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Monday, 09 November 2009

  • On becoming a mother.

    (Sidenote: I've been thinking about this topic for a while but am spurred to write this entry after reading my friend Kate's xanga entry on the same topic. I'm so happy I now have another "mommy journal" I can keep up with... it allows me to connect with someone else who's going through many of the same experiences I'm going through. It helps me to feel a little less alone in a world filled with friends who can still go out on a whim, who have a harder time relating to me anymore, and whose priorities don't yet consist of changing diapers, giving baths, and when the next feeding is.)

    Motherhood brings as much joy as ever, but it still brings boredom, exhaustion, and sorrow too. Nothing else ever will make you as happy or as sad, as proud or as tired, for nothing is quite as hard as helping a person develop his own individuality, especially while you struggle to keep your own.
    ~Marguerite Kelly and Elia Parsons~

    There was nothing I've ever wanted more than to become a mom. When I was a little girl, it was all I dreamed about. When I met Mike, I knew I wanted to marry him someday because I knew he'd be an amazing husband and an amazing daddy (it's freaky to now think about this fact seeing as I was only 17 at the time). Two days after we got married, I remember thinking "Wow, I could get pregnant right now and it'd be okay." (It wouldn't have been.) For the first two years of our marriage, when I wasn't worried about my grad school papers and assignments, I constantly wondered when we would start our family. It was always on my mind. Always.

    And now, we're here. It's started. While it's everything I had hoped for and more, life is never perfect.

    Once pregnant, life changed in literally the blink of an eye. Before that test turned positive, I was a more responsible and older version of my teenage self. While I had responsibilities, bills, and a husband, I could also pick up and go out at any given time. If my friends called me and were heading downtown for a few drinks, I could go. I spent Friday and Saturday nights doing whatever I felt like doing. Weekend mornings, I slept in until 10, sometimes even 11. I had no rules to follow unless they were my own. I was responsible for only getting myself through the day because I knew Mike could do the same for himself. I could spend 2 hours slowly getting ready to go out and didn't have to rush through my shower, my makeup, my hair. Meijer was not a source of anxiety for me at that time. When my family wanted to see me, I could just pick up and go and within 15 minutes I was there.

    My life looks nothing like this anymore.

    After that test turned positive, life as I knew it changed completely. I was scared of everything. Suddenly, my body was not my own anymore. I worried about every single thing I put into my mouth and every single thing I subjected my body to. Going to the bar quickly became a frustrating event.... not only was I worried about the smoke and the noise affecting my baby, but it also got old fast being the only sober one in the group. I'd try and go out on that dance floor and be back in my chair within just a few minutes because I felt so physically awkward. I felt like everyone looked at me differently which I couldn't blame them for because I looked at myself differently. After the first few weeks, the "morning" sickness and extreme exhaustion kicked in. At that point I didn't have to worry about the frustrations of going out because I could barely lift myself off the couch or out of bed. Naps after work (I was working full time M-F at this point) were commonplace and usually lasted 2-3 hours. Still, I was in bed by 9pm most nights. After everyone knew about the pregnancy, I began to feel like I had disappeared because it seemed as though people were only interested in talking about the baby.

    My marriage changed, too. I expected Mike to react differently to the pregnancy that he initially did. I know now that it was hard for him to connect with a reality he wasn't experiencing himself as he wasn't the one carrying our baby or feeling the effects of doing so. While he verbalized his excitement, it didn't always shine through in his actions. That was hard for me. While a part of me felt closer to him than ever, another part felt like we were losing "us". That never again would we be able to be carefree and spontaneous in our marriage. That was a loss, plain and simple.

    Throughout the pregnancy, my mind was so filled with emotions. Some good: Anticipation. Excitement. Readiness. Happiness. Joy. Love. Some sad: Losing my body. Losing control. Missing people, places, and things. Frustration.

    And then, she was here. It was the longest wait ever and I hope I never make it to 40+ weeks again. But she was worth every second of that wait. The moment they placed her in my arms, I felt complete. I felt the purest love imaginable and one that I could have never been fully prepared for. While there have been times of intense frustration (I miss sleep!), they are so heavily outweighed by those times of love and joy.

    I barely remember those first few months. I was so sleep deprived (even though she was an amazing baby compared to many!) that the days and nights just blended together. As she grows and meets all these new milestones, excitement brews in my heart. But at the same time I feel a sadness that comes from looking at my child and saying "Wow, how can she be almost 8 months already?! How can time now be moving so quickly when it seemed to CRAWL by during the pregnancy?!" It scares me that time can go by this fast because that means that before I know it, she'll be starting kindergarten. Then 5th grade. Then middle school. Then the dreaded high school. I'll be worrying about kids being mean to my baby and not being able to fix her pain with a hug and a kiss anymore. I'll be scared to death of that first boyfriend. Of getting her drivers license.

    I've heard before that every step of motherhood includes a little bit of letting go and losing control. For 9 months, I protected Liana and controlled everything she was subject to. The day she entered this world, I lost a lot of that control. There are now other people that can touch her, feel her, care for her too. She is now subject to danger and pain that I have no control over. That's an incredibly terrifying reality because no mother wants their child to feel pain. Ever.

    While my life before Liana was full of doing the things I wanted to do, my life after Liana is full of things she needs me to do. If she's up at 6:30 (like she was this morning), I'm up. If she's crying, I have to drop what I'm doing to comfort her (hence the reason this entry has taken me almost 2 hours to write!). When I want to run errands but her lunchtime isn't for another hour, I have to stay home. When I want to go the mall but it'll interfere with her naptime, I lose. During those restless nights where she just can't sleep well, I'm up with her when I'd much rather be sleeping soundly in bed. No longer can we go out to dinner because by 6:30, Liana's melting down and emotionally ready for bed. I took my weekend option position at work because it allowed me to be home with my baby more than I was away from her and not have to worry about daycare. While that choice was a good one for her and our family, I hate missing out on all the fun. I hate reading everyone's status updates on Fridays because just as my friends are gearing up for a fun and exciting weekend filled with all the things they want to do, I'm gearing up for a weekend of work and missing out on those very same things. I make so many sacrifices for that little girl and while they sometimes leave me feeling frustrated, the bigger picture is more important. She is more important.

    And as Liana continues to grow, I continue to realize just how much my life has changed. I often think about when we should bring a sibling into this world for her. I love the attention she gets from our friends and family, but I want to teach her humbleness. I don't want her to have a need for being the center of attention. While my friends are thinking about simpler things, I'm thinking about this along with diapers, bottles, baths and naps. It leaves me with a feeling of separation and isolation unlike any other.

    What I wouldn't do for a night out with my friends. A night to let loose and have some fun. A night where I can be in the pictures rather than just looking at them after they're posted on facebook. But even if I did get the chance to go out, I'd miss home. I'd miss Liana. I'd be wondering if she's sleeping okay, if her teeth are bothering her, and how much she ate for dinner. I love that and hate that all at the same time. Love, because it tells me just how much I love that little girl. Hate, because I deserve to still go out and have a good time. My life has a wonderful new purpose, but that purpose has made me into a person I barely recognize. Every fiber of my being has changed since becoming a mother. I supposed that maybe it had to.

    Here's the thing though.... I feel confidently that I'm one of millions of moms that feel this way. That I'm not alone and that I'm not crazy. And that is what help gets me through. You can't expect for your entire life to change and for things to just be suddenly perfect. Perfection can come with patience. I know it'll take more time than 7 months (or 18 months) for me to adjust to this new life I call my own. I'll get there. But for right now, while I love my daughter and my new life, I still miss parts of my old life. I miss my friends. I miss spontaneity. I miss freedom.

    I miss the person I was, but I also LOVE the person I've become.

    IMG_3627 10.17 (2)

     

Saturday, 07 November 2009

  • Last night, I climbed into bed after another busy day. Seems like my days and weeks have been flying lately, both because of a little girl named Liana and picking up those extra hours at work. This week I worked both Monday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday we had the contractors here putting in our new windows (yay!). So needless to say, it's been a busy one. But as I climbed into bed I realized something.... yesterday at our montly social work meeting for work, Jeannie asked me an important question that I hadn't even asked myself yet. It's definitely a question worth asking, too.

    The story starts here.... I actually witnessed my first death last Saturday. Now, you may be surprised to hear that, considering what my job entails. For the year I've been doing this work, I've never been present in the room when a patient has taken their last breath. There have been many times where a patient has died just minutes before I walked into our visit and times where I get called back to the visit 10 minutes after leaving because the patient has just passed. But never have I been there to see a person leave their body. Until last weekend.

    So yesterday in our meeting, I got to share with my team that I had met this milestone in my hospice work. I figured that most of my team would respond with a "no biggie, we see it all the time" kind of reaction but to my surprise, I got just the opposite. Instead, I found that I was only one of two in the room that has witnessed a death occur. I'll be honest, it kind of floored me. Then, Jeannie asked me that question that I had barely even asked myself.... "What was the experience like for you?". The question itself caught me off-guard because like I said, I hadn't really thought too much about it because of everything being so busy throughout the weekend and into the following week. But because of the amazing social worker she is, she made me think about the experience and what it really included. What my thoughts, feelings, and actions were on that day and beyond.

    (Just a forewarning... this post will probably be all over the board, just as my thoughts are.)

    First and foremost, it was peaceful.

    I'm thankful for this most of all. This wasn't like many of my other hospice cases where there are family issues playing out at the same time a patient is actively dying. This patient had made his wishes known and his family, knowing what those wishes were, adhered to them. (I'm telling you... make out your advance directives people. It's a gift both to yourself and to your family because they don't have to make those incredibly tough decisions for you and in turn, you get exactly what you want for your care.A copy is available at most doctors offices.) This family was amazingly strong, even when they didn't think they were. His wife of 60+ years sat next to his bedside and repeated over and over, "Our Lord is waiting for you honey. It's okay to go and be with Him." This statement really melted me to my core because it was so clear that this man was going to a better place and that his family knew that. A belief like that makes a loss like this so much more peaceful for families. And selfishly, that makes my job easier. Easier to deal with in the moment and easier to deal with when I get home.

    (Because there are some deaths that come home with me. That I just can't seem to shake.)

    Throughout the entire visit, the family's priest (or monsignor, if you'd like to be specific) was also present. He said multiple prayers for the family and for the patient at many different times. Prior to the vent removal, he said a prayer. Following the vent removal, he said a prayer. He sat in the room as an emotional support to the family the entire day. He didn't often say much, but what he did say was profound and amazing. He read scripture that was wonderfully appropriate. Following those last breaths, we recited the rosary and said our Hail Mary. He made me love, and miss, my Catholic faith. (It's pretty impossible to make it to mass when you work both Saturday and Sunday, every single week.)

    The patient's death was peaceful, as well. His respirations were high for about 2 hours following his removal from the ventilator. But as the time passed and as I watched his chest heave up and down, those respirations began to decrease. After about an hour, they were getting low and eventually he began to have 30-40 second periods of apnea (periods where he'd stop breathing). At that point, it's hard to take your eyes off the person because you know it's coming but you just don't know which breath will be his last. With his family, myself, and his nurses by his side, he took that last breath and his body just relaxed. We waited those 30-40 seconds to see if he'd breathe again, but he didn't. At that time, I looked at the family and I saw both the relief and pain on their faces. Relief that he was at peace and going to his heavenly home, but pain because the patriarch of their family was now gone.

    Although I was uncomfortable with this part, while my RN took care of the medical portion of our work after his death, one of the sons asked me to walk out to the waiting room and notify the rest of the family that the patient was now gone. As I made that walk down the hall, I just felt this huge weight on my shoulders. I didn't like it, plain and simple. I walked into that waiting room and one look at my face must have given it away to them. I explained that their dad was gone, that his death was a peaceful one and that he was very comfortable, and gave them a chance to come back to the room to say that final goodbye. Some did, some didn't.

    For a while after his death, I stayed in the room with the family to provide support. (I had been doing this all along, also). The patient's granddaughter, who was my age and also has a baby only a few weeks younger than Liana, cried on my shoulder. She told me about how her grandpa was like a dad to her, as her dad had died when she was just a toddler. She explained how he walked her down the aisle at her wedding and how important he had always been in her life. As I adore my papa also, I was able to somewhat relate with her emotions of love and loss. Two of the patient's sons, who had been in the room the entire time, thanked me for being present with both their eyes and their words. (The eyes really do make all the difference during times like these). And then, just as peacefully as they had throughout the entire visit, they left. No awkwardness, no struggles, no wailing over the body or making a scene on the floor. It was wonderful. It illustrated perfectly to me that they were going to be okay, that they knew that the patient was now gone and in a better place. They felt no reason left to stay. To me as a social worker, that demonstrates peacefulness and preparation. I don't know how else to describe it.

    I learned that death doesn't look like what I had expected it to look like.

    I expected to feel the patient leave his body. For there to be this moment where you just know he's gone. It wasn't that way. One second, he was still a living being. The next, he was gone. There didn't seem to be an in-between. Maybe next time, that will be different. I kind of hope it is.

    But I did learn that death looks much, much different than life.

    I've seen many dead bodies at this point. And yes, they look different than life. But I've never been there to witness just how quickly a patient goes from looking alive to looking dead. Within minutes, their color has completely changed. While they still feel warm, they also feel clammy. Death is not pretty.

    I also learned that even when I feel like I'm not doing anything in particular to help a family, I can be doing everything they need.

    I provided education. I helped them prepare for the vent removal by explaining what they could expect. I explained how his body might react and that he could go very quickly or he could remain alive into the next day. I explained that the removal may be dramatic and scary, or it may be peaceful and not uncomfortable. I feel that the most important part of my job is to educate.... I educate families on what they can expect from any part of this hospice process so that it's less intimidating to them. I want them to know what they're walking into at any given situation and all the ways that others can help, as well as all the ways they can help themselves.

    I provided support. I let those family members depend on me when they didn't know what else they could depend on. I let them lean on me when they felt that they couldn't stand on their own. I let them verbalize their sorrows to someone who isn't as emotionally invested as the rest of their family is (because it's hard for 2 people to separate their emotions when you're talking about the same loss).

    I assessed for their needs, no matter how big or small. That room had a box of tissues every 3 feet. And when they needed someone to notify the rest of the family of the patient's passing, I did it. Another part of my job is to make their job easier. They've got enough to cope with. I'm here to make their journey as easy as possible when it's anything but easy.

    Finally, I learned that God intervenes in the most unexpected of ways.

    What I haven't yet mentioned is that one of this patient's sons is also Mike's (and therefore, my) uncle. When I walked onto that hospital floor, I had no idea what I was walking into and I had no idea I'd be working with an extension of my own family. I don't believe that this was just coincidence. Out of the hundred(s) of hospice patients I've met to date, I find it unbelieveable that God chose this man, who means so much to someone who means a lot to our family, as the person I first witnessed die. I whole-heartedly believe that I was meant to be there that day and that I'll learn (or have learned) some valuable lessons from this experience.

    My first hospice death was, simply put, an amazing one. It's one that I know I'll never forget. And it was one that made me love my job all over again.

Thursday, 22 October 2009

  • 30 years.... and so much more.

    This past Monday (10.19) was my parent's 30th anniversary. While 30 years is a big deal to any marriage, it was an exceptionally big deal to my family. It was whole-heartedly something worth celebrating.

    My parents have never, NEVER had an easy marriage. There have been many times in my 26 years on this earth that I thought they weren't going to make it. There also have been many times I wasn't sure I even wanted them to make it. When I was in 4th grade, there was even a time where my mom, Brittany and I moved out of town because my parents decided it was best to separate. I remember the night they told us that news like it was just yesterday.... Brittany and I cried our little hearts out but it never came as a surprise to either of us. When I look back at that time, I realize just how much kids can pick up on within a home. I understand that even when you think they aren't listening, they are. So much of my childhood was spent listening to my parents argue, being awkwardly present while they wouldn't talk to each other, and watching my mom cry while my dad said some of the harshest things he could to her.

    So like I said, there were many times I wasn't sure I even wanted them to make it. It didn't get any easier as I aged either.... I've always been JUST like my dad. I'm stubborn, easily angered, and sometimes irrational. Between his personality and mine, we never quite fit. How could two people who were so similarly built make that connection? It was like 2 puzzle pieces that just didn't fit. When he was being a jerk, I called him out on it. When he was screaming at my mom, I was screaming at him. For years this went on, and for years it didn't get better.

    Now, you have to understand my dad. He grew up in a household that had very little love. His parents were both very abusive to both him and his 3 sisters. In all actuality, I know very little about my dad and his life before I came along because he just doesn't talk about it. Everything I know, I know from my mom. And even she doesn't know bits and pieces of his past. I hope that tells you just how bad it must've been. He won't talk about it for almost anything.

    So growing up, it really wasn't a matter of "if", it was more a matter of "when". There were so many nights I thought my mom was going to walk out the door with Brittany and myself in tow. There were so many times I couldn't believe she stuck around.

    While my elementary years were by far the worst, my parents began working on their marriage during their separation. My dad finally got the professional help he needed to overcome his anger from his past and realize that he didn't have to treat my mom like his dad treated his mother. Year by year, things have gotten better. And while our family has had it's fair share of "relapses" and we're all still far from perfect, we've grown stronger over time. Don't get me wrong.... we're nowhere near the reality of most families. It's still hard for me to talk to my dad without feeling awkward about it. And he's never been one to hug and kiss any of us, so I can't tell you the last time I hugged the man. (Though I can tell you that at my wedding, my grandpa's funeral and the few times he's been in the hospital for heart issues, he made exceptions to this rule. For a man so strong on the exterior, he sure turns into a pile of emotions at moments like those). But we're a family on the mend.

    Sometime during my college years, I stopped "hating" my dad. I realized that he was the person he was for a reason. I realized that how we're cared for as children play a huge part in the person we become as adults. Knowing this, it became harder to be angry at him for his misgivings. I came to understand the person he was and I began to see the goodness in him. That goodness had always been there but for the longest time it was completely overshadowed by his anger. Once he began working on that, the goodness shined through.

    Before Mike and I got married, I realized something else. How lucky am I to have such amazing parents? Parents that stayed together, for Brittany and I, regardless of how hard it was on each of them. There were so many times my mom wanted to leave but didn't. And just as my dad followed in the footsteps of his father, my mom followed in the footsteps of hers as well. My Papa and my mom are one in the same when it comes to their forgiving and kind personality. Without them, their spouses would've been in a much different place in life. And I would've been in a much different place in my own.

    On multiple levels.

    First, if it weren't for my mom's personality and forgiveness, she and my dad would've been divorced long ago. If that had happened when I was a teen, I can promise you that I'd likely have no relationship with him at all. Our personalities were just too similar for us to get along. When I think about that, it breaks my heart because now, our relationship has grown so strong.

    Second, my parent's marriage has been a wonderful influence on my own marriage. Mike and I were both blessed with parents who stuck together through thick and thin. While his family is drastically different than mine and has never had these types of issues, his parents have been a positive influence on us in a way different than my own parents have. They taught us about love, faith, and family. My family has taught us patience, forgiveness, and determination. When Mike and I come across hard times, which we've definitely done, and my mind starts to wander to the place of "How am I going to deal with this? Can I really be with this man who is SO different than me?!", I think about my parents. I think about how they've beat the odds when it's NEVER been easy. I say to myself, "If they could still be together after this many years despite all their differences and hardships, how can I give up?"

    It's simple. I can't.

    Of all the gifts my parents have given me, this is the best.

    So, 30 years is a huge deal. I'm so proud of my parents for each and every one of those years. I'm so proud of them for sticking together when it would've been so much easier to not.

    Most of all, I'm so thankful for that fact.

    Happy 30th Anniversary, Mom and Dad!!

    062207 2190

    IMG_5649

     

Thursday, 15 October 2009

Friday, 02 October 2009

  • did you notice?!

    So, for a brief 24 hours I had a posting up earlier in the week discussing work. My intention was to talk about how even though my position (of working weekends) was difficult, it was worth it. After going back to re-read it, I realized I had done just the opposite and discussed the bad parts of my job more than the good parts. So, I deleted the post. I think that was a wise decision on my part, don't you? I'm trying to be more positive and this was one step forward to doing that.

    Anyways.....

    I'm a bundle of emotions right now. A large majority of my friends are not parents yet, so they can't possibly imagine where I'm coming from as I write this entry. But I hope they read on so that they have some understanding of what lies ahead for them in life. :)

    Until you're a parent and you hold your own child in your arms, you simply cannot understand the depth of the love you'll have for your own child. So often I'm reminded of this but have few people to really discuss it with. It's ridiculous how upset it makes me to leave Liana to do anything. I'm working 40 hours a week for the next month, and on the days I'm gone all I want to do is be home. I don't want to go grocery shopping without her because that'd be an hour that I'm away from her. Going out with friends sounds wonderful and fun when they ask, but the thought of someone else putting her to bed makes my heart ache. I want to the be face she wakes to every morning, noon, and night. And when I am gone, I think about all the things I'm missing... and they're not even big things. Like giving her her bottle, feeding her her fruits, laying on the floor to do tummy time with her, and listening to her squeal while she plays in her exersaucer. I look at her smiling face and it paralyzes me with this feeling that goes so deep into my soul. Even before she was born I called her my "angel baby" but I never really knew just how much I could actually mean that. This kid, at 6 months of age, has changed my life in ways I never thought possible. She has both empowered me to limits I never knew existed and brought me to my knees in fear... both out of the purest love imaginable. The simplest things, like getting in the car or going to the pediatrician for vaccinations, scares me now. Not only because I have this wonderful little life that's my responsibility, but because I'm also responsible for making sure nothing happens to myself. We deserve to have each other in life.

    The mere thought of something happening to her brings me to my knees. The mere thought of something happening to me does just the same.

    I can honestly say that until the past 6 months, I've never prayed as much as I do now. I pray for her safety, my safety, Mike's safety. I pray that we all stay healthy and happy. It's such a simple prayer but still one that packs a lot of weight to it. One that makes me cry whenever I say it.

    Everything in life has new meaning to it when a baby is involved. For example, we knew we needed new windows for the house soon after we moved in last year. This fall, we're having them installed. There's a hundred other things I'd like to spend that (significant amount of) money on instead of new windows, but when it comes down to my daughter being cold in the winter the issue became a no-brainer. In the past three weeks since Liana's bedtime has been moved up from 9:30 to 7:30, we've had to make changes to our social life dramatically. No longer can we be gone past the house after 6:30.... think about that for just one second. I used to complain over having a curfew at all and now my curfew is 6:30!!! But do I care? No. In fact, if it means that Liana is in bed at a decent time and gets a good nights sleep because of it, then I've done my job. I've made my decisions based on what's best for her, not what's best for me.

    Biggest of all? My anxiety levels SOAR when I think about our trip to Jamaica next April. I become tearful when I leave her with my parents overnight, so how the heck am I going to be away from her for 7 days?! I try to be reasonable about this, but the fact that both Mike and I will be on an airplane together freaks me out to no end. In all honesty, I've thought multiple times about taking separate flights just so that I know that at least one of us is safe. (I know. I'm crazy. But if you don't already understand, you will someday. You can judge me at that point and that point only.) While she hasn't gotten to the point yet of crying when I leave, I know that by April she'll be there. It's my job to comfort her when she's sad. To make things better. How am I going to do that when I'm not here? I won't be able to pick her up and hug her or give her that kiss that we both need. And once she's gotten used to me being gone, will she even miss me?

    I'm telling you, motherhood is no walk in the park.

    While it's filled with a love you never knew could exist, it's all rampant with fears, guilt, and indecision.

    There are days where I'd kill to just lay on the couch and watch tv without a care in the world. There are days where I just wish I could go out with my friends and feel "normal" again. There are nights I wish my sleep wasn't being interrupted by a hungry baby or simply one that just won't go back to sleep. There are times where I wish I didn't have to pack a diaper bag (that sometimes resembles a weeks worth of luggage!) to leave the house for a "quick" trip to Meijer. And there are times where I really wish we could go out for a nice dinner rather than getting take-out because it's just "easier" with a baby to stay at home.

    But then, I think about the reason for all of this. And no matter how hard those days are where she won't stop fussing and you can't please her for anything, she's worth every.single.second. of it. Even when I'm frustrated to my breaking point, I try to take a step back and remind myself that in a year, I'll be missing this. In 15 years, I'll be missing this even more. While I struggle to leave her now, someday I'll be struggling because she'll be the one leaving me.

    That's a wave of fear right there. Staring me straight in the eyes.

    So while there are many days I'm desperate for "Haley time", there are even more days that I'm desperate for "Liana time".

    And there are so many more wonderful Liana times to come. Right now, I'm most excited about her hugs. I can't wait for the day where she throws those arms around my neck and snuggles her sweet little face into me. I can't wait for her to raise those little arms into the air, as if saying "Mama, pick me up!". I can't wait for that cute little diaper-covered bottom to start scooting around my house and give me a run for my money.

    I can't wait for all that's still to come. I've loved every single minute of motherhood so far and I wouldn't trade it in for anything else in the world.

    Because really, nothing could even come close to comparing with the joy that little girl brings into my life.

    And don't you worry. I tell her that each and every day. She knows that she's my "angel baby". She hears all too often that she's my favorite little person in the whole wide world and that there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do for her. Each day, I give her a ridiculous amount of kisses because I know that someday, she'll make me stop. By that time, I hope that I've given her enough to make it so that she's gotten one kiss for every.single.day of her life.

    She'll have a kiss for her first day of junior high. For the day she turns 16 and she drives off on her own for the very first time. For her 21st birthday when she's off to college and only wants to celebrate with her friends. For the random day when she's 35 and having a hard day at work. I'll  go so far as to make sure that she has a kiss for the days that I'm gone from this world and even one for the day where she joins me again. :)

    Oh for pete's sake. Now I've even made myself cry.

    Told you I'm bundle of emotions!

    These are the most intensely wonderful times of my life and I'm loving every second of it. Just in case you wanted to know. ;)

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hazeymae

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    • Name: Haley
    • Gender: Female
    • Member Since: 5/26/2008

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About Me

  • I love my husband. My daughter. My dogs. My friends. My family. More than anything else in the world. I want to make a difference. Help people get through the most trying times in their lives. That's why I went to school for 7 years to get my Masters degree in Social Work. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I'll tell you anything you want to know... you just have to ask.