tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10443142742585886782024-02-20T18:42:09.604-05:00Anne Says SoAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.comBlogger571125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-89136587138209262372018-03-22T12:15:00.001-04:002018-03-22T12:26:24.597-04:00Everyone's at the Table<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0gg-Dj4E9HjQeCxYtJf8c4TmFSnszO7frL5cYTB1VAsqSINelZ5Kb78GS11EKJWWpyblVrXDLZUJSlv7Sjye48ZOQd2i347KluYs1X-J1wtRNshFsibT2DUQ51i6-yuMZiWLBGgu9wU/s1600/Smith+4+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0gg-Dj4E9HjQeCxYtJf8c4TmFSnszO7frL5cYTB1VAsqSINelZ5Kb78GS11EKJWWpyblVrXDLZUJSlv7Sjye48ZOQd2i347KluYs1X-J1wtRNshFsibT2DUQ51i6-yuMZiWLBGgu9wU/s320/Smith+4+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a reason we call her "everyone's baby."</td></tr>
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You're likely here because you know me in some capacity - in person, across a preschool playground, online, from college, from the sound of my snort-laugh ringing in your ears around town...</div>
<br />
As such, you unlikely know what our family looks like today. It's tough to miss us, both because we're noisy and because there are so many of us!<br />
<br />
If you'd only followed me by blog, however, my three-year silence ends today with a sizable, 30-pound update. Her name is Mae.<br />
<br />
On February 15, 2016, the day after Mary Brooks turned four, our missing puzzle piece made her debut. Margaret Ilse Smith charged into the world with all the purpose and speed she currently displays in her daily laps of our home - and only a smidge less arm-swinging and attitude.<br />
<br />
Mae is named after two of her great-grandmothers. She's the second Margaret Smith her daddy has ever loved and the fourth generation of Ilses on my side. I know she'll wear her full name proudly, but to most who know her now, she's "Mae-Mae."<br />
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I'm often asked what it's like to have four children. For us, it feels like all our people are here; everyone's at the table. There's a completeness we never experienced before Mae came crashing into things. The cockiness we had juggling three children is gone as well, but that's another story for another day.<br />
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Mae is "everyone's baby." She has brought out sweet, nurturing, servant-hearted sides of Mac, Brooksie and even Chapman. It's a precious thing to behold.<br />
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She's freshly two and received the memo early on about what this milestone entails. We're testing boundaries, lying on the floor, giggling one moment and falling to pieces the next. Through it all, she has three older champions and protectors who advocate for her in every situation. She's going to be spoiled rotten, y'all, and it won't be one stitch of my doing!<br />
<br />
I can't wait to tell you more about Mae and about how far we've come in the three years since I stopped putting virtual pen to invisible paper. For now, though, this will have to do.<br />
<br />
Talk soon, friends! Or - most likely - future Anne scrounging this blog for memories of the years that sped by far too quickly...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1otLUmzPC8PVWmfY2dHUXNr8WSdIP_tOMiRyozzzzlk3z-3hZu7tfB2X7IdomUame7LpFhog367QurOKMXnKDTUn5ZLDXuUTN3hX-YrI-jkDxDTKLcwGqWhQ-3oijONHAeijZaMg0Vw/s1600/Smith+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1otLUmzPC8PVWmfY2dHUXNr8WSdIP_tOMiRyozzzzlk3z-3hZu7tfB2X7IdomUame7LpFhog367QurOKMXnKDTUn5ZLDXuUTN3hX-YrI-jkDxDTKLcwGqWhQ-3oijONHAeijZaMg0Vw/s320/Smith+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How old are these smiling Smiths? Two, four, six and eight. <br />
(Who do we appreciate? Gooooood sleepers!)</td></tr>
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-74072775811409985882015-04-13T16:40:00.002-04:002018-03-21T17:42:20.584-04:00What If I'm Still Broken?<span style="font-size: small;">(<a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-laundry-list.html">Backstory</a>: It's been three years since the start of Mary Brooks' <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html">ordeal</a>; last week was the second anniversary of the <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/search/label/Miscarriage">loss</a> of our third baby.<br /><br />Chapman's pregnancy, which mercifully began quickly afterward, was marked by severe, unexplained bleeding throughout and capped off with a premature delivery. He had a NICU and separate Children's Hospital stay, followed by months of anxious efforts to help him grow, something he is only finally doing in the roly-poliest way. <br /><br />Our life is beautiful, but there was a long season when I braced continually for the next blow. I struggle mightily with the knowledge I'm still broken, even armed with my faith, my Savior, my family and the passage of time. <br /><br />So there's the Cliffs Notes version.)</span><br />
<br />
I don't know how to introduce myself anymore. I used to be simple Anne who went to Clemson, fell in love with her best friend, had a beautiful boy, started a small business and found the humor in each of her awkward moments. I am insanely talkative; of those there were plenty. <br />
<br />
Then my life got thrown into a blender. We were tossed about in fits and spurts, more violently in some moments than others, and are just now emerging after years of being smacked against the walls. <br />
<br />
I worry what people need to know most about me is I'm not who I used to be or who you might have known. It's been three years since the first of the dropkicks came, but I'm still someone bruised and more delicate than before. What I see now is viewed through a wholly new lens, colored by what flipped us inside out without warning.<br />
<br />
I imagine you're tired of my incessant talking about it. It scares me, as what I've learned, what I've come through, who I've become is the most available part of me.<br />
<br />
C.S. Lewis wrote that "[p]art of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer." A season of introspection makes you question whether you're truly processing or just dwelling on something others would have swept away by now. There's endless room to doubt.<br />
<br />
From day one, I wanted to feel legitimate in my hurt. "This wasn't exactly a scheduled appendectomy," I'd tell myself, "but we're home now. Why am I not over this?"<br />
<br />
A wise friend first used the word "grief" to me when Mary Brooks' future was unclear. Grief, I believed, was something for people crying at a graveside; it turns out that's just the clear-cut kind. There are infinite iterations of grief, and it's more than possible to mourn a person who hasn't been buried. <br />
<br />
I mourned what I had before things got messy - when I trusted life would be good, because it always had been. When I had that optical illusion I was captaining my own ship, directing and managing what came into my life. <br />
<br />
In that long season I mourned my daughter's health, my happy-go-lucky state of mind, my older son's delicate and broken heart, the baby and innocence we lost, the ability to enjoy pregnancy without debilitating fear, the simple conversations I could have with strangers when my greatest troubles were dusty baseboards, dirty diapers and whatever sad story played out on the evening news.<br />
<br />
To this day I struggle with whether what I've felt - and what I still carry - is legitimate. Do I <i>deserve</i> to be broken? Hasn't enough time passed? Don't I get to be that old girl again? Because people may not tolerate this much longer...<br />
<br />
How could people believe I've earned this much room to process if they don't understand what "this" is? We barely understand it ourselves. How could they give me grace in the meantime if they don't know our story? How can they extend me patient kindness when I can't extend it to myself? <br />
<br />
Do I have to describe the scars and ultrasounds and bleeding and expenses and panic and "failure to thrive" and unexpected traumas? If people don't know how the hurts started coming and didn't stop - how could they see me as anything but self-indulgent and a bit off my rocker?<br />
<br />
I imagined walking around in a sandwich board with my <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-laundry-list.html">laundry list</a> spelled out for all to see. Maybe get a facial tattoo so no one could miss the memo? You need to know who you're dealing with, world, and she's all cracked up. She's not in the thick of things anymore, not wearing her mourning clothes or staying up nights, but she may not be "normal" quite yet. <br />
<i><br /></i>
One question has weighed heavy for some time now: <i>What if I'm still broken?</i><br />
<br />
Our brains are designed to function in crises; it's fascinating to me how your body keeps moving, your mind keeps processing things. Not <i>every</i>thing, but enough to remain vertical, to put one foot in front of the other when it's necessary. Enough to stay in one piece. <br />
<br />
It's after the crisis passes that the bottom can fall out. You're left keenly aware of how utterly broken you are, smashed to smithereens. Your trauma wasn't a simple slice to be glued together; it's a series of rifts, jagged cuts that reopen unexpectedly. <br />
<br />
There's nothing straightforward about healing. Even Lewis agrees: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<i>I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow,
however, turns out to be not a state but a process. It needs not a map
but a history...</i>”</blockquote>
</blockquote>
Sometimes you're still healing even when good things happen around you.
Circumstances change, celebrations are had, babies come home, everyday life resumes - but there's still a guilt and weight behind what appears to be easy joy. <br />
<br />
How long can you feel duplicitous, can you wear two faces alternately? When is the expiration date for what you've borne? Is it when every last ounce of the burden is gone? When the bills are paid off or the stitches taken out or the first anniversary has passed?<br />
<br />
While I'm not the best at living it out, my approach and advice for others is this: Look at yourself with the eyes you'd cast on a hurting friend. Would you be gentle? Empathetic? Encouraging and understanding if grief pops back up for "no reason"? How would you speak to her? How many tears would you allow? <br />
<br />
Why is it so exceedingly difficult to extend the same heartfelt compassion to ourselves? <br />
<br />
My other approach, besides talking to myself (in the non-literal sense when possible) as I would a dear friend, is to accept the ugly with open arms.<br />
<br />
Look, simple Anne is gone. Your rage at a long Starbucks drive-through line is going to be lost on me. I've got bigger fish to fry, and that just isn't one. These days I'm going to hear "surgery," and before you get to the part about "three-minute outpatient procedure to put tubes in my child's ears," I'll be planning meals for six months and naming our forthcoming community outreach event. <br />
<br />
At some point - hopefully <i>this</i> point - I'm going to have to accept that the wreckage of the last few years <i>is</i> my life. There's no getting the old one back. I can be useful here even as I sort things out. I was called to this place. I am needed and I am equipped.<br />
<br />
Maybe exposing my raw edges publicly - and coming to terms with them on my own - opens me up to be more valuable, more vulnerable, more keenly aware of how I can serve others. <br />
<br />
Maybe suffering creates for us a new kind of ministry: giving not just of our time or our resources, but of exactly who we are. Shattered, taped together and even unrecognizable.<br />
<br />
And maybe there's no timeline or bell curve or fade-out schedule for sadness. What I carry doesn't feel the way it did before I had Chapman in my arms, but it does still <i>feel</i> like something. There are a lot of hard months directly behind me, and that truth doesn't dissipate as soon as the calendar flips.<br />
<br />
Our hard season was a loss, obviously. It was a series of losses. The baby we lost was a part of me, a piece of all of us, and then she was gone. I had to grieve that; I had to prepare myself for more sadness when it seemed Chapman's story might not end happily either. But there's a voice inside me that whispers, "You only get to think about this so much before you're wallowing." <br />
<br />
I don't want to wallow; I want to matter. I want to let the hurt seep out if it needs to, and reach out in the knowledge that some of you are hurting too.<br />
<br />
I know now these aren't <i>our</i> lives; this tale doesn't belong to us. In the simplest sense, I suppose it does, but once things hit the skids you quickly see you're not the author here, just a player - albeit one who can contribute greatly. It's not a story OF you, but THROUGH you.<br />
<br />
You don't have to hold back who you've changed into or what you're carrying. The damage you've seen can power your life, your ministry - even if you haven't reached the (likely unattainable) finish line of "wholeness." <br />
<br />
I'm here to tell you your brokenness doesn't disqualify you from contributing to a greater plan.<br />
<br />
Today I'm walking alongside a friend whose beautiful son has been fighting hard in a NICU since his birth five weeks ago; born with what Mary Brooks had, baby G had three emergency surgeries in his first four days on Earth. I'm replaying the words that propelled me in the longest days. His mama is as in the trenches as it gets; I am saying to her what I needed to hear three years ago, and I'm keeping some things to myself. <br />
<br />
The life-or-death disasters are adrenaline-pumped first chapters, but they aren't where it ends. There's so much work to be done in the quiet afterwards. The 'afterwards' lasts a lot longer, and sometimes it proves your mettle more than the emergency. (Though <i>my</i> <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/mettle">mettle</a> is counter-intuitive; it's throwing my arms open, my head up and asking to be used even though I still feel empty sometimes.)<br />
<br />
I say all of this, every word of this non-fiction novella, both as an encouragement and a two-parted plea: <b>Keep going. And bear with me.</b> <br />
<br />
Wherever you are, you can be useful. It's my most fervent prayer that I am useful in each step, shaky ones included, out of this hurricane.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“<i>The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for
help may be just that time when God can't give it: you are like the
drowning man who can't be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps
your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.</i>”</blockquote>
Lewis was a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Grief_Observed">perceptive</a> man. I never felt God couldn't help me, but I do now work to ensure whatever cries I have are punctuated by praise and silence. I want to find my purpose in this, and I can't do that without seeing how far I've been carried and without listening for the One leading me out.<br />
<br />
I know I can't do this on my own, and I want not just to take strength from a community of believers - I want to add to it, too. <br />
<br />
So - what if I'm still broken? I just don't know. That part of the story is a mystery. <br />
<br />
I'm certain I'm damaged goods, but I'm equally confident that's not the only evidence of what's happened here. A powerful story is brewing just as big as the storm we survived. <br />
<br />
Whatever your storm is, hang on. And keep moving in the middle of it - you're not a loss to us, wearing us down, using up our grace or testing our patience. No one's writing you off.<br />
<br />
You're who you were created to be, cracks and all. And no one sees those scars but you.<br />
<br />
(Unless, of course, you make that sandwich board or face tattoo. I wouldn't blame you, and it sure would make recognizing one another easier.)<br />
<br />
<i>"There is strength within the sorrow<br />
There is beauty in our tears<br />
And You meet us in our mourning<br />
With a love that casts out fear<br />
You are working in our waiting<br />
You're sanctifying us<br />
When beyond our understanding<br />
You're teaching us to trust<br />
<br />
Your plans are still to prosper<br />
You have not forgotten us<br />
You're with us in the fire and the flood<br />
You're faithful forever<br />
Perfect in love<br />
You are sovereign over us</i>..."<br />
-<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EufaligPigU">Sovereign Over Us</a> by Aaron Keyes Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-12796854907946900782015-03-23T16:31:00.001-04:002015-03-23T16:54:11.285-04:00A Change of SeasonsIt doesn't seem much has changed around here: same babies, same jobs, same routines.<br />
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Little by little, though, the seasons have turned. Just when I think I've had enough of dark winter, spring swoops down in the nick of time.
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Baby legs are out for the squeezin', sunshine lasts into the evenings and our moods seem a bit lighter.
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There have been picnics on the patio already, 101 pounds of Smiths piled into a trusty red wagon and walks to the neighborhood park. <br />
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There's a little denial that this is Mac's last spring before kindergarten. (He's reading this over my shoulder as I type. and giggling)<br />
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The rites of passage sneak up on me: first our bedtime stories are read by a younger voice, then our five-year-old gets his first library card. <br />
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His pride is so sweet to watch, and it takes away the sting of watching him grow up so quickly.<br />
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Our peanut is growing faster than I realize, too. Once off the bottom of the charts, Chapman is plumping up and learning to let us know what he thinks. We couldn't love him more, not one of us.</div>
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I waited through a cold, icy winter for the sun to come back - and it has. Now I need to remind myself not to wish away anymore seasons, or else I'll be else sweeping an empty nest. (Though that laundry pile might finally get tackled...)<br />
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Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-13595324355254939472015-02-15T16:46:00.000-05:002015-03-23T16:57:17.080-04:00Three Years!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
On Valentine's Day our Brooksie girl turned three. She had a wild beginning, and the spunk she showed from the start is still her signature. <br />
<br />
Mary Brooks, I love your laugh, your fearlessness, your protective nature, your "big sister" sweetness, your (too-rare!) snuggles and your many strong opinions.<br />
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I love your perfect little face, your fading scar, your whoops and squeals and joie de vivre.<br />
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I just love that we get to be your parents. (And that I can post-date this entry so it looks like I still keep up with our family milestones.)<br />
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Happy, happy birthday to the girl who wants to be a "doctor princess" when she grows up so she can "help sick people and look in dem ears." We rejoice at the thought of God's plans for your life!<br />
<br />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-83917324044814356652015-01-20T11:46:00.001-05:002015-03-23T17:05:50.631-04:00On the Twelfth Day of Christmas...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chapman Collins Smith, the little peanut who could</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
...my true love turned one.<br />
<br />
Two weeks ago today my littlest sweetheart grew up on me. Well, he's been doing that for a while, but now my Chappers is officially a year old.<br />
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His absolute delight at the world, his adoration of two besotted siblings, his sweet-natured squeals when we walk in to the room - every piece of him adds up to be just the boy our family needed.<br />
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Some people would call him a rainbow baby, the promise of hope after a storm of loss. I simply think he was just the right baby at just the right time to capture all our hearts. <br />
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We need you far more than you need us, little man, and we loved you from the very start. <br />
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You are the happiest Chappy, the most content child who wants only to <i>be</i> with us, to soak up the noise, giggles and excitement of two boisterous big siblings.<br />
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You/ve taught me so much, Chapman. After a season of grief over your sister's <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html">struggle</a> and sadness at the <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-big-surprise-bigger-loss.html">loss</a> of a baby before you, you taught me how to swim without sinking. I could keep moving without going entirely numb; I could be sad and still experience the joy of you. I didn't shut one bit out; I didn't lose a year of memories or pretend it wasn't happening.<br />
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You kept me going in the hard parts, kicking from the inside and beaming through big brown eyes once we met.<br />
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You've brought out the softest, most selfless parts of Mac and Mary Brooks, who I thought couldn't get much sweeter.<br />
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You, my love, were just what the doctor ordered. Thank you for growing at your own pace, for forcing your very scheduled mother to allow your strengths to develop on a timing not her own.<br />
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Thank you for being the snuggliest one yet, for grinning wider than any other peanut could have, for having a personality that belies your tiny stature. <br />
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You're finally on the charts, big boy! Without adjusting for your early arrival, you're first percentile for weight, seventh for length and twentieth for that noggin you balance between your shoulders. <br />
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I'm not sure what we did before you, Chapman, and I'm so glad we don't have to do without you anymore. May the years to come pass a tenth as quickly as this one did!<br />
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<br />
Happy, happy birthday to the best belated Christmas present I ever got.Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-1778638875018160482014-10-28T17:07:00.000-04:002014-10-28T17:14:16.209-04:00The Best Kind of Busy<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEXfrzkgxcQO71BTpWVYndiT_ierWVSHu0vfc-PYhwrfCZbziG8vWkfjBQSkcDlS95-8KHJjBhpXLOy-eFivyP5uwwIeuJPdIILwdXN2JKlnQaGXT73oAxsSDvMu3uNmQHVAGdN4Smto/s1600/084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEXfrzkgxcQO71BTpWVYndiT_ierWVSHu0vfc-PYhwrfCZbziG8vWkfjBQSkcDlS95-8KHJjBhpXLOy-eFivyP5uwwIeuJPdIILwdXN2JKlnQaGXT73oAxsSDvMu3uNmQHVAGdN4Smto/s1600/084.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start of Mac's very first field trip!</td></tr>
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<br />
We have a full house, but life isn't as crazy as you might think for our party of five. We're slow-movers, we Smiths, and tend to build a good bit of rest time into our week.<br />
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That said, this past weekend was a doozy - and so, so fun.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrGm4FMZQ77T3p2VgT3ZueJ5DyOSKUdvaPY4mVMp10Otv9wb6HgoxIc-dq3RpvSIfz6vOTGqWuOpYI6HLVpYyg4v1lAHm4JyAQdo4fxlvi7V7wGfoQVfnsXaDdXQJob_6ZcZ49IEaB3k/s1600/043.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrGm4FMZQ77T3p2VgT3ZueJ5DyOSKUdvaPY4mVMp10Otv9wb6HgoxIc-dq3RpvSIfz6vOTGqWuOpYI6HLVpYyg4v1lAHm4JyAQdo4fxlvi7V7wGfoQVfnsXaDdXQJob_6ZcZ49IEaB3k/s1600/043.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Psyched for another photo op, obvs.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Friday morning was Mac's first field trip ever, a perk of being a "big
kid" in K4. The whole family joined his class at Fisher's Orchard, and
it was the warmest, sunniest October morning to be there!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The orange made Mac (and Bradley, for that matter!) easier to spot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We saw
goats, chickens, baby bunnies, a turkey and a cow. We picked apples out
of giant crates, as we were about a month too late for the real deal,
and left with armfuls of kid-approved pumpkins. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBVIeigrZK9j0x87GTzHOd5BJr7q0GKWUWVbRSknDds4_df2zD-s5QEc_OKakWzu5Jdl4V1VcRjhz1f9SuvVoG2NVRCjp6KVdOrd5CBnFCrgjJju8OvwImoQYmMLhz9LQKJuqVEfCkh8/s1600/015.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBVIeigrZK9j0x87GTzHOd5BJr7q0GKWUWVbRSknDds4_df2zD-s5QEc_OKakWzu5Jdl4V1VcRjhz1f9SuvVoG2NVRCjp6KVdOrd5CBnFCrgjJju8OvwImoQYmMLhz9LQKJuqVEfCkh8/s1600/015.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my boys after our wild rompus of a hayride</td></tr>
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Our gang enjoyed a hayride during which Mary Brooks and the younger brother of Mac's best buddy held hands behind his big brother's back. Eep! There was wind in our hair, enough bumps to make me thankful Chappers was strapped to me, and more screaming giggles from the little people than I could count. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBLqFRzErTSVfFj3WMSO9RNqA-y-ISBmfnm8-KVRrXRY0pJMODguHWo4-7EqXNLggCs0vlE1WusWUJ8R-AJz1uYMjc6RF9cMLPRWaL2casEuMpjUDocDu1sI6BBMWPpvwyJLT4Dqd-e8/s1600/054.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBLqFRzErTSVfFj3WMSO9RNqA-y-ISBmfnm8-KVRrXRY0pJMODguHWo4-7EqXNLggCs0vlE1WusWUJ8R-AJz1uYMjc6RF9cMLPRWaL2casEuMpjUDocDu1sI6BBMWPpvwyJLT4Dqd-e8/s1600/054.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please note the hand-holding preschoolers and tiny cowboy boots.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We drove home with two extra passengers, Mac's best pal and his younger brother, grabbed some pizzas and let the combined five children wear themselves out before naps and quiet time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2A4O3YI72iwbBLVYHfSC6riKtGz3KtHVkKHCyyjO9d1zmNzn-I2JYWxw9ASo_BtR3Vi6USbdn-3qcShx3PRgwNMWGdng8kW_DJVP9Jk1FDiScO05j-Z3wkH2eEpYwPGlNabLiEIeYz7c/s1600/111.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2A4O3YI72iwbBLVYHfSC6riKtGz3KtHVkKHCyyjO9d1zmNzn-I2JYWxw9ASo_BtR3Vi6USbdn-3qcShx3PRgwNMWGdng8kW_DJVP9Jk1FDiScO05j-Z3wkH2eEpYwPGlNabLiEIeYz7c/s1600/111.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At our old stomping grounds cheering on the Tigers</td></tr>
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After stashing a few things in suitcases, we headed to my in-laws' near Clemson for Homecoming weekend. Bradley and I spent Saturday tailgating and catching up with friends while Mac, Mary Brooks and Chapman had whatever their hearts desired courtesy of Nana and Papa.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGNeCDWtS1lJaur0tDei4SylnveJdUsQiLzurz6p9g5ljgpVGOuNZsVK30UCKL81vPqdyLhZpBAhe5iYA4Dv9Imj6Br6k3Vs9S7d2_jlmGuEuyCdoO2Y2eialhdW8U5vGMddaqQYrZ3Y/s1600/144.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGNeCDWtS1lJaur0tDei4SylnveJdUsQiLzurz6p9g5ljgpVGOuNZsVK30UCKL81vPqdyLhZpBAhe5iYA4Dv9Imj6Br6k3Vs9S7d2_jlmGuEuyCdoO2Y2eialhdW8U5vGMddaqQYrZ3Y/s1600/144.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burning off a birthday-cake sugar high.</td></tr>
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Sunday morning we scooted back to Greenville for an early afternoon birthday party, after which we all collapsed into our beds.<br />
<br />
It was a fast, filled-to-the-brim weekend, and while B made me promise next weekend would be homebound, I know he'd do it all over again. Plus a few naps. Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-12370743127963614432014-10-06T17:20:00.000-04:002015-03-23T17:20:53.085-04:00Our First McWeekendOn October 5, our firstborn had his golden birthday: Mac is five whole years old! (Let's pretend I'm not writing this in 2015, shall we?)<br />
<br />
To celebrate, Bradley and I decided to give him a whole weekend as an only child, doing all his favorite things with us. Two weeks before the big day, my parents happily took the little two to Columbia, and we had Mac help us set up the agenda for his first "McWeekend."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEpLx-4bzf8_wpujZE1jeabk4eYynXeOxQzhv055f1mZNj4FdpGEWSWZqNpKeWKjKaHSLF5P_mmnV6sbbBnrLLoVRLSSTnB_iQms1276nS6J_i7rNDV7c7VcmOTySaU_hpYOgZ4AlRIA/s1600/025.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEpLx-4bzf8_wpujZE1jeabk4eYynXeOxQzhv055f1mZNj4FdpGEWSWZqNpKeWKjKaHSLF5P_mmnV6sbbBnrLLoVRLSSTnB_iQms1276nS6J_i7rNDV7c7VcmOTySaU_hpYOgZ4AlRIA/s1600/025.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></center>
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That Friday evening we had friends over for a double date (plus Mac) at home; they brought a takeout supper and, to all of our great amusement, watched Mac inhale half a pizza all by himself.<br />
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Saturday morning we slept in, and Mac requested his dad's homemade blueberry oatmeal for breakfast. Next up we took our first two boys, Blue and Mac, on an "almost 100 minutes" hike in Paris Mountain State Park.<br />
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Mac was so proud to walk close to the water, climb tricky rocks and handle other "big kid" issues he couldn't have if our younger two were with us.<br />
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After our hike, Mac picked Sonic (yes, Sonic) to try for lunch. He picked out a slushie with his kids' meal and beamed at every nibble of tater tots. How did he live five years without tater tots?<br />
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That evening, we went to watch the Clemson-FSU game with friends, and they had a giant cupcake ready as an early birthday surprise. He felt so grown-up! <br />
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I expected the post-dinner kickoff time to wear Mac out, but I was dead wrong; he stayed up for every last minute of the game - even overtime. I only wish we'd pulled out a W! <br />
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Mac finally crashed when we tucked him in at 12:45am, and he stayed in bed until 10:30 Sunday morning. I don't blame the boy! <br />
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The sweetest part of the weekend was reuniting all three siblings. As much as he reveled in his time as an only child, Mac was so excited to see Mary Brooks and Chapman again. (The little kids loved their time away, too!) <br />
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I'm pretending this post was written last fall, but it's actually early spring - and Mac hasn't stopped asking for another McWeekend.<br />
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We hope to make this an annual tradition, and look forward to time with each of our little people around their birthdays. The one-on-one time with our biggest boy meant the world to all of us. Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-17697469535932399052014-08-28T15:17:00.003-04:002015-03-23T17:26:53.325-04:00And Then There Was You<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb2-qUoiJjUNrmHkSzD-Pk-yS2AO1BDJhEMDX0eSC0DIJqPBz1v6MrsQ-qxVHW5Wss1eqGIDj8nxq0OgA4rnSLQ98XbSV1bYXQrzNMxNxL3bUvAFnNetzAN3LzZjCI3_takjuZK6mFyI4/s1600/376.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb2-qUoiJjUNrmHkSzD-Pk-yS2AO1BDJhEMDX0eSC0DIJqPBz1v6MrsQ-qxVHW5Wss1eqGIDj8nxq0OgA4rnSLQ98XbSV1bYXQrzNMxNxL3bUvAFnNetzAN3LzZjCI3_takjuZK6mFyI4/s1600/376.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bradley and Chapman </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Six weeks ahead of Chapman's due date, he was trying his best to be born, regardless of our plans. That's some gumption.<br />
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Bradley sped back to the hospital after dropping Mac and Mary Brooks with a friend, placing a call en route to finalize the purchase of a suddenly-very-necessary SUV. The pieces of the puzzle we'd hoped to put together by Valentine's Day were sliding into place shortly after New Year's; it was miraculous and terrifying. <br />
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The doctor on call checked me before B made it up to my room, and it became abundantly clear that my hope of stopping Chapman was a fantasy.<br />
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My husband, in his infinitely calm and even-keeled wisdom, suggested we let go and enjoy the day. Now that we knew this was our son's birthday, we needed to make the most of it; there was no use fighting what was already happening. <br />
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It was a bit too sudden for me, though. At dawn I'd woken up in pain; by 8:30 I was at the doctor's office. Two short hours later I was gowned up, epiduraled (this is not a word, but can I get a hallelujah for medicine!) and wondering what on Earth had happened to my Monday.<br />
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I'd been pregnant for 12 of the last 13 months; it bent the boundaries of time for me. Only zoo animals carry babies that long, right? The entire year of 2013, save one very sad five weeks, I'd been growing someone. I was determined to meet this child, and not one minute before mid-February.<br />
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It raised the stakes physically and emotionally having <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/search/label/Miscarriage">lost our baby</a> only nine months before, just when I "should" have been out of the woods. With Chapman we never quite settled into the confidence of previous pregnancies, the giddy sureness that a big bow would be on our front door at 40 weeks.<br />
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There had been panicked phone calls, urgent ultrasounds, hospital rooms and steroid shots. Thank God no real problem could be pinpointed, but the symptoms were constant reminders, and fear nagged me. Chapman was the boy we promised ourselves we wouldn't lose. <br />
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I remember standing in our pitch-black sunroom at twelve weeks pregnant, begging Bradley to promise, despite the bleeding and the worry and the trip we were taking to the ER, that this was still our "take-home baby." This was the baby we wouldn't have to bid farewell to without ever meeting. <br />
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All eight months of Chapman's pregnancy I'd pictured that glorious moment just after delivery when I'd snuggle him on my chest, resplendent with hormones and happiness and the joy of taking part in a miracle. <br />
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He was coming, praise God, but I wouldn't get that moment. It's a lot to process in a few contraction-filled hours.<br />
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My parents flew up the interstate from Columbia, as they always do, and my in-laws retrieved Mac and Mary Brooks and treated them to a Chick-fil-A lunch at the hospital. By the time Mom and Dad made it into my room to say hello, I had to rush them right back out after the briefest of hugs; it was go time.<br />
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Everything led up to this. Despite my OB's objections, believing strongly that all was well with our boy, the NICU team began hurling facts and potentialities my way. They stayed in the corner - my doctor made sure of that - but I had to try my hardest not to focus on what they signified. <br />
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After one last statement of the obvious ("I'm not quite ready to meet
him; I really wasn't planning to do this today!"), Chapman was here in a
blink. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chapman Collins Smith, our take-home baby.</td></tr>
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He was pink, perfect, tiny and crying softly. He was <i>here</i>. <br />
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Our OB kept the NICU team at bay for a moment so I could see the son I'd carried so many (but not quite enough) weeks. I looked at him and my heart dropped. "Hello, my love!" I remember hearing the words leave my mouth as though I was a bystander; so much was happening at once.<br />
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Chapman was weighed quickly, and I was relieved to know he tipped the scales at 5 pounds and 7 ounces. Five pounds was some odd fixation of mine, as if somehow he'd be healthier, be safer if he crossed that arbitrary, invisible line.<br />
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As they wheeled him out, I whispered after him that I loved him, that I was sorry. Bradley and a small team of experts left with the newest, most scrumptious piece of my racing heart. <br />
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Little is as shockingly quiet as an empty delivery room. Our doctor kept me company until my parents returned, not 45 minutes after they'd first arrived.<br />
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Mac and Mary Brooks came in later with my in-laws, wide-eyed and laughing. It was such a happy occasion for them - waffle fries, grandparents and big sibling stickers! <br />
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Mac's discomfort with hospitals goes back to his <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html">earliest memories</a>, so I'd prepared him thoroughly for a typical birth. I'd stay in the hospital a day or two, and his brother would be a in a "clear box on wheels" beside my bed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg120icrJwW2e0IiYgNTjdNANnoOp1Ap4svauwhxEXYh-d7xz8HSojt5h01Jo5qjeErDAx_XnJb3k1oo2WQXFDGcpl7oP3qlJM3h4QzVzMr-86Zj87RB0EdtWvLBdlzkcg_J9DNN5pbqm8/s1600/413.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg120icrJwW2e0IiYgNTjdNANnoOp1Ap4svauwhxEXYh-d7xz8HSojt5h01Jo5qjeErDAx_XnJb3k1oo2WQXFDGcpl7oP3qlJM3h4QzVzMr-86Zj87RB0EdtWvLBdlzkcg_J9DNN5pbqm8/s1600/413.PNG" height="319" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary Brooks was giddy, but Mac wasn't buying it.</td></tr>
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He entered exuberantly, rushing to my bedside before welling up. "Where's my baby?!?" Bradley had told them Chapman was arriving early, but the NICU hadn't crossed our minds. Mac dropped his head to the mattress and wept, splitting my heart even more.<br />
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I'm more than thankful I was able to hold it together that afternoon. The children were on my lap an hour after Chapman arrived, and I knew if I started crying I'd never stop. So I smiled. I took Bradley's advice and soaked up the gift of our growing family; I shoved aside the ache from an empty spot on my chest where a newborn should've been. <br />
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God gave us a beautiful, eager-to-be-here baby. His time in the NICU is another story, but I'm grateful for the perfect timing of Chapman's birth, even if it didn't seem that way to me at the time. <br />
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Seven-plus months later, it still twists my stomach to think about sending my sweet newborn away. A half-effective (but better than nothing!) epidural left one side of me numb for hours, which delayed our first NICU catch-up and snuggle session.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZV3wabTUxrA4H0FODMr4qMM-Ptkh8tbZuk6IA1Wpj2_QiMZM9OkYz6TGrvKLe3121ruKvLrTpmd5aIus8naoMi4wqW-I5_g7zMmS2agYbunxXR-ZN635UdW-urnR5MvPs2DR82pG_HI/s1600/410.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZV3wabTUxrA4H0FODMr4qMM-Ptkh8tbZuk6IA1Wpj2_QiMZM9OkYz6TGrvKLe3121ruKvLrTpmd5aIus8naoMi4wqW-I5_g7zMmS2agYbunxXR-ZN635UdW-urnR5MvPs2DR82pG_HI/s1600/410.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gussied up in my best robe for my first date with Chappers.</td></tr>
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It wasn't the dream sequence I'd played in my head for eight anxious months, but Chapman was our take-home baby, just as I'd fervently prayed. Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-59519939888579403872014-08-05T20:57:00.002-04:002014-08-05T20:57:46.412-04:00An Early Bird<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />On January 6 I woke up, as many pregnant women do, before dawn. Padding back and forth from the bathroom to my bed, it occurred to me that something baby-related was happening; I couldn't have guzzled enough La Croix the night before to require five ladies' room visits in a half-hour. <br /><br />At 34 weeks along, I chalked it up to our boy finally turning head-down. He'd struck a nerve, I told myself, and surely the discomfort would die down soon. This was a good thing, in the long run - a sign that his debut would be an easy one when the time came. <br /><br />Unfortunately, the pains didn't die down; they intensified. I pictured his head nuzzling into my lower back, convincing myself that whatever yoga poses he was doing in there would settle down shortly.<br />
<br />
Soon it felt like Chapman was burrowing down every few minutes, with a whole lot of purpose behind his movement. This was my third rodeo, but it was weeks too early for labor, and I clung to each shred of denial I could find.<br /><br />By 6:30 I knew I'd need to go into my OB's office as soon as it opened so they could make the pain stop. I showered, took deep breaths and rocked side to side to "calm" my little guy; I crawled in bed beside a just-stirring Mary Brooks to distract myself. Mac, attuned to anything out of the ordinary, gave me the side-eye immediately.<br /><br />"Why are you breathing like that, Mama? Are you feeling ok?" <br /><br />Welp. How do you answer that, exactly? <br /><br />I shimmied into my comfiest outfit, putting aside my feelings about leggings and long cardigans, and prayed for business hours to arrive quickly. <br /><br />Bradley packed up milk in sippy cups, baggies full of Cheerios and tiny boxes of raisins for a picnic in the car. I tried to quiet my huffing and puffing from the front seat so Mac and MB could enjoy their early morning drive en famille in peace. <br /><br />I waddled into the OB's office, asking the receptionist to work me in and, after a moment or two, returning with tears in my eyes. It was okay if they were too busy to see me so early, I said; just say the word and I'll head to the hospital instead. Someone had to make this baby stop hurting me - and stop trying to be born - but I didn't want to terrify every mother-to-be in that waiting room in the meantime. I was early enough that no doctors had arrived yet; every second felt longer.<br /><br />The OB nurse immediately came out, took my BP during a contraction and had a near conniption fit. Obviously my body was telling me something, so she scurried me into an exam room as I texted a friend, "Owowowowow." Watching videos of Mac and MB kept me distracted for a moment, and then I saw a white coat.<br /><br />The sweet doctor who delivered MB came to check on me; knowing my history, he told me to hurry to L&D and we'd develop a game plan there. I offered him, between contractions with a lovely nurse's fist pushing into my back for support, several options: I'd go on six weeks of bed rest, I'd sleep right until his due date, I'd stay at the hospital even. I just didn't want to have a baby today.<br /><br />He smiled knowingly, gave me a hug and reminded me that he'd be on duty Thursday. (It was Monday.) If I could wait until then, I joked, I'd wait until next month!<br /><br />Bradley whisked me to the hospital, kiddos in the back seat, and I gave them kisses before sidling up to the OB floor all by my lonesome. B was back in a flash, but not before the nurses helped me realize our son was coming <i>today</i>. Eep. Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-58658704357278160242014-07-02T16:53:00.000-04:002014-10-28T17:15:45.566-04:00Sending Love to the NICU<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhFJzzPoKWNtRjtDick1FxAhhSKs27TL4XUeEAxt2ZwuHqoVXPVX4CBhNEIJOe7tDNXoCEbDsDZNzL2QYJUqYAeQRAIDc2AZUnngVsuXXYijT5Vrh-10LYwwIyJ2ThvgwtPGM5C_kAJs/s1600/194.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhFJzzPoKWNtRjtDick1FxAhhSKs27TL4XUeEAxt2ZwuHqoVXPVX4CBhNEIJOe7tDNXoCEbDsDZNzL2QYJUqYAeQRAIDc2AZUnngVsuXXYijT5Vrh-10LYwwIyJ2ThvgwtPGM5C_kAJs/s1600/194.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chappers working on his tan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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Since Chapman came home from the NICU, I haven't given our time there much thought; there just hasn't been an opportunity. Real life takes over, other crises pop up, months fly by and you forget he was even early. Well, maybe not <i>forget</i>, but you gloss over the details a bit.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8_53zjnPlvTBcmcPRvK7WVhvvhv7nxeZPTdhIKoOnSNSmGRCvVVibgeAgheh3kHeVPkfQ4pipHIO3N3xmwaKvN5_01eg2pn6gtONeq0a2YIwcUqAZjJOQoL6YcVEm3o3eP3__lkxBGc/s1600/002.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8_53zjnPlvTBcmcPRvK7WVhvvhv7nxeZPTdhIKoOnSNSmGRCvVVibgeAgheh3kHeVPkfQ4pipHIO3N3xmwaKvN5_01eg2pn6gtONeq0a2YIwcUqAZjJOQoL6YcVEm3o3eP3__lkxBGc/s1600/002.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So, so very tired.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Recently, though, I've gotten questions from thoughtful people wanting to help NICU families in their lives. Remembering each round of our babies' hospitalizations and reliving those anxious days makes me want to throw my arms around every parent who's there; I'm more than happy to offer any ideas I can.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1CE8u6TdRJCTmMhqpHoc3Qs69oJ4lFOyq453yh8EUc-qD1u-HoStJucccxdLy3m_NIPYxGRs2hLTiAeXLCdUjZas6tmJfQJAvOecqCvrxJIGTkc_2vDpp4lzOrBlQPchil7_fjenaOb4/s1600/109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1CE8u6TdRJCTmMhqpHoc3Qs69oJ4lFOyq453yh8EUc-qD1u-HoStJucccxdLy3m_NIPYxGRs2hLTiAeXLCdUjZas6tmJfQJAvOecqCvrxJIGTkc_2vDpp4lzOrBlQPchil7_fjenaOb4/s1600/109.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Putting that new robe to good use.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It can be difficult to know what to do in a time of crisis, but I know firsthand how much those gestures mean. Here are a few things that may cheer up and provide help to families dealing with hospitalized babies:<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Unscented hand sanitizer</b>: After I'd "scrub up" to see Chapman in the NICU, I'd have to touch a telephone (to identify myself and get access) and several other surfaces between the door and his bassinet. I never felt clean or germ-free enough, especially in the dead of winter!</li>
<li><b>Unscented lotion</b>: After all that washing and cold weather, my hands were a mess; I applied lotion on my way out of the hospital from time to time. Many preemies can't tolerate scents, so I tried not to use strong-smelling products of any kind as a courtesy for Chapman's little neighbors. </li>
<li><b>Jewelry pouch</b>: We had to take off all jewelry below the elbow when we scrubbed up, and all cell phones (hello, germ-carriers!) had to be put away as well. Something pretty to hold the essentials would be practical and easy to reuse later.</li>
<li><b>A robe</b>: If mom is staying in the hospital, which I was only able to do for 48 hours, she'll be padding back and forth from her room to the NICU floor, pumping in between and giving little thought to her appearance. A cute robe she can toss over herself on the way would come in very handy! Ask if she needs slippers or if you can grab her favorite flats from home, too. </li>
<li><b>Preemie-sized clothes</b>: The NICU has basics babies can use, but there's a sense of home in allowing your newborn to wear his own things when he is big/strong enough to do so. Chapman was born during the "polar vortex," and he required several layers beneath his swaddle; hats and simple onesies or sleepers give parents an opportunity to dress baby (if that's possible) and have some sense of normalcy in that sterile environment.</li>
<li><b>Anything personalized</b>: These babies are entirely isolated; they haven't met many of their friends or family members yet. In the cocoon of the NICU, personalized things (blankets, caps, signs) are a powerful reminder that people in the "real" world know and love you already.</li>
<li><b>Books</b>: Reading to even the newest baby benefits everyone, and books are something that can be used at home after discharge. A thoughtful friend sent us this NICU <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Littlest-Peanut-Milestone-Babybook/dp/1612540236/ref=sr_1_fkmr1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1404269998&sr=8-1-fkmr1&keywords=peanut+nicu+scrapbook">scrapbook</a>, <i>The Littlest Peanut</i>; I love the specific memories it captures for preemies staying in the hospital for a while.</li>
<li><b>Photo books</b>: Babies attend to faces more than anything else, and showing them pictures of the ones who love them is a great idea! Mac had something like this as a baby, and it would be wonderful for families who are separated. </li>
<li><b>Snacks</b>: Pre-packaged snacks and drinks are a lifesaver! Granola bars and water bottles kept me going as I shuttled back and forth between Chapman and home. For moms who are rooming in, Kashi frozen meals or something similar might be helpful. Just ask! </li>
<li><b>Gift cards</b>: For parents who are spending a lot of time away from home, gift cards for Starbucks, restaurants, hospital food courts and gas could be a lifesaver. Take a look and see what's near their hospital.</li>
<li><b>Your presence, but no pressure</b>: My friends did a tremendous job each time we were in the hospital of letting me know I was in their thoughts. One text that stands out in my mind read, "I'm praying for y'all and I want you to know this won't last forever. Please don't respond." It's nice to know you're loved, but a flurry of communication can overwhelm you in a time where sleep, emotional stability and brain cells are hard to come by. Reach out, but don't expect reciprocation right away.</li>
<li><b>Errands</b>: If you live nearby, roll their trash cans in and out on the appropriate day. Mow the grass. Drop off groceries or stamps and stationery. Leave a note under their door. Take an older child to the park. Offer to bring in mail, walk the dog, handle email updates to friends. Anything that takes tasks off their plate gives parents more time to care for their preemie.</li>
</ul>
Memories of Chapman's time in the NICU seem like one long day: pump, feed, drive, sleep, repeat. It's stressful and all-consuming, but thoughtful friends are always a bright spot. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVprJD-PPeGbCGLose7DC8gbjsxipCg58SmSpDAVgADPlUIImfEl13vMBGFSa61G53FsqZzaNqH1uJsj7860y91PCIsi6hYF-uAWcgC5M5CDVwn-8gUoBtjX4nXsKj8e0tIXKI73rgd8/s1600/159.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVprJD-PPeGbCGLose7DC8gbjsxipCg58SmSpDAVgADPlUIImfEl13vMBGFSa61G53FsqZzaNqH1uJsj7860y91PCIsi6hYF-uAWcgC5M5CDVwn-8gUoBtjX4nXsKj8e0tIXKI73rgd8/s1600/159.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seeing this still gives me a lump in my throat. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<center>
</center>
<br />
I'm thinking of NICU and Children's Hospital moms today, as always. I'll never take for granted my messy house filled with my laughing, loud, healthy children. Our motto is, "The worst day at home beats the best day in the hospital," and it's the absolute truth.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpduflMTZmYbBK0rdsYqnCAo6LyINZKEzFfX5TgyiAsAeJwQpbUwFCXAOz_yckcxqVnIG3IUXAYY5Vr_aaitrs3A_0fNUZHJh9cWENLoU-fWdVQKgNCob7JJVaZ2CE86rKRDehr6Vs1M/s1600/116.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpduflMTZmYbBK0rdsYqnCAo6LyINZKEzFfX5TgyiAsAeJwQpbUwFCXAOz_yckcxqVnIG3IUXAYY5Vr_aaitrs3A_0fNUZHJh9cWENLoU-fWdVQKgNCob7JJVaZ2CE86rKRDehr6Vs1M/s1600/116.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're busting you out soon, little buddy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I'd love to hear your suggestions if you've been in the same boat. What helped you? Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-2641907142098552972014-06-17T14:39:00.001-04:002014-10-28T17:17:36.467-04:00Captain May BooMary Brooks got into costume, shuffled down the hall in Mac's way-too-big "pirate boots," and charmed the pants off me yesterday. So glad I got this on video!<br />
<br />
"Got my hat, got my patch, got my coat, got my pants, got my boots, got my sword."<br />
(Wow. What are you?)<br />
"I'm Captain May Boo!"<br />
<br />
<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="710" scrolling="no" src="//instagram.com/p/pUmz8tp-9M/embed/" width="612"></iframe>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-44719599552515606512014-05-01T16:21:00.003-04:002015-01-20T11:42:08.172-05:00May Boo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Mary Brooks was named, as you may know, after beloved members of our family. Mary is after my late aunt, and Haulbrooks is my mother-in-law's maiden name. Bradley's much-loved grandparents had five daughters, so there were no Haulbrooks boys running around with their last name; it meant the world to pass it on.<br />
<br />
Mary Brooks has always been her moniker; we knew while I was pregnant we'd shorten her name that way. What we didn't anticipate, though, was how many other nicknames would arise from it.<br />
<br />
When she first came home, "Mary Brooksie" was our pet name for that bundle of pink when she was unhappy.<br />
<br />
At one, as she learned to say her own name, Mary Brooks pronounced it
"May Boo" a few times. Precious as that sounded coming out of her
little mouth, it stuck right away. (It does get a lot of stares in public places. What kind of name <i>is</i> that?)<br />
<br />
When she started to get a little sass in her, MB shortened "Mary Brooksie" to just one word. "Brooksie do it!" or "No! Brooksie's turn!" is heard daily. <br />
<br />
Now that she's two, Mac has been teaching Mary Brooks everyone's whole names. (For ages, Jackson McNeal Smith thought his name was "Jackson Mackson Neal Smiff." He's quite motivated to ensure she learns her correct name early on.)<br />
<br />
Mary Brooks likes to tell people her "baby Chappers," aka Chapman Collins, is named "Chappin Cahns Smiff." She hasn't mastered Mac's full name, understandably, but is learning quickly that her name is Mary Haulbrooks - and she hears that occasionally from me when she sprints off in a parking lot. <br />
<br />
So this morning, her daily "interview" question for a keepsake book I've been doing with them lately was: "What are your nicknames?"<br />
<br />
Since she doesn't know what a nickname is, so Mac asked, "What do we call you?"<br />
<br />
She read the full litany:<br />
Mary Brooks<br />
Mary Brooksie<br />
Brooksie<br />
May Boo and, most adorably,<br />
"Mayra Haulboots" - the toddler version of her legal name.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wyJog0JiW5I7GYmPEQ4xzpM-pjOnSCWVf-Ggz0i5PTKePmHhKEzPUF2h72uRqgQsAL2TszWnRHVDp5QG0fhRfhKMp8OI0kcgIrir_dESb0Vc1_mxbtWXXvYJi4SkLCV8jaTZNgNppQY/s1600/015.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wyJog0JiW5I7GYmPEQ4xzpM-pjOnSCWVf-Ggz0i5PTKePmHhKEzPUF2h72uRqgQsAL2TszWnRHVDp5QG0fhRfhKMp8OI0kcgIrir_dESb0Vc1_mxbtWXXvYJi4SkLCV8jaTZNgNppQY/s1600/015.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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We always knew she would have a double name, but this poor child will never know what to write on her school papers. It comes from a place of love, May Boo! (Well, "Mary-Haulbrooks-Smith-there-are-cars-out-here" comes from a place of terror. The rest comes from love.)<br />
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<br />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-60231731434717711852014-04-22T17:30:00.002-04:002017-09-04T20:30:57.528-04:00The Laundry List<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Recently I caught up with a friend I haven't spoken to in a while. It's been a busy year or two for each of us, and I felt a catch in my throat at her simple, "What's been going on?" question.</div>
<br />
What <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/655324155866508975_22772554"><i>hasn't</i></a> gone on? Ardent list-maker that I am, the inventory is easy enough to trot out:<br />
<br />
1. <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-my-heart-grew.html">Had</a> Mary Brooks.<br />
2. <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html">Almost lost</a> Mary Brooks.<br />
3. Almost lost my mind.<br />
4. Finally <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/01/starting-anew-long-time-coming.html">came back to life</a> nine months later.<br />
5. Ran the Walt Disney World <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/03/hurricane-2013-mickey-131-miles-flu.html">half marathon for charity</a> and, decidedly un-pregnant, rode every rollercoaster on the property. Thanked God hourly for the chance to start fresh. <br />
6. Found out I was <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-big-surprise-bigger-loss.html">expecting</a>. (Surprise! And sorry for those loop-de-loops, baby.)<br />
7. <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-goodbye-before-hello.html">Lost</a> our baby at 15 weeks. Had surgery. Stayed in bed for approximately a century.<br />
7. Got, as we gallows humor-types like to say, <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/08/here-we-are.html">re-pregnant</a>.<br />
8. Thought I was <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/08/here-we-are.html">losing</a> <i>that</i> baby.<br />
9. Hospitalized more than once. On sporadic bed rest. Alternately terrified and in denial.<br />
10. Unexpectedly delivered our son <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/627549059282366455_22772554">six weeks early</a>.<br />
11. Endured a <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/629278173538283015_22772554">one-week</a> <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/660133443080285636_22772554">NICU</a> <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/632752521037213548_22772554">stay</a>.<br />
12. Survived a sinus infection/ear infection/<a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/642630013877218773_22772554">mastitis</a> combo. <br />
13. Thought that was the worst we'd handle this year.<br />
14. Back at the Children's Hospital with a preemie and his <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/663669140001123719_22772554">fractured skull</a>.*<br />
15. Earned ourselves a <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/664524489784552645_22772554">three-day vacation</a> right where we fought for MB two years before.<br />
16. Nearly <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/664041903266197288_22772554"><i>re</i>-lost</a> my mind.<br />
17. <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/664746299595681188_22772554">Ran out</a> of the hospital and swore we'd burn it down before we set foot there again.<br />
18. Came back with a baby who <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/665899961692974760_22772554">wasn't</a> gaining weight. <br />
19. Fielded daily questions as to why our newborn was "<a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/666024719923276926_22772554">insanely small</a>." (Y'all, please don't do that to a girl. No one's baby is insanely anything, besides cute.)<br />
20. Brought in a team of experts: a pediatrician, lactation consultants, occupational therapists, a hospital-grade scale and one manic mama.<br />
21. Took a deep breath. Began to enjoy what is, in truth, a beautiful, blessed life. And a sweet peanut who may just be <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/700806894698622340_22772554">getting the hang</a> of this weight gain thing. <br />
<br />
Amidst all that, we felt called to have Bradley leave his job* of nine years; it was slowly sucking the life out of our family and our marriage - the last thing we needed after MB's ordeal. Bradley's quitting was a tremendously brave act of obedience, one that both humbled and scared the pants off a planner like me. At every point, despite the stresses we encountered, our family saw absolute confirmation it was the right decision.<br />
<br />
One <a href="http://instagram.com/studio1810#">side business</a> and eighteen months(!) of a job search later, Bradley began a new full-time position just before Chapman was hospitalized. The pressure, waiting, healing, constant change - it was heavy and unrelenting. We were refined by fire once again, and no matter how I tried to look at it through a lens of faith and God's will, there were many nights I just wanted to opt out, to be passed over, to fast forward to the easy part.<br />
<br />
When you write it all out, that laundry list looks like a lot. (Maybe I've outlined a fabulous memoir in these bulletpoints?) I wonder, as people have often asked, how we did it. In each moment, though, you don't philosophize or quit - you can't. The only option is to push on through.<br />
<br />
You laugh with your husband the morning of your D&C, you shuttle yourself (and your milk supply) from home to NICU and back again, you remind yourself in the Children's Hospital that "this isn't <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html"><i>that</i></a>" and your son isn't fighting for his life - even if you're fighting for your sanity. You thank God for good sleep<i>, </i>sweet babies and a family who drops everything for you. <br />
<br />
You feel the promise of the Gospel and know <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2012/03/longest-week.html">without a doubt</a> that the Holy Spirit's presence in you is why you're still vertical, still putting one foot in front of the other. <br />
<br />
You wonder if you've gone through this particular whirlwind to carry other people who are fielding harder, even more painful fights. You wish you never knew about any of this and desperately want your white-picket-fence, never-had-a-panic-attack, "perfect" life back. <br />
<br />
You want your "what's new?" laundry list to be <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/631164241057410631_22772554">first movies</a>, <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/655103586285907824_22772554">snow days</a>, <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/653091095783665011_22772554">pigtails</a>, <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/648003761883049105_22772554">park trips</a>, <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/644947581166153299_22772554">holding hands</a>, post-bath <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/696617816960789565_22772554">snuggles</a> and <a href="http://web.stagram.com/p/644149221286997951_22772554">birthdays</a>. Your story is partly that, but the heart of the matter is a whole lot more.<br />
<br />
And when someone asks what you've been up to these last two years, you don't know how to tell her you're not the girl you were before. <br />
<br />
<i>"Two babies, six dozen new gray hairs and an extra-large SUV. That's what we've been up to."</i><br />
<br />
(What else can you say?) <br />
<br />
When you hang up, you ask God to use this laundry list of chaos, this hard-fought battle, this big, ugly scar on an otherwise-smooth history for His purpose. And you know, more deeply than you've ever known anything, that He's in this with you. <br />
<br />
What comes after this laundry list, Lord? (And, not to prove I haven't really learned my lesson, but can this season be finished? Please? I'd hate to see Bradley arrested for arson, and I'm pretty sure he's serious about burning that building down.)<br />
<br />
*These are stories for another day. Promise.Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-75460156521724990592014-04-07T21:50:00.000-04:002014-05-01T16:29:02.208-04:00Party of Five<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9liVSZJ-_y9w8VIb_g_V_A-R-LfoyzIvvfW9luY-bnCiwGUu28sc7JAf9p_wlgOwicPyeBcsmsWyvzG1dW9_upP9YOT3jUnLYqJCisBh9lBnhEhosXsdKouOXv0zX4tappIGlfbbJrh0/s1600/2014.03.31+smith-6531.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9liVSZJ-_y9w8VIb_g_V_A-R-LfoyzIvvfW9luY-bnCiwGUu28sc7JAf9p_wlgOwicPyeBcsmsWyvzG1dW9_upP9YOT3jUnLYqJCisBh9lBnhEhosXsdKouOXv0zX4tappIGlfbbJrh0/s1600/2014.03.31+smith-6531.jpg" height="234" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">First things first: meet our baby boy! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Our son, Chapman Collins Smith, was born nearly six weeks early on January 6, 2014. He was a healthy 5 lbs, 7 oz and transitioned home beautifully after a one-week stay in NICU.</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNNBnTdcRKDjqn-yA7kczBHLhE27QXkqkDbup16TvFSM3nNj3f0i3cFoePHT2e-t2gk4tlMD2Cnkt7w11iSEmb2AUbopqxBUai5z4d42LJTpuLNNpTdIA3KtX_5w1f6twJJhy6kVkiAM/s1600/2014.03.31+smith-6510.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNNBnTdcRKDjqn-yA7kczBHLhE27QXkqkDbup16TvFSM3nNj3f0i3cFoePHT2e-t2gk4tlMD2Cnkt7w11iSEmb2AUbopqxBUai5z4d42LJTpuLNNpTdIA3KtX_5w1f6twJJhy6kVkiAM/s1600/2014.03.31+smith-6510.jpg" height="234" width="320" /></a> </span></center>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Mac and Mary Brooks are utterly smitten, as are we all. His early arrival may have been unexpected, but we were grateful all the same; the months leading up to Chapman's birth were stressful and occasionally scary. Having him home and healthy now is such a gift!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />It's been a
minute since I've popped in, and in all my busyness, I find the everyday
details slipping away from me. The quirks and anecdotes and memories I
just "know" I'll treasure when I'm 80 are trickling out of my brain and
off to...wherever the rest of my brain cells have gone. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So
I'm back to update and record, and hopefully to encourage. It's been a tumultuous ride, these last two years, and you've all been on it with me;
I want to fill you in on how we got through (and are still walking
through) the unexpected. There's so very much to tell!</span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I promise to share details in the coming days, but most especially I promise to record the tiny, easily forgotten moments this blog has helped me preserve over the years. <br /><br />There are a million blessings and a few miracles mixed in there, too. I hope you'll forgive me if I shout them from the virtual rooftops here in our little corner of the internet. <br /><br />I look forward to catching up! xox</span>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-33192565431693509632013-10-01T15:42:00.001-04:002018-03-22T12:03:38.319-04:00On the Other Side<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdBXS_G1IOQGIAFMBaBzj51GRUkV1EPDA-BzU0BgASsQKt9MMM9oHDPyg42UErZmQDNU4VA_bb7D-O-EDDKW-idV9UAWUZVWvhHf2_BcDKez6LYsjUcFENdFG3-d5jqyXci0DrpTGH7o/s1600/crisp+in+fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdBXS_G1IOQGIAFMBaBzj51GRUkV1EPDA-BzU0BgASsQKt9MMM9oHDPyg42UErZmQDNU4VA_bb7D-O-EDDKW-idV9UAWUZVWvhHf2_BcDKez6LYsjUcFENdFG3-d5jqyXci0DrpTGH7o/s320/crisp+in+fall.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."<br />
-<i>The Great Gatsby</i><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mbbcxikJ3z1qzhokmo1_500.jpg">source</a>)</span> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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There have been so many balls in the air chez Smith - family, work, pregnancy, staying semi-sane, attempting to keep my children clothed despite their desires to the contrary - that I've neglected this little online scrapbook in an effort to keep juggling. <br />
<br />
I've been touched and taken aback by the response to our experiences in the last year and a half, though. People pull me aside at tailgates, after church services, by email or Facebook message and talk to me about transparency in the face of struggle. It's inspired me, loudmouth that I am, to keep talking. And to thank each of you who've shared your story with me.<br />
<br />
If you've landed here because you love us or you're curious about how we are, I'm happy to give you a peek into our lives besides, "We're great; how are y'all?" If you're reading because you've walked a similar path and want a window into how we're dealing with it, well, here it is. <br />
<br />
Last Friday, September 27th, was our due date for the baby <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-big-surprise-bigger-loss.html">we lost</a> in April. As it approached and friends who had been expecting alongside us began to deliver, the reality of what was missing felt weightier.<br />
<br />
When I stay in motion, I can glide through life without processing it; sometimes that's a valuable skill. There are times, though, when you've got to face facts, and last week was one of those times.<br />
<br />
Leading up to the due date that wasn't, I felt oddly empty - as if my arms should be holding something, someone. I don't know if it's biology, hormones or the fact that I've never carried a baby past 39 weeks, but my body <i>knew</i> it was time. I was waiting on a baby that wouldn't arrive; that made my heart ache. <br />
<br />
Thankfully, as with many things in life, anticipation was worst than reality. The days before I had flashes of what would have been, of a happy ending; on the due date itself I felt peace. I'd certainly never have chosen to lose our baby, but we see the Lord's hand in the way our lives are coming together in the wake of our loss.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK6BuF7nbX38RYWkmZsQlWi0rGV-WL6pziyWqIz-ivO5pafwcJGtokYLL-0Kz3UGMhp3thWl1DHLeM2rhYWszNjECnuiLsiK-XzGyJ2IELaXGtUcYrxYsQoOaUEBJ70d9-9g5t3aUOWm0/s1600/046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK6BuF7nbX38RYWkmZsQlWi0rGV-WL6pziyWqIz-ivO5pafwcJGtokYLL-0Kz3UGMhp3thWl1DHLeM2rhYWszNjECnuiLsiK-XzGyJ2IELaXGtUcYrxYsQoOaUEBJ70d9-9g5t3aUOWm0/s320/046.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Tiger fans</td></tr>
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<br />
Bradley and I spent the remainder of the weekend celebrating Clemson's Homecoming and eating far too much of his mom's fabulous cooking. I tried to focus on all I'm thankful for - our little family, the incredible support we've gotten, the opportunity to help others who are hurting. <br />
<br />
I can't ignore the fact that, unlike many friends of mine who've lost babies, I am expecting another. It made the day bittersweet, realizing our future valentine wouldn't be on the way if we hadn't lost our third child. <br />
<br />
Knowing I can't control the timing of any of this, the fact that it happened, the way it did - it could be paralyzing, but it's actually quite freeing. I have no hand in this; I'm along for the ride. I didn't create these lives, I can't control them and I believe the One who did has a plan far better than my own. (Even if there are spots that feel like nothing could be worse, in all honesty.)<br />
<br />
I'm praying the Lord uses all of this for His glory, that He lets our family be a testament to His faithfulness, to the power of hope. I don't take for granted the promise of a new life, the fact that we can dare again to love a little person we haven't met yet.<br />
<br />
I'm thankful we'll meet our third baby one day, that someone who is a part of us is already in heaven; it brings me great joy to imagine meeting the child we didn't get to hold here.<br />
<br />
I'd dreamed of late September for months, and dreaded it since I saw our still baby on an ultrasound screen. September 27th came and went, and we're still here. We're thankful, hopeful, moving on.<br />
<br />
We'll never forget this baby; I'll never wish I wasn't holding her, never stop imagining her face. <br />
<br />
The pain of the due date is behind me, though, even if the whole experience may never quite be. I'm on the other side, and it's not as scary as I imagined.<br />
<br />
If you're <i>not</i> on the other side - if you're right dab smack in the middle of the <i>not </i>peaceful, not healing, not putting one foot in front of the other, flat out wretched and absolutely not okay part - my prayers are with you. These verses were shared by a wise friend who's been there, too:<br />
<br />
<i>"Though the fig tree does not bud,</i><br />
<i>and there are no grapes on the vines,</i><br />
<i>though the olive crop<span class="text Hab-3-17"> fails and the fields produce no food,</span></i><br />
<i><span class="text Hab-3-17">though there are no sheep in the pen</span></i><br />
<i><span class="indent-1">and no cattle in the stalls,</span></i><br />
<i><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Hab-3-17">yet I will rejoice in the Lord. </span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Hab-3-17">I will be joyful in God my Savior."</span></span><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Hab-3-17"></span></span></i><br />
<span class="text Hab-3-18" id="en-NIV-22787"><sup class="versenum">-Habakkuk 3:17-18</sup></span>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-45389377484796729362013-08-14T16:00:00.002-04:002013-10-01T20:15:13.126-04:00Here We Are<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNupzQnJF-VzgBEH6DkYGkEQCU6sPwhyphenhyphenWfxKZUPxHXD2DM858EL81oqk0k6r3qOQhxiqOWWHIJ6CP6nCu9J0FNuVgTdZ7DxwRJPle66NwDdMx7Yz3fFuJMw5Q3wmHT2ilZyV4ACtI2d9M/s400/Arrow+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNupzQnJF-VzgBEH6DkYGkEQCU6sPwhyphenhyphenWfxKZUPxHXD2DM858EL81oqk0k6r3qOQhxiqOWWHIJ6CP6nCu9J0FNuVgTdZ7DxwRJPle66NwDdMx7Yz3fFuJMw5Q3wmHT2ilZyV4ACtI2d9M/s400/Arrow+2.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(<a href="http://melissamaygrove.blogspot.com/2012/02/you-are-here.html">source</a>)</span></td></tr>
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I'm a talker; I narrate my way through life. I'm never at a loss for words, but I'm still terrified to type this. It doesn't make any sense, but my heart is pounding all the same.<br />
<br />
I've been silent for three-plus months, and it's time now to say what I've been too hesitant to vocalize. It's especially time to absorb and be fully grateful for what's going on in our lives.<br />
<br />
<i>We're having a baby.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlgMrMvEUdTxWa2THT19LEX3oiAuvWWQTWF9X2xfrEaSnlSMwmDYpVmZXMrbW-XWE1Amf8WK8IQCtztHIlB2gCFl72ydZ9Rx6uL_ksrSFaqz7aVPXRxKG0AoI0iU-U3iHh4Krf2msqE8/s1600/048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlgMrMvEUdTxWa2THT19LEX3oiAuvWWQTWF9X2xfrEaSnlSMwmDYpVmZXMrbW-XWE1Amf8WK8IQCtztHIlB2gCFl72ydZ9Rx6uL_ksrSFaqz7aVPXRxKG0AoI0iU-U3iHh4Krf2msqE8/s320/048.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Thumbsucker at 12 weeks</td></tr>
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<br />
I'm fighting the urge to follow that sentence up with: "It looks like we could have a baby in February." or "All signs point to a new member of our family in 2014." or "We <i>might</i> hold a second baby valentine in our arms six months from now."or "Mary Brooks could have a new sibling at her second birthday party." It feels more like a possibility than a fact.<br />
<br />
I'm not at a point where I can accept congratulations graciously or process the magnitude of the gift we've been given. I know it's tremendous, and I'm beyond joyful <i>in theory</i>, even if it hasn't gotten down into my bones just yet. <br />
<br />
But I <i>am </i>pregnant - 14 weeks along, to be exact. Our baby looks strong and healthy, and is by far the most active little Smith I've seen yet.<br />
<br />
I'd be overcome with sheer gratitude and exhilaration if there wasn't a literal and figurative gray cloud hanging over me (and my insides).<br />
<br />
I have had an implantation bleed for the last three weeks. A middle of the night scare that looked something like a Law & Order crime scene led me to a disastrous early morning ER visit; I felt certain this must be what a loss looked like. (With our <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-big-surprise-bigger-loss.html">third baby</a>, I never had any signs of what was to come, so these symptoms were all new to me. And I still can't quite bring myself to say the "m" word.)<br />
<br />
Praise God, baby looked beautiful and removed from the bleeding I was experiencing, and what I continue to have. Everything baby-wise looks perfectly positive.<br />
<br />
At the start of my second trimester, we're in a safer spot developmentally for baby, but my body still needs to get it together. This large bleed could pose a threat as things progress; it really needs to go away. As it stands, my symptoms could continue for weeks, and I'm okay with it being a nuisance or an unsettling factor to me - that's no problem. <br />
<br />
The crucial aspect is that it decreases in size quickly, that it doesn't "take over" the space and resources baby needs. I can't think about or discuss what happens if that's not the case.<br />
<br />
I believe in my heart that this is our "take home" baby, that it will be in our arms and in our home come 2014. It's difficult, though, to remind myself of that sometimes given what we've been through - and given the crazy things I hear on occasion from otherwise well-meaning folks. (That's a whole separate post altogether. Grieving mamas and pregnant ladies should be given earmuffs, y'all.)<br />
<br />
While I am excited, I am also fighting a kernel of anxiety that threatens to suck the joy right out of this experience. I'd love your prayers for my peace of mind, for my body's cooperation, for the doctors' wisdom and for this "gray area" to just disappear. <br />
<br />
Once this lifts, we'll be in the clear as far as anyone can tell. In the meantime, we have more pictures of our unborn bean than my parents likely have of themselves throughout their entire childhoods. That's the silver lining, I suppose, watching every last miraculous development week by week.<br />
<br />
We're glad for the reassurance that baby is thriving, but oh how I'd love this scary part to be over.<br />
<br />
So there it is, all the stuff I haven't been saying. It felt very personal, like both a vulnerability and a TMI situation I did not care to share with the world.<br />
<br />
But I needed to. I'm making my pride a concern here, wanting to maintain some level of Mary Poppins perfection and cheer when the truth is, life brings with it some less than perfect moments. Even in those, we rejoice - but we do need each other.<br />
<br />
Each of you played a role in my healing <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-big-surprise-bigger-loss.html">earlier</a> this year (and <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html">last year</a> with Mary Brooks), so I hesitate to ask for one more thing from you. But if it crosses your mind, your prayers for our little peanut would mean everything.<br />
<br />
xox,<br />
The Mouth of the South, once again unmuzzledAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-12380308600191336212013-05-21T11:48:00.001-04:002013-05-21T12:03:31.052-04:00The Last Month<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Pretty much. </div>
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I've been in full on turtle mode: pulling my head back into my <strike>covers</strike> shell when my to do list gets too long, pretending I can press "pause" on life. (The bad news: your tasks wait for you. Time keeps passing even if you're horizontal, Anne.)</div>
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It's been work <strike>from bed</strike>, wrangle a teething toddler, feed a giggling three-year-old, make the simplest supper possible, sleep, rinse, repeat. God bless Bradley.</div>
<br />
Back tomorrow to regale you with royal gossip, life updates, red carpet chit-chat and other generally deep thoughts. <br />
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<br />
Thanks for the prayers and love! Hopefully my super artistic shots on <a href="http://instagram.com/annesmithsc">Instagram</a> have shown I'm alive and well - just napping. </div>
Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-59150273844313096162013-04-17T01:16:00.000-04:002017-04-02T16:12:27.309-04:00Goodbye Before Hello<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our little bean.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s been two weeks since we <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-big-surprise-bigger-loss.html">lost our third bab</a></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-big-surprise-bigger-loss.html">y</a>, fourteen of the fastest days in our marriage. (We wish we’d
experienced this sensation of time hurtling past us when Mary Brooks was <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html">hospitalized</a>. Where's the fast forward button when you need it?)<br />
<br />
I spent that Tuesday, the morning I saw our baby without a heartbeat, alternating between fog and clarity.
I held myself together at the doctor and called Bradley from the parking lot, losing myself at the sound of his voice and breaking the news between sobs. I kept telling him how sorry I was. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He thought I believed I'd done something wrong; he wanted me to stop apologizing. That wasn't it - it really just broke my heart to break that news to him: Bradley, you lost <i>your</i> baby, too. I doubled over at the pain of hurting my husband that way; I didn't want him to feel what I was feeling.<br /><br />I got home and went straight to bed in crisis mode, propping myself up to text, email and make all the necessary calls. I felt compelled to spread the news, respond to loved ones and rest in between as I could.<br /><br />Then I needed to be up, to be busy and out of my usual space. I had no idea what to do with myself; I wasn't pregnant anymore.<br /><br />I left the house to grab lunch, call clients and speak with a poise that escapes me even when I'm trying my hardest. Thank you, Lord, for moments when I'm outside myself. And for their kind, caring, far-beyond-professional reactions at the news I'd be out of pocket - and why.<br /><br />I called my OB to schedule the surgery and praised God that our favorite doctor was on call to do it. She's yet to deliver one of our children, but at this point an orderly could catch my newborn and I wouldn't care - it's such a happy time. This was something I was both heartbroken about and terrified to have done; I needed her in that OR, and I'm tremendously relieved she was able to take care of me that day.<br /><br />That night I barely slept; I stared at the clock, continually swallowing a growing lump in my throat, fighting back fears of a surgery I never wanted to have.<br /><br />I've never been under that kind of anesthesia, never been intubated, never been in a hospital gown except to welcome a perfect, crying baby into my arms. <br /><br />The surgery itself was much easier than I anticipated, and the compassion and care we received was <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">unparalleled</span>. Our doctor teared up over us before she took me back; I knew she felt this, too. I'm not sure how Bradley managed to stare at the walls for the hour I was gone, but he did. I'd have crawled out of my skin.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I came home and slept all day Wednesday and most of Thursday, making up for lost time and avoiding the "what do I do with myself now?" thoughts that were all I could manage when I was awake.<br /><br />The house was too quiet with Mac and Mary Brooks gone, which made my waking hours difficult, but I was glad for the time to focus on me. To sleep and be waited on hand and foot by a man who has been far too good to me since the day we <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2012/02/my-everyday-valentine.html">met</a>. We did little but talk and rest that day, skating by on the bare minimum of activities, save a mall walk (senior citizen style) to fend off cabin fever on Friday.<br /><br />That Saturday we went to a gorgeous wedding out of town that reunited us with friends we hadn't seen in a while. It was a last-minute decision, putting on my gold wedges and choosing to dance (er, sip and chat) the night away. I'm so glad we did. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9nYPL5dzuw8R6af7ycuzbUnd_rAD6ylN7Dcp1dhA6VeI3nendRs8uBe9vAXsrLUjMqCttTQoZIxIVwezMaPDJr0UmAzxwRjOOGXw4fITDwLLOZCu5v8foqaEO7D_BeaxatEZrdUC190/s1600/040.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9nYPL5dzuw8R6af7ycuzbUnd_rAD6ylN7Dcp1dhA6VeI3nendRs8uBe9vAXsrLUjMqCttTQoZIxIVwezMaPDJr0UmAzxwRjOOGXw4fITDwLLOZCu5v8foqaEO7D_BeaxatEZrdUC190/s320/040.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorority squat, anyone?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As for Bradley? </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our loss is the same, but we're dealing with it differently - just as we did with Mary Brooks. This time around, I'm not letting that make me feel crazy or too emotional or hypersensitive. Bradley stays busy to process things, and I just process them. Full time.</span></span><br />
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<br />
</span></span></center>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">
<br />We're both okay, though, and I wouldn't be standing if he wasn't right here with me. I wouldn't be standing without my faith, my family, and the knowledge that I've lived through something agonizing and survived to see the other side. I can do this.<br />
<br />
The searing pain in Mary Brooks' situation (my euphemism for what we lived through last year) was watching her suffer and feeling I should do more, do <i>something</i> to help. It felt like dying, watching her hurt.<br />
<br />
This baby didn't suffer. <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">She</span> was a delight to us from the moment we knew <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">she</span> was coming, even in my sickest moments. I felt thankful all the way through, and I am filled to my brim with joy at that knowledge. This baby has brought me happiness, even though I won't see <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">her </span>sweet face in our nursery.<br />
<br />
What we're working through is sadness for US, not our child. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Our baby is healed, whole and healthy. God answered the prayers we all have for our babies: take care of them, keep them safe, make them healthy, let them know they're loved. He's answered each of those, just not in the way I wanted. His ways aren't mine, but they're perfect; I'm at peace with that right now.<br />
<br />
People ask how I am, and I don't know if anyone believes I really am well. As well as a girl can be in this situation, truly. I haven't cried since the day of the surgery, which is a small miracle given my overactive tear ducts. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My heart is mending; it's focused on the many splendid parts of my life. Working in yoga pants, laughing with my husband, enjoying long overdue spring weather, kissing my newly<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">-</span>chubby daughter's cheeks, giggling as Mac tells me I'm the "sweetest sweetheart" he "ever had." <br /><br />My heart is full. I am trying so hard to be in THIS moment, in THIS day. Not reliving the blank faces and sad eyes in an ultrasound room, not wondering when our baby stopped growing or if I should have noticed at the time.<br /><br />My heart is with our two children here, soaking up the moments I might have glossed over or even been exhausted by a few weeks ago. It's with the baby I won't meet on this Earth; I wonder what our family would have been like with that addition.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
cringe opening Mary Brooks' closet door, seeing the dresses I left
without monograms, hoping they might be reused by a baby sister sometime
next year. (Cue Bradley's logic: "Aren't they just as pretty without
monograms? Do we have to put her initials on EVERYthing?" God bless that
man.)</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOV-O4ERWOmZ9A5ZRcOxEW41lNRPZzQ6bLZI3bOBP37USDQjTzgyBtYeBSkYW5CILNOlORxgIrIQMXT9puHgKbt6TX4Lp-cHbWBUxrMfsDBsdtNJbxJkHTQ0ipBKFeL-7XY4h-mPY-Gb4/s1600/154.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOV-O4ERWOmZ9A5ZRcOxEW41lNRPZzQ6bLZI3bOBP37USDQjTzgyBtYeBSkYW5CILNOlORxgIrIQMXT9puHgKbt6TX4Lp-cHbWBUxrMfsDBsdtNJbxJkHTQ0ipBKFeL-7XY4h-mPY-Gb4/s320/154.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my sweetest blessings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I'm startled by pregnant bellies on Facebook and Instagram, by girls who were due when I was or even later. I scroll quickly past those pictures, wishing them well but knowing it's best for me not to linger on what <i>others</i> have right now. I have been given so much, and I need to count my own blessings.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The thing is - other people having babies has nothing to do with my loss. It's wonderful for each and every family, and we are excited for them. That spot is a bit raw for me, though, so I'm giving myself breathing room and avoiding things that cue unnecessary sadness.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrcF8jkHoL5kmjg_4PyQIir7qoGDC9DeJ7oY8QTSldD_7vM_htwknlAY4KJmCj1Tqwogz6imFCRsRCD5sFf535E8FNxmR5ypZKLVmXIp9R1wM0ziJAzLIBeNC9meONT0I1lxM8j_wLaY/s1600/204.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKrcF8jkHoL5kmjg_4PyQIir7qoGDC9DeJ7oY8QTSldD_7vM_htwknlAY4KJmCj1Tqwogz6imFCRsRCD5sFf535E8FNxmR5ypZKLVmXIp9R1wM0ziJAzLIBeNC9meONT0I1lxM8j_wLaY/s320/204.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The other</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Happiness (and pregnancy, for that matter) is not a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zero%E2%80%93sum_game">zero-sum game</a>. Someone else having a beautiful experience does not take away my opportunity to do so - and boy, am I thankful for that. I am so giddy for others' happy news, but I'm in a spot where joy and gratitude mix with sadness - that earns me a bit of grace.<br /><br />I lost a baby. That's so bizarre to say, even now. It feels foreign, surreal, impossible. Empty, sometimes. I was pregnant, and then I wasn't. How could a life change so much that quickly?</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But I did lose a baby, and I've got to treat myself with kid gloves, if just for</span> a moment. Not opening MB's closet or commenting on Instagram gender announcement doesn't hurt anyone - but it might spare me a wince or two in a delicate time.<br />
<br />
I have received support and sympathy from our loved ones, and also from a variety of unexpected sources. The further I get into this, the more I realize I've joined a club no one wants to be a member of - but many are. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My experience, though my own, isn't entirely unique. The emptiness isn't unfamiliar to people who've gone before us. I'm both comforted and saddened by that - I want to make <i>everyone</i>'s time in this space easier. <br />
<br />
I've learned to show grace to people who mean well but express it poorly, even using words that hurt or sting or confound. I've learned there's no sliding scale for grief. <br />
<br />
If never becoming pregnant is the worse thing that's ever happened to you, your loss is the same as mine. If you lost a baby the very day you discovered you were carrying it, your hurt is no less deep than this. There's no degree of grief that doesn't hurt, and categorizing losses by how far along or how deeply felt does no one any good. <br />
<br />
If you've ever been here, I'm so sorry. I hope you never have to return. I hope <i>none</i> of us ever has to return.<br />
<br />
I thank you for your prayers, your advice, your encouragement - and I apologize for not having had the time to respond. <br />
<br />
I've devoted myself to resting, recuperating and working my way through this. There's no time left to spare to denial or "powering through" sadness; I <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/01/starting-anew-long-time-coming.html">lost nine months of memories</a> to that and I just can't do it again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I'm feeling what comes my way, moment by moment. Mostly I'm feeling grateful, loved and ready to get back to "normal," whatever that is. But if I have sad spots, I feel those, too. (How New Age-y am I sounding right now?)<br />
<br />
I sure wish this hadn't happened. <strike>Or that it had happened far, far sooner than it did.<strike> </strike></strike></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But it did, and I'm here. I'm swimming along, pushing my way through this and hoping I can be the shoulder or ear to someone who joins this unfortunate club one day, should she need me. So many of you have been there for me; it's remarkable the bond that forms between two people who've hurt the same way.<br />
<br />
Turns out there are no free passes for crappy things, even if feel you just put one behind you. This world is broken and this life is not easy, but we aren't alone. You've been the Lord's arms and shoulders (and bread and wine and flowers and cookies) these last two weeks; I'll never be able to repay you for that.<br /><br />I awoke the day after surgery believing all this was a bad dream. It isn't, but what I'm waking up to is still beautiful. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">God is good; I am carried and being made whole. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span>
<br />
This is what grief looks like when you stare it in the face; this is a do over in which I let the Lord in right where I am. I'm sad. I'm thankful. <br /><br />I'm at peace. Truly, and in a way I <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Philippians%204:7&version=NIV">can't explain</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It's bittersweet, but I'm not going to fight it this time. There's too much wonder here to waste. <br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1TjOY6477TNDhgMEcDs1nlcCPAaRoRTMNdNQHb9KrvD1rJBtzmWBoPMlSVO00leB8U4DUYDZgeFRE7oNe07FzZXCJuhucRX3QgHwSj8o0XyAP6gIFTV7q3_C_1EDRBHsi_c-_JgEJqVE/s1600/4+034.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1TjOY6477TNDhgMEcDs1nlcCPAaRoRTMNdNQHb9KrvD1rJBtzmWBoPMlSVO00leB8U4DUYDZgeFRE7oNe07FzZXCJuhucRX3QgHwSj8o0XyAP6gIFTV7q3_C_1EDRBHsi_c-_JgEJqVE/s320/4+034.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My loves.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>"I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord."</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">-Psalm 27:13-14</span></span>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-22349324361739469432013-04-02T15:29:00.000-04:002018-03-22T11:38:15.952-04:00A Big Surprise, A Bigger LossAfter <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html">last year</a>, my prayer for 2013 was that it would be boring. Uneventful. Nothing to report. <br />
<br />
That wasn't to be the case at all - in wonderful (and not so wonderful) ways. <br />
<br />
As I rounded the corner in my <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2013/03/hurricane-2013-mickey-131-miles-flu.html">post-race</a> recovery and fended off the flu, Bradley and I got a pretty big surprise: two pink lines. A very unexpected, wholly undeserved blessing. <br />
<br />
Mary Brooks was only 11 months old at the time; after running the numbers we realized our third (third!) baby would be born just eight months later. Whew. <br />
<br />
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<br />
The day before MB turned one, we heard a gorgeous, perfect, super fast heartbeat and confirmed we'd be meeting the third baby Smith in late September.<br />
<br />
By then Mac would have been a week or two shy of four years old; for a brief moment we'd have three under four this coming fall. We were overwhelmed, overcome with gratitude and excited beyond words.<br />
<br />
It felt like getting away with a bank heist, like winning the lottery. We got something wonderful for nothing! My heart had healed just in time, and we were wide open to the joy a new life would bring.<br />
<br />
We celebrated Mary Brooksie's first birthday knowing she'd be a big sister this time next year. We giggled and dreamed and joked.<br />
<br />
I went back a month ago, at just over 11 weeks, to hear that tiny heartbeat again and be reassured it was safe to tell the world. A veil of cautious optimism lifted, and it felt safe to set things in stone. <br />
<br />
There were plans for an SUV, as our Altima couldn't squeeze in another car seat if it tried. There was talk of sharing rooms.<br />
<br />
A date the week of Mother's Day was circled, and we hoped to confirm baby's gender by then. What an unforeseen gift.<br />
<br />
This morning I got a peek at my tiniest baby, just about of four months along, and saw that she no longer had a heartbeat. Our little bean, our third child, was gone.<br />
<br />
There will be no baby in September.<br />
<br />
There will be no SUV for now, no moving Mary Brooks into her big brother's room as he has fervently requested for months. <br />
<br />
Tomorrow morning I will go into the hospital for a procedure to do what my body has not yet done itself.<br />
<br />
I'm sad. I feel guilty for being embarrassed at first about our tremendous blessing, at how close our babies would be in age. For putting off telling clients and the "world." For worrying about insurance and paperwork and the lack of sleep to come.<br />
<br />
I'd do anything to give this baby a heartbeat back, to fill that empty third car seat in my mind. <br />
<br />
The moment we found out two and a half months ago, we added a fifth member to our family. We planned names, we envisioned three Smiths growing up, we laughed at how we never saw this coming - the unanticipated joy of a new baby so soon.<br />
<br />
I never saw <i>this</i> coming either, but I'm thankful all the same. Thankful for the time we had dreaming about this baby and the blessing she was to us. For a life that now turns our hearts heavenward; we know that's where this child is.<br />
<br />
I know there's a plan here, that a God who works miracles (and we are living proof) didn't create this child - the one we didn't even think to pray for - for no reason.<br />
<br />
We are sad and shocked, but we are held. <br />
<br />
This morning, amidst the flood of emotions, I was terrified - my heart had just mended. I didn't want to spend another year as a zombie, muddling through a field of heartache to get to the other side. <br />
<br />
The post I had written for today was about <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Joel%202:25&version=NIV">Joel 2:25</a>, how the Lord had restored my wasted year. How He had healed me, brought beauty from ashes. I'll post it another day, and I'll add a new chapter.<br />
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I know the Lord will do that again, that He'll heal us and make something glorious out of what we're living. Out of what feels wretched and aching and awful this minute.<br />
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I'm asking for His peace in the meantime - and your prayers. <br />
<br />
xoxoAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-52397463591623988132013-03-19T22:16:00.000-04:002013-03-19T22:19:06.393-04:00A Birthday and a ReBirthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Just over a month ago, our valentine turned one year old. And, as I did with <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2010_10_01_archive.html">Mac</a>, I looked back and wondered how twelve months had rushed past me in an (insanely emotional hurricane of a) blur. <br />
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Unlike my first go-round, however, I didn't cry in the days leading up to her big moment. I felt relief, almost - something telling me I could stop holding my breath and start putting those months behind me.<br />
<br />
It will no longer be the "first" Valentine's Day, sunny spring afternoon or otherwise notable happening, but the days ahead will be the first I remember. The first that really count.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fashion show in her last "baby" days.</td></tr>
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This year, my darling girl's second, is a fresh start. She's growing fast, becoming a tiny girl instead of a squishy, happy-to-snuggle bundle of baby. She's a whole new creature. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valentine's Day mornings, 2012 and 2013</td></tr>
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We're inexpressibly thankful for our little valentine and for the friends and family who came to celebrate her! (We kept it sweet, intimate and extra small because, while mama adjusted beautifully, B was not keen on a big ole party. Denialville, party of one.)<br />
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Throwing together a party the weekend after Valentine's Day is easy as
pie. Toss up a few pink and red decorations, lay out a table of food and
another (even larger!) one of sweets and voila: a lovefest. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This beauty tasted even better than she looked!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had a few desserts leftover for small group that Sunday...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our best attempt.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She refused to eat a bite! How is she mine?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best gift for every occasion!</td></tr>
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While her birthday a party, we counted down to her ReBirthday with mixed emotions - and we didn't want to gloss over it.<br />
<br />
Twenty days after her birthday, March 5, marked a year since Mary Brooks' <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2012/03/emergency-surgery.html">surgery</a>. I anticipated a flood of emotions, of difficult flashbacks - but they never came. From dawn to dusk that day I rode a wave of gratitude with every memory, every attempt at recalling those hours, every text message I reread that I never remembered writing in the first place.<br />
<br />
It was an out of body experience, replaying the day in third person, feeling only a down-to-my-bones kind of thankfulness. After an excruciatingly long season of heartache, it was miraculous to feel just the upside of things - to see what the girl living that experience last year couldn't yet know.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a difference a year makes.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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It was a joy - an absolute privilege - turning a day marked by devastation into one centered on counting every last little (and big) blessing in our lives. It was an occasion that deserved cupcakes if ever there was one!<br />
<br />
Mac and I ventured over to our favorite bakery just before a monsoon kicked off downtown that evening. We had no raincoats or umbrellas (mom fail), so I found a fleece of Bradley's and put it over his head as I whisked him down the sidewalk.<br /><br />
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Mac couldn't stand the idea I'd get wet in his place, so he kept tossing the fleece over my face; I nearly ran into a brick wall with a forty pounder on my hip as a result.<br />
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We couldn't stop laughing, and the pair of us arrived home soaked to the bone, with four delicious cupcakes safe and dry in their box. I hope I never forget that little excursion with Mary Brooks' big brother; it epitomizes the utter giddiness I felt all day long.<br />
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After the birthday cake boycott at her party, I didn't anticipate Mary Brooks' reaction to her ReBirthday cupcake:<br />
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Her enthusiasm brought me back to Mac's very first cupcake, and it was just one more way March 5 felt more like an actual birthday than some medical anniversary. I hope we always celebrate it so whole-heartedly! (And with cupcakes, obviously...)<br />
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Mary Brooks' surgery gave her a new lease on life; medically it was considered a "near miss" with an uncertain outcome. We praise God with every breath that our story has a happy ending, and that all four of us have healed from the experience. <br />
<br />
Thanks for celebrating with us, y'all!<br />
<br />Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-21445338456010370002013-03-04T23:21:00.000-05:002013-04-02T21:41:21.123-04:00Hurricane 2013: Mickey, 13.1 Miles & the FluThe last two months have (insert cliche about time flying here). In a Rip Van Winkle kinda way, I feel as though I took a quick nap mid-January and woke up browsing for Easter baskets. If only I <i>felt</i> as if I'd gotten that much sleep...<br />
<br />
Instead, we've been either in "fast forward" or "full stop" mode all year long. SO much has happened!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The survivor in the top left was my coach!</td></tr>
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<br />
On January 12th, Bradley and I joined Greenville's Team in Training to run the Walt Disney World Half Marathon. Yes, that's right! We <a href="http://pages.teamintraining.org/sc/wdw13/asmithbze7">raised a total of $2500</a> to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society; it was an unspeakably empowering, surprisingly fun and absolutely enjoyable experience - start to finish.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I worried so much about the 2:30am wake-up call that I couldn't sleep past 1:00!</td></tr>
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For a couch potato, nap-loving supporter of the Great Indoors, running 13.1 miles at the crack of dawn and living to tell the tale was enough of an accomplishment for all of 2013. I should start writing "run a half marathon" at the top of each day's to do list, just so I can cross one big, fat item off without breaking a sweat.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">B and I in our corral, just minutes before he left me in the dust.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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After the <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/p/mbs-story.html">trauma</a> and craziness of 2012, I needed to channel my energy into something positive, something outside myself. In August I began training with TNT, and despite an injury in December, I was able to cross the finish line upright and proud. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cue tears.</td></tr>
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The support of onlookers and other runners meant so much during those long miles, especially the miles eight through ten, which felt interminable! <br /><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And more tears.</td></tr>
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Wearing my purple Team in Training jersey got me a lot of attention - coaches, participants, supporters and survivors from across the country called out, cheered, gave high fives and even ran alongside me for a time. It was invigorating and just what I needed to get me to the finish line.<br /><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So ready to be done!</td></tr>
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<br />
I ran the last half-mile of the race listening to Mary Brooks' laugh over and over again. My feet hurt, my ankle was killing me, and I was ready for a plate full o' carbs. Her angelic little giggle, though, saw me through. <br /><br />She taught me a lot about what it means to fight, and I was proud to feel like I'd made a difference in cancer patients' lives (through our fundraising) as so many people poured into our family last year. <br />
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B and I walked off the effects of our (very early) morning "jog" by spending the next day and a half in WDW's parks. It was a refreshing little break from our everyday lives, and a very welcome one. <br />
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I was achy and tired on the way home, but after 13.1 miles, another 15 or so over two days in the parks, and an eight-hour car ride, it was to be expected.<br />
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Not 24 hours after we made it home, though, I started feeling much, much worse. The achiness grew into a full body hurt; I felt like I'd been on the losing end of a bar fight with a raging cold, to boot. I woke up the next morning and dragged my unhappy derriere to the doctor, The diagnosis: flu. <br />
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Both babies had gotten the flu vaccine, thank goodness, but we sent them to their grandparents' nonetheless. After a weekend in Orlando and the most contagious days of the flu quarantined, I spent three hours in direct contact with my children over the course of eight days; it was wretched.<br />
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After a full week of bedrest, I felt human enough to venture out into the world and, a day or so later, to have Mac and Mary Brooks come back home. It was a joy to see their sweet faces, change little diapers, fill hungry mouths, and hear their noises in the house again. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The energy to shower, if not apply mascara, was something to celebrate.</td></tr>
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Turns out "they" are quite serious about the importance of getting your flu vaccine, peeps. And the muscle soreness that typically follows a 13.1 mile stroll can mask the early achiness of flu symptoms. Who knew? <br />
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With any luck, this will be my first and only run in with the flu - there aren't enough words to describe the un-fun-ness of that experience. <br />
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Just as soon as I got rid of my feverish flu symptoms, it was time to plan Mary Brooks' birthday party at last. It was late January, and my "V Day is D Day" motto had finally come to life. No more time for denial...<br />
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I promise to catch up more soon, but this online scrapbook doesn't do me much good if I don't use it. Many of you may have caught up with me via <a href="http://instagram.com/annesmithsc">Instagram</a>, the Twitter of 2013, but I'm going to prove to myself that blogging is not an outdated mode of communication chez Smith. Promise.<br />
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Hope each of you are well and keeping up with the real world a bit better than I am! Go get that flu shot, y'all - it's worth your time, trust me.<br />
<br />
xoxoAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-32197049114957523262013-01-08T08:00:00.000-05:002013-01-15T11:01:02.108-05:00In the MeantimeLast year was our hardest yet, but there were unbelievably sweet spots, too.<br />
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Bradley rolls his eyes at the iPhone growing from my right arm, but that faithful companion records moments my addled brain can't recall. I'm so thankful to have captured the lighter bits of 2012!<br />
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It doesn't seem fair, after unloading my heavy, <strike>healed</strike> healing heart, not to point out how much joy there is here, too. Enjoy an overload of Smith snapshots!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sibling sweetness as Bradley read Luke 2 on Christmas Eve.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage8.s3.amazonaws.com/668b24364fdf11e2a31922000a1fbcdc_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage8.s3.amazonaws.com/668b24364fdf11e2a31922000a1fbcdc_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying out his new "drinking glasses."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage1.s3.amazonaws.com/b68606ae4eef11e2bc2222000a1f98f9_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage1.s3.amazonaws.com/b68606ae4eef11e2bc2222000a1f98f9_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Testing out some gifts in Columbia.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage5.s3.amazonaws.com/87e10fe24eef11e294d322000a1f8c09_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage5.s3.amazonaws.com/87e10fe24eef11e294d322000a1f8c09_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the glow of Mimi's Christmas tree.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage10.s3.amazonaws.com/fb78b49a537311e2a03b22000a1f92d6_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage10.s3.amazonaws.com/fb78b49a537311e2a03b22000a1f92d6_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All my favorite little people in one place.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage8.s3.amazonaws.com/79b67d10464a11e2a63622000a9e28ec_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage8.s3.amazonaws.com/79b67d10464a11e2a63622000a9e28ec_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was a fire in the living room...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage8.s3.amazonaws.com/b73d37ae4d9411e2ad6322000a9f14f2_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage8.s3.amazonaws.com/b73d37ae4d9411e2ad6322000a9f14f2_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't stop laughing about this!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage9.s3.amazonaws.com/a85730f2462111e2af9022000a1f9a23_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage9.s3.amazonaws.com/a85730f2462111e2af9022000a1f9a23_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MB, with a sinus and ear infection, lost over a pound and went back to the 1st percentile. But that reflection!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage5.s3.amazonaws.com/6d8ee8a84c6011e280cd22000a9f18de_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage5.s3.amazonaws.com/6d8ee8a84c6011e280cd22000a9f18de_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An ornament from halfway around the world! One of my favorite gifts.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage11.s3.amazonaws.com/13919e58471611e2891a22000a9d0ec6_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage11.s3.amazonaws.com/13919e58471611e2891a22000a9d0ec6_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After a year without movies, B and I saw two in one weekend: Skyfall and Lincoln.<br />
(Ask me how we left Anna Karenina after 90 seconds and went to watch ol' Abe...)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage4.s3.amazonaws.com/59a309aa49e511e2a70822000a1fafdb_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage4.s3.amazonaws.com/59a309aa49e511e2a70822000a1fafdb_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I ever put my phone down, who would capture this?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage5.s3.amazonaws.com/03a2ff544bc711e2b9d422000a1fa429_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage5.s3.amazonaws.com/03a2ff544bc711e2b9d422000a1fa429_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A second Smith baby makes friends with Curious George.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage3.s3.amazonaws.com/2f1a70ea4acd11e2ae7122000a9f0a14_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage3.s3.amazonaws.com/2f1a70ea4acd11e2ae7122000a9f0a14_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I'm feeding MB her lunch and one of us is dressed, it's a victory.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage1.s3.amazonaws.com/773f6b3246e511e2a88722000a1f90d0_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage1.s3.amazonaws.com/773f6b3246e511e2a88722000a1f90d0_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An ornament for my little fireman.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage11.s3.amazonaws.com/1c3f95da4c6311e2982122000a1f8c32_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage11.s3.amazonaws.com/1c3f95da4c6311e2982122000a1f8c32_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mac and I got matching tats. <br />
(Ask B how the one on the right, inside my forearm, came to reside on his ribcage.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage9.s3.amazonaws.com/9b596b684fe011e2af4522000a1f8f13_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://distilleryimage9.s3.amazonaws.com/9b596b684fe011e2af4522000a1f8f13_6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The handsomest boys I know.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage6.s3.amazonaws.com/5b437a6c522111e2b42122000a9d0ed9_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://distilleryimage6.s3.amazonaws.com/5b437a6c522111e2b42122000a9d0ed9_6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MB learned to sign "more" and is just as proud of herself as we are.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage6.s3.amazonaws.com/f8bb85f64f0a11e2b1f822000a1f9751_7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage6.s3.amazonaws.com/f8bb85f64f0a11e2b1f822000a1f9751_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas night we snuck away for our third and final movie of the year: Les Mis. One of us bawled through half of it. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage10.s3.amazonaws.com/d79ac27053cd11e29e0522000a1fa50c_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://distilleryimage10.s3.amazonaws.com/d79ac27053cd11e29e0522000a1fa50c_6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We rang in the New Year, after a big Tiger victory, with our best friends in Atlanta!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage4.s3.amazonaws.com/ec184fc4588211e28e7522000a1fbe50_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://distilleryimage4.s3.amazonaws.com/ec184fc4588211e28e7522000a1fbe50_6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby hands - those dimples never get old.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage0.s3.amazonaws.com/5e9b4922560111e2af3622000a9f17ea_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://distilleryimage0.s3.amazonaws.com/5e9b4922560111e2af3622000a9f17ea_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mary Brooksie wants to stand. Break my heart already!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>For I am about to do something new,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I will make a pathway through the wilderness,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Isaiah 43:19</span></div>
Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-15124810815615551222013-01-07T19:26:00.000-05:002018-03-22T11:49:33.276-04:00Starting Anew: A Long Time ComingNo more apologies or false starts: we're back. I'm back.
<br />
<br />
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I wanted to say so much the last two months of 2012; I didn't stay away for lack of things to discuss. (You know that's never the case.) My fear was that my words made me a broken record. Hadn't I already said those things before, in some form or another?<br />
<br />
I spent most of 2012 grieving and, worse yet, denying I was doing so. What's there to grieve when you're home and holding your baby again? Somehow I was doing both.<br />
<br />
I grieved in tears, in sleepless nights, in visions and nightmares, in hives and panic attacks, in headaches and laughter that turned back into bawling. I grieved in silence and in exhaustion and in the midst of powerful, endless gratitude.<br />
<br />
I grieved in months and months deleted by the wide-eyed, glazed over, "just shuffling my feet" kind of living recovery required. I grieved in conversations I'll never remember and days that went by without my noticing. <br />
<br />
I grieved my expectations, what I thought our life would look like. What Mary Brooks' blissful baby days would be filled with, easy and sweet as they had started. How my life would continue as I'd always known it, focused on daily concerns and only occasional, manageable roadblocks.<br />
<br />
I grieved my innocence. The 'floating through life' feeling I had for 30 years, coasting along on a whim. <br />
<br />
I grieved the pulling back of some unknown veil, showing me what the depths of hurt looked and felt like. And how the world was filled with more of it than I'd ever realized, busy as I was with my floating.<br />
<br />
I was an unwilling beekeeper, scrambling to pull that life-saving veil back down and keep everything out. I wanted to take the world in through that gauzy cheesecloth again, blissful in ignorance. <br />
<br />
I had my dukes up most of the year, bracing for another impact. I felt the constant rush of adrenaline you get after a near-miss car accident; every tiny thing made me jump, left me wanting to crawl out of my skin.<br />
<br />
I hadn't known unbridled pain like that existed, what I felt when I came face-first into my inability to protect Mary Brooks. My inability to run the world and care for everyone I love who lives in it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLaElwRsc2hUSCS3MhyphenhyphenLdf404clpRHob3stfC3cN7pI_SLDcHIHaJMg6qIA_JXEQhAjjIkW8ZsdZa3eqPG_J4W8udprPhZXVUbtUdop0eC4mSRoey-ElA1W_INOmpnWXkUKIxPhwBMzg/s1600/card+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
I peered into a limitless well of hurt - and panicked. Once the immediate danger was over, I couldn't pinpoint the continuing source of my grief. Then it came to me: I had made it through "this," but knew that if there was anything worse out there in the universe, deep down in that well, I couldn't survive it. I <i>wouldn't</i>.<br />
<br />
I thought I really might have died from the sheer awfulness, from the consuming ache. In the hospital it welled up and burned in my chest, leaving me tearless, wordless - scarred. <br />
<br />
In the months afterward the pain came and went - when I thought I was out of the woods (and trumpeted the news widely), it swooped in to prove me wrong.<br />
<br />
But I couldn't let myself say the words, let myself admit that, despite the joy I wanted to exude, there was a gaping puddle of sorrow.<br />
<br />
I know now they <i>can</i> coexist, grief and thankfulness. And the more you admit you're hurting, the less it aches. <br />
<br />
I'm sorry for not telling you. For being more concerned about sounding boring or self-absorbed than I was about being authentic. For not shepherding even one person who might come across these pages in a similarly difficult moment. <br />
<br />
I feel tremendous relief in the starting of a new year, the rolling over of a calendar and a fresh era for our family. I feel it all rising.<br />
<br />
The upside to losing six months of memories is that we'll celebrate a second "first" Easter, Mother's Day, Fourth of July, beach trip, start of the school year.<br />
<br />
At the end of the summer Bradley left his job, the one that kept him from us more than 100 hours in his final week, and a weight was lifted immediately. (And another one added, but I'll get to that.)<br />
<br />
I was able to fall asleep before 4:00 am for the first time in ages, to share the daily duties of running our life, to start forming memories that lasted more than an hour or two. We began the real, slow work of recovery then. <br />
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It might sound crazy, particularly to people who aren't believers, but we felt his decision was in obedience to what our family was being called to do. Who leaves a job with nothing else lined up, not knowing what's next? After trusting the Lord with the very life of our child, you'd imagine it'd be difficult to put up a fight on something as (seemingly) small as a job. And yet we did.<br />
<br />
It took months of prayer and discussion and weary conversations (mostly dead-eyed stares over our dining room table, sleepless as we were) to make the leap. I'm so proud of him, the hard worker and constant provider, for making this big transition. For putting aside what makes sense to the rest of the world and setting a tremendous example of obedience and faith.<br />
<br />
So here we are, five months later, and the future is unclear in that arena. Better hours will require a career shift of sorts, and we're praying about the details (tiny things like insurance, resumes, interviews, encouragement, provision) as we go. For a planner like me, it can be unnerving - but I'm making a moment by moment commitment to surrender.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
My prayer is that the Lord tells a big, wonderful story through our family, just as He did last year, despite my <strike>temper tantrums</strike> doubts and without my help.<br />
<br />
We have seen so much confirmation of our decision, and God has richly blessed us with gifts I can't begin to name. (Being able to string words together without crying, for instance, and growing my business in ways that both excite me and help our family.)<br />
<br />
Bradley has been busy, though not in the way he first expected, with a side project that I look forward to sharing with you, too.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
For now, just know I'm back. I can't wait to discuss what matters with you - and to discuss royal babies, <i>Downton Abbey</i>, and every other mindless diversion I've missed.<br />
<br />
Thank you for keeping me busy on Instagram (heaven help the folks who don't enjoy seeing pictures of my kids), Twitter and in real life. For being patient and prayerful. For emailing and calling and texting. For wading through all this.<br />
<br />
I feel a weight off and a light at the end of this tunnel. Welcome, 2013!<br />
<center>
<br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLaElwRsc2hUSCS3MhyphenhyphenLdf404clpRHob3stfC3cN7pI_SLDcHIHaJMg6qIA_JXEQhAjjIkW8ZsdZa3eqPG_J4W8udprPhZXVUbtUdop0eC4mSRoey-ElA1W_INOmpnWXkUKIxPhwBMzg/s1600/card+8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLaElwRsc2hUSCS3MhyphenhyphenLdf404clpRHob3stfC3cN7pI_SLDcHIHaJMg6qIA_JXEQhAjjIkW8ZsdZa3eqPG_J4W8udprPhZXVUbtUdop0eC4mSRoey-ElA1W_INOmpnWXkUKIxPhwBMzg/s320/card+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></center>
<br />
<i></i><br />
<center>
<i>
The Lord has done great things for us, </i></center>
<i>
</i>
<i></i><br />
<center>
<i>
and we are filled with joy.</i></center>
<i>
</i>
<b></b><br />
<center>
<b>
-Psalms 126:3</b></center>
<b>
</b>Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-37284338210934665412012-12-20T00:41:00.001-05:002012-12-20T00:41:12.390-05:00Cotton Headed Ninny Muggins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwixxmHtvBIo5b9Nv9RHYb0W5QRXsdpYqdb9wFmfTCGCXhdee8jFTBA7gfol44_ypDoUVT_zAMYOkCv_XMX6mA3HkAqMH1Gxhnlspt1sFVGhnObfCB-0-XVJJCfR1GSOrwcTRe15bPZgw/s1600/cotton+headed+ninny+muggins.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
Six weeks away is far too long! I've been writing in my head for weeks, but after a while it just felt silly to pop in for a few short lines. <br /><br />So here I am:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwixxmHtvBIo5b9Nv9RHYb0W5QRXsdpYqdb9wFmfTCGCXhdee8jFTBA7gfol44_ypDoUVT_zAMYOkCv_XMX6mA3HkAqMH1Gxhnlspt1sFVGhnObfCB-0-XVJJCfR1GSOrwcTRe15bPZgw/s1600/cotton+headed+ninny+muggins.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwixxmHtvBIo5b9Nv9RHYb0W5QRXsdpYqdb9wFmfTCGCXhdee8jFTBA7gfol44_ypDoUVT_zAMYOkCv_XMX6mA3HkAqMH1Gxhnlspt1sFVGhnObfCB-0-XVJJCfR1GSOrwcTRe15bPZgw/s320/cotton+headed+ninny+muggins.gif" width="320" /></a><br />
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Every time I thought about blogging, part of my brain would say:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwVBkrMtGNvG3A7Zo56gQ2PtJvjcFozfBAK3CsULJi7dXGm5eBxULnyf390Qare_gwZl0xGL-CsMHgDhIDO6BZMVPFOopEmAO4Ph5lszZ6IdWeBcNabA_xOKwa3e1Eb0KQCEA15troS3k/s1600/wish+i+could+but+i+don%27t+want+to.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwVBkrMtGNvG3A7Zo56gQ2PtJvjcFozfBAK3CsULJi7dXGm5eBxULnyf390Qare_gwZl0xGL-CsMHgDhIDO6BZMVPFOopEmAO4Ph5lszZ6IdWeBcNabA_xOKwa3e1Eb0KQCEA15troS3k/s320/wish+i+could+but+i+don%27t+want+to.gif" width="320" /></a><br /><br />I'm ignoring that part and coming back all the same; there's far too much to catch up on to let my inner Phoebe win. <br /><br />Later today (or tomorrow, if you're a night owl too) I have drafted a post spilling the beans on everything. Stay tuned!<br /><br />And also - I miss you. And merry Christmas! And I'll save the rest for later....<br />
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xoxo,<br />Your Long Lost FriendAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044314274258588678.post-4160433736861969782012-10-31T23:43:00.003-04:002012-10-31T23:56:11.164-04:00Day 31: A Sweet Halloween<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Tonight was our first Halloween as a family of four, and possibly the first holiday of Mary Brooks' that I can actually remember.
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She was born on <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2012/02/day-my-heart-grew.html">Valentine's Day</a>, which was an absolute blur, but a delightful one. I can't recall a single thing (besides what I captured on this blog) about Easter, Mother's Day or the Fourth of July; they came on the heels of MB's <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2012/03/catching-you-up_19.html">surgery</a> and the shock-induced amnesia that kicked off this spring and lasted 'til fall. It's the oddest thing.
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I feel like I'm getting my wits back about me - as much as I ever had them, that is - and I enjoyed trick or treating with my favorite fireman and our baby dalmatian.
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Our friends invited us to join them trick or treating, and we couldn't refuse a quiet street with great company and a host of other flashlight-wielding little people carrying jack-o-lantern buckets. Such fun!<br />
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Mac was high on life (no sugar required), whooping in the street and squealing, "Happy Halloween! Let's go!"<br />
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Upon ringing each doorbell, though, he became tremendously shy, barely managing a "thank you" after getting his candy. Once his little feet hit the curb again, he morphed back into our little extrovert, giddy as, well, a three-year-old on Halloween. <br />
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Macky struggled a bit with the bulky fireman boots, but his costume was recognized everywhere we went and the reflective stripes served a purpose beyond looking extra fireman-ly. I call that a win!<br />
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Bradley had the difficult duty of holding Mary Brooks, wearing the softest hoodie of all time, as we walked down the block. Not a bad gig.<br />
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I hope y'all had a fabulous evening, too! The pics of dressed up dogs and candy crazy kids have made my night on Facebook and Instagram. Keep 'em coming!<br />
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*This post is day 31 in my <a href="http://anneandbradley.blogspot.com/2012/10/31-days-of-what-matters-hospitality.html">31 Days of What Matters</a>.
And just like that - it's November.Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07217237523081805548noreply@blogger.com1