It's My Birthday!

I have so much to be thankful for today!

Not only am I another year older (definitely feeling wiser...hope so!), but I feel incredibly accomplished. I didn't think society and its shallow ways had any hold on me, but I'm surprised to say that leaving my twenties behind is a little rough. I guess there's something about being twenty something that holds some worldly allure. And I don't like to admit it, but giving that up leaves me slightly uncomfortable. I guess my insecurities haven't departed with my youth. ;) I can honestly say, though, that there is very little I'd change about my life. Raising and being part of the family I am in has made my life! From my strong, encouraging, supportive, fun, best friend of a husband to my spunky firstborn and fiery littlest one and now this very life-altering newest baby in-utero (I have never been this sick in all my life). I'm so very thankful.

Just thinking...

I turn thirty in six days.

And my third little one is the size of a plum.

So much to be thankful for!

Spring

There are a few months every year when everyone wants to live in AZ. Major golf tournaments, car auctions and baseball spring training all set up camp and make me feel like we really do live in a great resort town. And while we usually take in a spring training game as a date, I knew the girls would love going to. Since our weekends have been packed, I found a good match- up for a mid- week game, packed the girls in the car and hit the road.

The lady behind the ticket counter was a little incredulous. "Good luck," she more teased than wished. But we had a blast! It's such a blessing to enjoy the local events and expose my girls to new experiences. And the field we were at had cheese pizza (my current pregnancy edible food) as well as a mini- field for kids complete with whiffle ball and bat. Dia loved it. Loved loved loved it. And she did great--hitting the ball both times she played. This field did a great job and made our experience really memorable. It was beautiful weather, no one got sunburned, we all went to the bathroom before we found a spot on the lawn and while we have no idea who won the game, we cheered for Arizona and defiantly opposed the "bad guys." And in true Dia character, as we were walking among the throngs of fans trying to find something of other, Dia stopped right in the middle of everyone to point out these high-heeled leopard espadrilles on a woman and proclaim that she loved them and that the lady was beautiful. "She's so beautiful, Mom." Definitely my daughter: plays like the boys but always checking for fashion trends.

The Year of Ollie and Dia

I ran into a lady at the library today. Another mom. She was chatty (as a lot of stay at home moms are--I mean you can only be so entertained by the semblance of adult conversation from Facebook). It was sweet because she could only see Olive, who's now fourteen months, and she was warning me about not blinking because they grow so fast. I hinted to my own experience with my three and a half year old and we agreed that it just goes too fast. The baby years--well, that's just it. They aren't years at all. They are a few days inside of a few weeks all tucked into twelve months or less. She marveled at my having two and one on the way and how hard that must be. But I let her in on my big secret: two is WAY easier than one!

At least with my sweet girls, they adore each other. They wake up searching for each other, start their day off with kisses (Olive does an excellent MUAH) and spend their morning chasing each other, feeding each other, trying to flip each other... Okay so it's not all a walk in the park. They can't be left alone for long (Dia literally said, "Ok, Olive. Now for my magical trick: I'm going to flip you on my back!" Yes, I came running.). But if you've ever noticed, those library story times and gym play times are usually filled with only children or the younger siblings of the now school-aged children. I mean, you've got to stimulate and entertain these little ones somehow. And it's like I've got my own little play group at home. And I imagine number three will officially make me feel like a group leader, I think.

There is no way I could have imagined the pure joy that Olive has brought to our life. And just like with India, Rory and I look at each other and literally get teary-eyed just looking at Olive. She is fiesty, friendly and incredibly bright. She is first an observer. But it doesn't take her long to watch and then imitate. And she does it all very, very well. She is a blessing to her big sister and all her know her. And she herself is blessed to not just have entered the lives of her two adoring parents, but to also have been born under the care and fascination of her doting big sister. A family is a beautiful and unique creation. There is not one like another and there is nothing else on earth like it. A lot of imitations, but to have a real honest to goodness loving family is the greatest accomplishment of my life. And as I prepare to turn thirty next week, I can't ask for anything more. Sure that half-marathon still calls. And my career is still on hold. But this family is my opus, right here and right now. And here we continue to expand it... Because it really does go so fast and it really is worth savoring.

She's here!

Olive Christianne Starks
January 18, 2012
1:22 in the morning
7 bs, 9 oz
20" long

Olive's Birth Story

(As I wrote about before, I tested positive for Group B Strep while pregnant with Olive so we made a last minute switch from our planned home-birth with our naturopathic doctor/midwife to a nurse midwife who would deliver in a birth center so that I could receive IV antibiotics (a standard for GBS positive moms but something my ND wasn't comfortable administering at home). Connie Garcia and her staff at Babymoon Inn took me in as family and turned a nightmare into a real dream come true.)

The story of Olive Christianne's birth begins with her papa and me learning just exactly what her name means: "peaceful bearer of Christ." And she has not only shown to behave true to that name (she is a very peaceful baby), but also that she would be entering the world in that same fashion. But of course, I can say that now in retrospect.

For those that don't know, homebirths and birth center births are only recomended for low risk women. One of the criteria for low risk is that you deliver before 42 weeks. As I was 41 weeks and three days pregnant, however, I knew my days were numbered. As the days of my pregnancy kept climbing, I began to feel anxious not only about that, but also about the size of this late baby. India (our first) was 9 lbs. I wondered if little Olive would soon be approaching 10 plus! Either way, I could see my new dream ending in my less than ideal plans and had no idea what to do. Except pray...

My husband came home on Monday (January 16) and we spent the evening deep in prayer and sharing our thoughts and (my) fears about this baby and birth. The Lord began preparing us for little Olive right then and there--our little peaceful bringing in of the Lord. I woke up the next morning with contractions. Feeling those contractions was so freeing! It meant I could still deliver my Olive as I wanted: naturally and in the birth center with Connie. But when those contractions came to a sudden stop about three hours later, I was devastated. I began to feel slightly angry with the little one in my tummy. I knew the clock was ticking and there is something inside every mom who knows she sometimes has to fight for what she knows is best for her baby. I knew that a Babymoon birth was just that for us. And while I was open to whatever the Lord had for us, I knew He had directly led us here for a reason.

That afternoon we had an appointment with Connie and I knew that we would be going there to discuss how to get things moving (castor oil and other less than ideal methods). I very much wanted this baby to come on her own (as I had with Dia) but I knew that if I waited too long, it might be too late. Oh the anxiety and pressure! As I showered and dressed, though, the contractions started again. I knew Olive was telling me she was coming...I just didn't know when and how to explain that to the midwives. I also didn't want to get my hopes up in case these contractions stopped again. When my contractions started with my first baby, India, they had begun in the evening and ended in the morning with her birth. I was not prepared for this starting and stopping. I was aware, however, that this child is her own person and that each birth is different.

And even though I had to stop talking for each contraction in the car ride to Connie's office, I still couldn't let myself believe that I was in labor. If the contractions were to stop again like they had that morning, I worried that the stress, anxiety and disappointment would simply be too much to handle. So when we walked into the office for the checkup and I could hardly talk and was in obvious discomfort, I vehemently denied that I was in labor but rather was just "in pain." And yes, they all looked at me as though I was crazy woman I am. Upon checking me, I was 2 centimeters dilated but that hadn't changed from my appointment three days earlier. This slow movement only confirmed in my mind that I should not get my hopes up. Rory and I planned to head home but I knew the midwives were thinking otherwise. They ever so brilliantly stalled me by suggesting that I at least get a round of antibiotics in before leaving, that way if the contractions continued, I would be covered--you know, "just in case."

As contractions kept coming about every ten minutes, it took a bit for me to waddle across the street from Connie's office to the actual center where they would administer the IV and where I would also soon be delivering. I had a hard time sitting comfortably, but before long I had received the full dose and planned on heading out to dinner. Connie kept telling me that I looked "an awful lot like a woman in labor," but I couldn't let myself believe such good news. I denied it and promised that once I ate, the contractions would dissipate. But it took nearly an hour for me to get up and make it outside to the car because of how painful the contractions were and just my general sense of discomfort. Connie said she wouldn't head home until I called after dinner, so once we finally made it outside, drove to a hamburger spot (it sounded SO GOOD!) and ate it in the car (yep, too uncomfortable to go inside to sit and eat but still I denied any sign of labor), I called Connie to tell her we were going home. We thought we still had plenty of time (if it even was the real thing). She suggested I at least get checked since I was still nearby, so we drove back. I had gone from 2 centimeters to 4 in that time and they knew I was indeed in labor. I, however, insisted that I could be 4 centimeters for days still and wanted to go home. They suggested I wait for the second round of antibiotics. (Connie is one brilliant woman, as I am sure you can tell. She never argued with me. Just outsmarted me.) By that time the contractions were still regular, painful and increasing. They knew (and said as much) that if I went home, I likely would be in too much pain to come back. And an unassisted home birth was not in anyone's plan, so I acquiesced and we began to settle in. I called my mom to tell her I was staying the night but that I wasn't sure I was in labor (Connie's midwife assistant looked at me incredulously--I ignored that.). That was at 8:30pm Tuesday, January 17th. When she checked me again I was at 5 and she said the rest would probably go fast, but I, of course, didn't believe her.

We puttered around the birth center (it's basically a house with all of the comforts of home and the amenities and accreditation of a birth center), watched tv, bounced on the birth ball and then Rory took Dia home to stay the night with his mom. I had to text him around 9:30 or so because it was really beginning to hurt my back. I needed him and his strong hands to help me through the contractions at this point. Connie prayed over me and I remember saying that I couldn't believe I was about to have two (babies). Joy and pain mingled there in that sacred space right before you are changed forever by the birth of your child. I also remember asking her if it was worth it to have a natural birth. It may have been two years, but I still knew exactly what was about to happen as I delivered my daughter. And I knew it was going to hurt.

Rory got there around 10 or so but by 11pm, I was tired and just wanted to rest. Connie had gone in to rest and I felt the tediousness of labor and just wanted to lie down. Connie's assistant, Kylie, felt I should keep things going but as you can probably guess, I didn't believe it would help. She offered to break my water, but I knew then that we'd be on a time clock (if Olive didn't come 18 hours after that I would be high risk again and forced to transfer to the hospital). She then suggested (and I apologize for the "graphic" nature of this) nipple stimulation. We opted, although less than enthusiastically, for the second suggestion. We gave it maybe ten minutes (with lots of joking and teasing). I certainly didn't think it would have any effect. And then it hit: hard labor. Contraction on top of contraction. I couldn't sit. I couldn't stand. I couldn't do anything but focus on the tremendous waves that were overtaking me.

I had warned the midwives that I while I have no respect or place for profanity in my life, I had colored India's birth with the ugliest of words. I screamed them at the top of my lungs, in fact. I had been vocal and out of control. I began pushing before I had the natural urge and I ended up with a good size tear. While it had been a great experience overall, I hoped those things would be different this time around. And as hard labor started, instead of screaming and crying, I went silent. I disappeared somewhere deep inside my head and as the praise music played in the background, I did my best to just endure. They asked if I was having a contraction but even as the contractions were nearly on top of one another, I couldn't reply. I walked into the shower and had Rory hold the sprayer on my back as I bent over the stool, gripped with pain. I had somehow lost my clothes in the process and after some time in the shower I walked back to the bedroom to crawl into the huge whirlpool tub. I moved all around in various positions all while having Rory hold the sprayer on my back. And all the while, totally silent. Until I decided I couldn't take it anymore and informed them (Connie had come in at this point), that I would be transferring to the hospital and that I would not be delivering at the Inn. This got everyone moving as they knew the baby would be here soon. Connie called the two assistants thinking we had about an hour or so until Olive would be here. But then I stood in the bath, squatted low and let out the "gutteral" scream (Rory does a great impression of this, by the way, just so you know). They asked if I had to push and as I squatted again, I screamed, "I think so!"

There are some brilliant opportunities in life where we get to see who it is exactly that we have married. Right then and there I knew I had married a very good man. As I began to push, Rory instinctively jumped into the bath (it was maybe two inches full) fully clothed and threw his arms under mine. I fell back into him completely and my feet found two spots to rest on in the tub (although I was out of the water). I began breathing fast and pushing without any rhyme or reason when he stopped me, reminded me to breathe slowly and talked me through the pushing. (The midwives later said that they wished they could have recorded this part because it was just perfect!) He helped me get control of myself and the pushing, and unlike the first time, I found myself completely aware of what I was doing and what my body needed me to do. 12 minutes of pushing later, and Olive was in my arms! It was the most surreal moment. Having spent the last few hours denying my labor, I certainly wasn't prepared to be holding her that early Wednesday morning.

I find it hard to say just exactly how long I was in labor, mostly because I denied it for so long, I imagine. But I do know that Kylie's suggestion turned things around instantly and the hard labor wasn't more than three hours. I tore only slightly (mostly along where I had before, though not as deep or far) and never once uttered a word of profanity. It was soundtracked by praise music and ended with Olive in my arms as I lay in my husband's. I felt in control and fully supported. Although, it did take a while for reality to set in. I had my Olive! I had been in labor after all!

Rory and I have to thank the wonderful people at Babymoon Inn. Not only has every single person been kind and welcoming, but their expertise is what has inspired our confidence in them the most. If they hadn't insisted we stay that night or insisted we "get things going," I don't know what would have happened. I do know, though, that beginning and continuing this child's life with prayer is perhaps the best thing we've ever done. Thank You, Lord, for our miracle and the gentle ways she is already pointing us closer to You.

O Love!

I suppose part of technology's drive forward stems from our own fascination with it. The "human" side to the plastic and metal "books," boxes and phones. None of this is more entertaining than the typo. There are entire blogs dedicated to funny typos, most due nowadays to predictive text. But, to me, nothing tops the little joy I get from when I somehow mistype "Olive" (as in the sweet girl who is due to join us any day now!) and it shows up as "O love". I just love it! (No pun intended.)

O love. Or as my mom likes to say, "Olive you!" (For "I love you!")

We certainly didn't intend it, but our girls' names have had some fun meanings and connections.

For one, both of them begin and end with vowels. Both are exactly five letters long and contain the same number of vowels and consonants (3 vowels, 2 consonants) but only have the letter "I" in common. Both names have concrete meanings in something other than a name: obviously a country and a fruit. And yet both harken back to old English names.

And the other day I was trying to come up with a fun artistic way to express my girls (I had been given a coffee mug that you can draw/write on and I wanted to put an image on it that would capture my daughters) when I decided to draw an olive tree by a river (India means water or river--it comes from the Indus River). I was suddenly struck by the Psalmist's depiction of a wise man being like a tree firmly planted by the water. What an inspiring and God-glorifying image! Grounded, flourishing, strong and fulfilled. What more could I ask for in my daughters? (This was also the verse and image I had on our fridge during my entire pregnancy with India. I kept it there as a reminder for when I would worry or get anxious about India's birth so it has special significance in that way as well.)

Olive was due last week and while Dia was five days late herself, this time I find myself far less patient. I have had so little to worry about with this pregnancy (I've been distracted with running, moving, decorating, creating social groups and running my house), I think that my type A worrier has decided to focus on the birth. So while I have no reason to, I worry that Olive will be too late to deliver her in the birth center like we have planned. At 42 weeks we are considered high-risk and may have to go to the hospital for induction and the like. This whole pregnancy I thought for sure I would deliver early. I also was confident that Dia was a boy. Apparently, I am not as in tune I'd like to think!

We had been seeing our naturopathic doctor/midwife throughout these last nine months in preparation for having Olive at home like we did with India. For some reason, though, I never quite had peace with our decision. It wasn't the homebirth itself as much as the connection, or lack thereof, that I felt with our ND. She's a wonderful doctor and I'll continue to see her, but I just knew something wasn't right as far as Olive's birth and the plans we were making. I couldn't explain it, but it kept nagging me. We prayed and even interviewed other midwives, but still, it just wasn't right. We continued seeing our doctor, though, right up until the 37th week. A little bit late in the game, she came back with my results from my Group B Strep test and they showed elevated cultures--meaning we had to make a new game plan. Now, to be fair, this doctor did not handle this situation very well. I'm sorry, but she just missed the boat on this one. I had gone in for our regular visit when at the end, she sits down, looks over my chart and says, "Oh, and we have some bad news. Your results came back positive." We sat there dumbfounded. Results? For what? (I had taken the test a few weeks back.) "You have GBS."

"What does that mean?" My husband asked.

"Um, well, the baby could die, she (nodding my direction) could die. It's a big deal. But we'll just get going on (oral) antibiotics and everything will be fine." She pretty much ended our appointment right there and we were so stunned we didn't know what else to say.

Hmm...baby, die and fine. Nope. Those words could not harmonize in my head. The next day the receptionist from her office called to tell me the doctor had left some literature for me to come pick up, take home and read. So I did. I read it on the couch alone while Dia napped. I read the risks of my baby dying from a bacteria I couldn't help prevent. Alone. Weeks before she was due. This created somewhat of a panic situation for me. I just sat there and bawled. And felt completely helpless.

Of course I ran straight to Jesus and just prayed and prayed. We had our company Christmas party that night and my husband was fighting a cold, it was hard to focus and yet I knew I had to keep pushing forward. Thankfully, I am blessed with a dear friend who, as a RN, often has just the expertise I need. She ended up connecting me with a midwife who runs a birth center and in a series of what can only be God-ordained circumstances, Rory and I were sitting with her face to face in less than 24 hours. Having delivered over 2400 babies and given birth to 5 herself, she was just the compassionate, experienced soul I needed. Rory and I knew instantly that we wanted to transfer care to her and we did just that. I would never have planned anything other than a homebirth. We had had a wonderful experience with India's birth at home. But the Lord had prompted me from the beginning that while I would go ahead and make my plans, He would be directing my steps. And here we are. I am still on good terms with our original doctor, but left the birth center for the first time with peace about Olive's birth. I never would have guessed, but I'm just so grateful for every single person at the birth center and how the Lord has been so faithful to us! So far, everyone we have met there is also a Christian and I love being able to talk about the Lord with them.

We are ready, for you, Olive!

India Turned Two! (And other great memories from the last few months while I've been MIA)

"To be a mother is the greatest happiness."

I found this saying in a framed art piece in the clearance section of TJ Maxx. Dia was only months old and I just had to have it. It sits in my kitchen currently and I read it often. It is so true.

Our sweet bug turned two a few months back and, for better or worse, I consciously decided not to be behind the camera that day. I wanted to be very present in every moment of her special day--especially because as she ages, she is increasingly more aware of how special these days are. And I wanted nothing more than to share in it with her. And we had so much fun! However, we have so few pictures. I have learned to assign an official photographer so that this doesn't happen again! But for now, I'll have to tell the story with actual words and not just pixels.

We kept it small...but in our family, just blood-relatives make up over 25 people. So it was small-ish. And as with her first birthday, we asked for no presents. Which, as was also true of last year, was completely ignored. People love to give! And we were very blessed by their generosity. We did acquiesce, however, and allow immediate family to come early if they wanted to watch Dia open their gifts. It's hard to be principled sometimes--especially over something as harmless as birthday gifts for a two-year old! Still, though, I do dream of a day when we can all gather together to celebrate each other without spending so much money and focusing on "What'd ya get?!"

But what really counts is that Dia really enjoyed herself, our family was able to bless her with lots of fun things and everyone had fun.

This year we didn't invite any of Dia's friends from her playgroups. I think she was the only two-year old there! We had former neighbors with kids ranging from four to twelve-ish, family friends who were either younger or older and my cousin's daughter who is a year older than D. It felt like a real family party and the highlight for Dia was when two of the older girls got together and performed a dance routine (they had made it up and rehearsed it in the backyard) where at the end they shouted, "Happy birthday, Dia!" I filmed it and Dia has asked to watch it repeatedly! At one point in the party, most of the girls all laid together in the grass with their feet in the air and I could tell Dia felt special to be in the "group." Everyone is so sweet to her and she loves watching and imitating.

And I firmly believe that in the three months since that party, she has become a true preschooler. She is simply not a toddler anymore. We talk about things like attitude, making choices and the alphabet. She expresses emotions, desires and offers suggestions for doing things differently (e.g., tonight at bedtime, after we told her she couldn't sleep with the grape vine/stems that she had been clutching long after she had finished the grapes themselves because it could poke her while she slept, she thought for a minute and explained how she would hold them very low so that they wouldn't touch her face). She is inventive that's for sure!

The other day she had begun to get a rude attitude in the car. Granted, it was her naptime, but I still wanted to address it if for nothing else so that we could build it on another time when she was rested. I tried talking to her about her attitude and asked her if she knew what kind of attitude she had.

"Angry, " she answered. I was surprised she was so self-aware!
"That's right," I said, trying to keep up. "Why do you think you have an angry attitude?"
"My tired."

Ha! Well, folks, there you have it. 27 months old and as Rory puts it, she knows her own emotions better than he does!

My main focus for this brilliant time in her life is finding a balance of encouraging her independent spirit and strong will while still teaching her to use those gifts wisely. She has a strong will. There is no other way around it. To squash that will not create in her the gentle spirit the Lord desires for her. To "beat" it out of her will not raise a woman confident enough to follow Jesus from her core. And yet, to let her express herself without discernment will only leave her broken. This is hard! So very hard. And it's not because of her strong will--I would have the same problems if her nature was shy and reserved. Learning to hone our strengths while submitting them to the Lord's discipline so that we all might be edified is no easy task. I believe this is called life. Thankfully, the Lord meets me here regularly and I know He has prosperous plans for India!

I have been very blessed by Dr. Sears' books on child-rearing. They help give me a clue into why Dia does certain things. This has relieved so much frustration on my part! It's not an excuse for wrong behavior, but it does help me focus on her heart and attitude--the life blocks that will guide her long after I'm gone--instead of merely centering on the face-value of her behavior. I can tell, also, that she looks at me differently when I try to understand what she's wanting or intending instead of losing my temper over her own frustration. I like to think that it helps us build trust instead of lose it.

This brings me to so many other facets of being a mother: home-schooling and my personal experiences with children who grew up saying all the right things and then went on to a life far from Jesus and plagued with poor decision-making; my struggle to balance my needs with a life that ultimately is all about my children (and vice-versa); how I serve the Lord on a daily basis; and so much more. Really, to raise my daughters is to live. It serves to give me the glorious opportunity to focus in on what really matters--every day. What a life!

What a happiness!

Our Pretty Little Tiger

We went to Dia's first carnival at a local play area and we showed her a poster of face painting. We asked her if she wanted a flower or horsey. Her eyes lit up, she pointed and exclaimed, "Tiger!" We left it on her for a few days and she would run to the mirror each morning saying, "Mama, tiger! My's tiger!" She loved being a tiger. And we loved it, too. She now uses her puzzle frame and a straw and pretends to paint our faces (including Depot), too. She can do a giraffe, a puppy and just about anything you want with just a few flicks of the straw. Each color stands for a different animal, apparently, and she is a very serious artist. :) Not to mention, adorable enough to eat.

I Want, I Want, I Want

Sadly this isn't a post about the selfish cries of my two-year old.

I'm suffering from a bad case of "But, I wanna!"

Not necessarily one to comb the malls, scan the magazines or even shop online, I do encounter certain things that I simply must have. MUST. HAVE. I see it and instantly know that I want it.

Currently I'm envying over the 13.1.

Have you seen them? Those fabulous bumper stickers that say 13.1. I WANT ONE. MUST. HAVE.

But, of course, it's not one of those stickers you can just go out and buy. You have to earn one of those beauties. Specifically speaking, you have to run 13.1 miles. A half-marathon.

Sigh.

I got it in my head about a year ago that I wanted, no, NEEDED, one. I got together with my favorite and fitness-booty-saving Stroller Strides instructor and we planned to train for the Nike Women's in San Francisco. One of the most popular races in the country, the Nike Women's selects (at random) only a certain amount of racing teams to participate. When we weren't selected, I was truly sad. But we consoled ourselves with the fact that the P.F. Chang's was only a few months after that and that we could train just as well for a race in town.

And then I found out we're pregnant! And not just pregnant. Due to deliver exactly four days after the P.F. Chang's. Hmm...somehow I don't see myself running the 13.1 at a full 40 weeks.

So I've settled for a 5k here in town in October.

Can I tell you something, though? I can barely breathe after running a mile! Looks like I may be walk/running those 3.1 miles.

I wonder if they make a bumper sticker that says 3.1? Maybe I can just scratch out the "1" in front of my coveted "13.1"...and then after Olive and a few months of training, I'll fill it back in.