.  And I guess above all else, I am obedient in going to church, being kind, and trying to be a thoughtful representative of my faith so that I can show my gratitude to my Father in Heaven and His Son.  When I think of goodness in terms of showing my love to and for Them, it really is not a question of whether and why to be good at all.  We may not have control over every single thing in our lives, but we know that Someone else does and He knows best.

We are joyfully expecting another son in February of next year.  This next Koelliker boy is healthy and is being cared for by excellent doctors.  As with his brothers before him, we do not know exactly what will happen.  He may come early and he could even come under frenzied circumstances.  Or, he could surprise everyone even more with a completely expected and normal delivery.  We simply do not know.  But we do know that we love him.  Oh, how we love him and each of his siblings that have come before him!  And even though it took me five years and four pregnancies to get here, I feel like that really is okay for now.

Sharing.

Eddie is in the thick of toddlerhood.  He is quickly learning how to assert his growing independence.  He runs, he jumps, he screeches, and he wails.  He is constantly singing, humming, or reciting the alphabet and he throws spectacular tantrums.  It comes as no surprise to me that I find myself reminding him to share at least three or four times a day - sometimes more depending on where we are.  I try different approaches with him and try to make the idea of sharing enticing and exciting.  I try to sweeten the deal for him or distract him with something else so letting go of what he wants at that moment does not hurt as much when he has to give it away.  But you know, try as I might to make it a little easier for him, sharing does hurt sometimes.  

Whether you are a kid or an adult I think it can be hard to let go of something you just found or something you have wanted for a while because you never quite know when it will come back to you.  By sharing you not only have to let go of something you want or care about but you also reveal something about yourself in return.  You share information and you share something about your interests, your hobbies, your feelings, etc., and sometimes you cannot be sure how it will be received.  Will someone take what you share and give it back to you?  Will they give you back something sweeter?  Or will you be left feeling even more vulnerable afterward?  Sharing is a risk.  But I think all parents hope that their children will learn somewhere along the way that it is totally worth it even when you do not necessarily get back what you give.

Certain aspects of my grief have been surprisingly easy for me to share.  Over the years since Henry's passing I have learned to talk about him in a way that feels safe for me.  I have learned some hard lessons through trial and error.  There have been moments when I felt like I shared too much and did not get enough back.  But generally I now know what I usually say to a stranger or what I like to share with a friend and I am able to filter the more delicate and private emotions out of certain conversations and keep them to myself when I need to.

Several weeks ago I had the opportunity to share my family's story in a very public and very formal setting.  I have the great privilege to be a member of a committee that is raising money to expand the NICU at the University of Utah Hospital in Salt Lake City.  Both of my boys were patients in the hospital's NICU and it understandably has a tender and sacred place in my heart.  My committee chair invited me to speak at a social for members of the University Hospital's board and its volunteers and when I was first given the chance to speak I immediately accepted, feeling like it was a great honor.  It was only as time went by that I became increasingly more nervous because I realized that I would be sharing information that would make me extremely vulnerable. 

My time to speak came and went and thankfully that specific incidence of sharing was successful.  I gave insight into some of the most personal, painful, and joyful moments of my life and it was received in a way that made me want to share again.  If the story of our children invites and encourages other people to remember NICU babies then I would share it again in a heartbeat.  

Much of what I said at the event can be found in the contents of this blog.  I started with him, talked about him, and also how extremely grateful I am for him.  I talked about the terrors of having a baby in the hospital and the nightmare of grief and I also talked about the realities of bringing a preemie home from the hospital (it is just as hard, if not harder in some ways, than having them hospitalized).  But ultimately I told everyone in the room that night that I have seen and interacted with superheroes.  I told them that superheroes wear white coats and scrub tops and they spend years of their lives in school.  They sacrifice their time from their own families to be with people they have never even met and they save lives.  

Superheroes also undergo emergency procedures and surgeries to save tiny babies or those in fetal distress.  They hold tiny hands and sit by bedsides listening to loud monitors.  They travel incredible distances each day just to sit in sterile hospital rooms and sometimes they even live in trailers in a hospital parking lot just so they can be near their precious babies.  

But the real superheroes in my book are those who are newly born.  Sometimes they weigh as much as a can of soda and other times they are perfectly round and chubby.  They sleep in isolettes, they eat through tubes, and most of them fight for their lives from the very instant that they are born.  They struggle more at 2 1/2 pounds and two seconds of life than most adults will in an entire lifetime.  And they cannot stop.  I am the proud mother of two superheroes.  One had to retire his cape early, even though he tried his hardest not to, and the other just turned two last month.

I showed this video at the end of my little speech and I want to share it with you.  I am so proud of my superheroes but there are so many others who need our help.  Please let me know if you or someone you know is interested in joining their fan club and helping us help them.

PS - In a way, this blog has been proving ground for my thoughts on grief, death, hospitalized babies, and broken hearts.  Thank you for always making this a safe place for me to share. 

Hindsight.

Dear Me,

This is yourself from two years in the future.  For you, it is May 20, 2012.  Right now you are pregnant with your second son.  You are now in your third trimester and your belly is getting bigger by the day.  You are healthy, you are content, and you are understandably, very happy.  You and Rob have come a long way.  Explanations of all of the difficult days over the preceding two years are not necessary other than to put into perspective how truly happy you two are at this moment.  You have found that the grief that you two endured before only enhances your joy now.

As you read this, you are likely fantasizing about the future.  You spend most of your free time immersing yourself in articles about babies and how to handle colic.  You like to wonder about your son's hair color, the shape of his smile, and the smell of his baby-fresh skin.  You and Rob already decided that you are going to name your baby Edward Henry; a name that you absolutely adore.  And as of today, you are planning on calling him Teddy as a nickname. 

But as happy as you are, you can also admit to yourself and to others that this pregnancy has been a tenuous one.  You have taken a total of eight pregnancy tests to not only confirm that you were pregnant in the first place but to also make sure that you were still pregnant after your worries got the better of you.  You know yourself well enough to have expected that you would be scared to be pregnant again after suffering loss but you never could have prepared yourself for the day to day questions and scares that frequently pop into your head.  Rest assured that you are doing everything that you can to take care of your baby and you are doing a great job.

However, despite your best intentions and efforts, your baby is coming sooner than you thought he would.  Much sooner, in fact.

In three days time you will start to feel a little pain on the lower right side of your abdomen.  It will not be a searing pain but it will be constant enough to make you uncomfortable.  You will go to bed that night and you will have a vivid dream that you are in labor.  And as you go through the motions of the next day the pain will increasingly get worse.  You will try your hardest not to worry too much because on that day, more than any other day that came before, you will be resolved to not think about the worst case scenario.  

Erin, since you will be trying so valiantly not to worry that day you will not recognize that you are in premature labor.  

I know that it sounds crazy but because you will be trying so hard not to overreact you will not understand that your pains are actually genuine contractions.  Since you are only 28 weeks and 1 day pregnant on May 24, 2012, the possibility of having your son today will not even enter your mind.  You basically thought you had a free pass on trauma with babies, pregnancies, and deliveries since you already experienced a lot of it beforehand but what you thought should happen and what will actually happen will be very different.

You will be scared on this day.  You will be worried and you will be disbelieving.  You will feel overwhelmed at the prospect of having another son in the NICU again.  And you will cry.

But you will get to meet him:

And see this:

And when you see your son's face for the first time you will realize then and there that the little boy that you were expecting to call Teddy is actually not Teddy at all.  He is and has always meant to be Eddie.  He is scrappy, he is determined, and he plunges head-first into any and everything and he never ever gives up. 

And in a day or two you will be able to do this:     

The days and weeks after these ones will be long and I will not lie to you - there are some hard times ahead.  Eddie will live in the NICU for nine weeks and there will be moments when you will be seized with absolute terror.  You will want to run away, you will want to hide, and you will wish that he could have been born on his due date.  You will feel incredibly lonely as you sit by him in the hospital and you will get frustrated by the turn your life is taking.  But you will not be able to change any of it.  The only thing that you can truly control is your faith.  This piece of advice is no surprise to you but it bears repeating and I hope you keep it in mind as you enter the days that lie ahead of you.  Have faith.  Have faith in your own capacity to withstand the unimaginable, in your relationships with people that truly love you, and have faith in Eddie.  Have faith that not everything that starts out scary has to end scary.  And most of all, continue to have faith in Him.

Erin, be of good courage.  Let the NICU redeem itself for you.  Let other people help you.  Take heart in the examples of the good people around you.  Lean on Rob, your parents, your siblings, your friends, and on your church.  And allow your wounds to heal even if they do so in unexpected ways.

From the onset these days will seem like they will be endless and you will not immediately see a way out of them but I promise that they will end and you will be forever changed because of them.  Eddie will only be 2 lbs and 8 oz when he is born but take comfort in knowing that he is big enough to heal most of the fissures in your broken heart and just small enough to save some room in there for his older brother too.

Enjoy these last few days of your pregnancy and look forward with hope.  I know you think that you are happy now but you have no idea what lies ahead and how much happier you will become because of it.

Always,
Yourself

First.

Last month our little prizefighter turned one year old and from the moment that I woke up that day, my thoughts continually returned to that little pain that I felt on the lower right side of my belly just one year before.  I thought about how that pain increased as the day progressed and I then thought about the moments leading up to Eddie's emergency delivery.  And as I recalled and replayed the events of that day I was humbled by how all of the pieces seemed to fit together.  I thought about how all of the people, places, and things just happened to be exactly where they needed to be and how everything was just as it should be so that Edward Henry Koelliker could come into this world.  And I could not help but smile.

I also thought about the time that Eddie spent in the hospital and how particularly terrifying his first days of life were for Rob and me.  He did remarkably well from the start but Rob and I had been in the NICU before - and we knew too much.  I had faith but I admit that I hoped for the best but half expected and absolutely dreaded the worst.  And as the days progressed my shock from his prematurity wore off but I was riddled with anxiety and fear.

But even as a tiny baby, Eddie made it difficult to be frightened for too long.  With each and every one of his milestones he grew stronger and he made it abundantly clear that he was his own person.  And that he was here to stay.

And he was and still is everything that we needed in our family.

                                       

We celebrated Eddie's special day with our family and friends and while the party was in full swing I overheard snippets of conversations that I am assuming were started with recollections of where everyone was the year before and what they were doing when they heard the news about his unexpected birth.  From what I gathered, each person was in a different place and was going about the business of their own life.  But everyone remembered where they were and how they felt.  And they all expressed their gratitude for being able to celebrate Eddie's first year and for his incredible "fight."

Eddie with his loving grandparents

Three generations of Koelliker boys  

The birthday boy right before he dived into his celebratory cupcake

Sweet, sweet Eddie, boy, have you ever given us a year to remember!  

Wow.

Last Saturday I stumbled upon a bin of Eddie's clothes and as I opened the lid I gasped at what was lying on the top.  Above all of his newborn and 0-3 month clothes were tiny pajamas, delicate little hats, and the smallest most perfect onesies I have ever seen.  Clothes so miniature that one would unwittingly mistake them for doll clothes if not for the "p" on the label.  I gaped over the size of these tiny treasures.  Of how they fit within my forearm and how my hand almost stretched over the entire torso of each outfit.  Of how the clothes almost disappeared as I held them against my chest.

I saw clothes, but most of all, I saw a journey.  Visual reminders of a boy so eager to be part of the world and join his family that he literally could not be contained.  A brave, joyful soul who spent the first nine weeks of his life in the hospital and in the loving care of attentive and incredible nurses.  A boy who was affectionately dubbed as "the mascot of the NICU" for his sweet nature and his ability to continually exceed expectations.  But most of all, evidence of a fighter and of a boy who fought ounce by little ounce, to go home.

A preemie onesie and one of Eddie's 6 month onesies 

I now look at these preemie clothes each day with a solid, energetic, and healthy baby on my hip.  He misses nothing and notices everything.  He sees that I am holding something and so he lunges and lurches for the fabric too - ever curious and always willing to participate.  He is now over 17 lbs and has more than tripled in size since the day he came home from the hospital.

A standard-sized board book and a progression of onesies

And of all of the words and phrases that I could think of, write about, or say when I piece his incredible journey together, one frequently comes to mind:  wow.

The first week after he was born

Last week 

We will be celebrating Eddie's very first birthday next Friday and as we lead up to that jubilant event I cannot help but think of the day he was born.  I think of how that day started at home with a vivid dream and ended in the hospital.  A day of utter terror over his early birth but also a day that reawakened a love so complete that when the doctor announced that our son was coming and there was no way to stop him that I could not help but be excited.  That even though I knew Eddie was coming 12 weeks early and that he would face enormous odds, that I found myself grinning.  That even though we had again found ourselves in an unthinkable situation, that I simply could not wait to see him.  To meet this beautiful being who was obviously just as excited to see us. 

Holding each other for the first time

Oh, Eddie, how we love you!  Oh, how we adore you and your mega-watt smile and easy laughter.  We love your enormous and beautiful blue eyes and your perfect bottom teeth.  We are so thankful for your happy nature and curious spirit.  You bring such joy into our home each and every day.  We are so humbled to have you in our family and are so profoundly grateful for your good health.  This year has been crazy.  And nothing like we could have ever imagined.  It started out so scary and much of it was spent inside and away from people, but it has turned out to be one of the best of our lives.  Thank you for letting us accompany you on this journey and for trusting us to take care of you.  We do not know what the future holds but we know that with you in it, that it will be better...and that it will undoubtedly be exciting.

Love always,

Your Mama and Papa

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.

December.

December means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.  

To some, it is all about this guy; the presents that he brings and the reindeer that he cavorts with:  

Santa made an unexpected house call this year.  His elves must have told him

about this good little boy who is hibernating for the winter to stay away from germs.

For others, it is the only time of year when it is socially acceptable to wear applique Santas on their clothing:

But for us, it means this:

This:

Henry's cemetery hosts a Christmas Luminary each year where they fill the grounds

with thousands of candles in paper bags.  The lights around its sacred lawns 

are some of the most magical ones that we see each year.  

(The orange light in the picture above is a candle in the snow resting just above Henry's grave. )

And finally, after three long years of waiting, being able to do this:

And this:

But what December really means to us is a greater opportunity to celebrate Him:

Church of Our Lady 

Copenhagen, Denmark May 2010

Because of this:

"He rose from the grave to "become the firstfruits of them that slept" (1 Corinthians 15:20).  As Risen Lord, He visited among those He had loved in life.  He also ministered among His "other sheep" (John 10:16) in Ancient America.  In the modern world, He and His Father appeared to the boy Joseph Smith, ushering in the long-promised "dispensation of the fulness of times" (Ephesians 1:10).

...We testify that He will someday return to earth.  "And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together" (Isaiah 40:5).  He will rule as King of Kings and reign as Lord of Lords, and every knee shall bend and every tongue shall speak in worship before Him.

...Jesus is the Living Christ, the immortal Son of God.  He is the great King Emmanuel, who stands today on the right hand of His Father.  He is the light, the life, and the hope of the world.  His way is the path that leads to happiness in this life and eternal life in the world to come.

God be thanked for the matchless gift of His divine Son."

"The Living Christ: The Testimony of the Apostles, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints"

Merry Christmas from our home to yours.  May your day be filled with peace and your heart be filled love.

Rob, Erin, & Eddie Koelliker

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.

Peace.

As I fed Eddie tonight I took a moment to look at him.  I studied his face, the wisps of hair on his head, and his partially closed eyes.  I noticed his arms, which were both open wide and then I looked carefully at his pudgy hands.  I saw that since he was lying on his back, his legs were draped across mine and his body had gone completely slack.  And at that moment it became apparent to me that he was perfectly relaxed.  That he was likely in that blissful state between sleep and wakefulness, and that he was at peace.  I looked at his face, noting his slack lips, his long lashes and full cheeks and then I nestled into him. 

After a few more snuggles I carefully tucked him in and gently closed the door to his nursery and as I went through my nightly routine of washing, sanitizing, and tidying, I was struck by a feeling of completeness.

I was thinking about how much I love to return to my childhood home.  A house that is no longer necessarily mine but still a place that feels comfortably familiar and safe.  And as I thought about why I still love going to my parents's house I thought about my nights there and what made them so peaceful.  I thought about my dad tucking me in or my mom tickling my back and it occurred to me that after two and a half years of waiting, that Rob and I finally had the opportunity to provide someone with similar memories.  That we now have the chance to create a peaceful environment for Eddie and provide him with a place that he will love coming home to.

I was taken aback by the significance of this realization.  By not merely how long we have waited to have this seemingly simple opportunity, but by the bliss of parenthood in general.  By how even the most ordinary of actions such as diapering, dressing, and washing a baby suddenly become extraordinary when they are done for your baby.  By the beauty of knowing that Eddie is peacefully dreaming in his crib; a crib that is under our roof, just up our stairs, and within our reach.  And by the happiness that comes in seeing someone that was once so impossibly small grow and thrive.

Tonight I looked Eddie and although I briefly thought of our life before him, I really just saw him.  And only him.