tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89936624688542722422024-03-04T22:25:32.373-06:00Harlow + CrueThis is a BLOG about my thoughts, intuitions, and motivation as a Mother, Wife and Woman.julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-90043489976965552172018-08-06T15:45:00.003-05:002018-08-06T15:53:59.089-05:00Kindergarten, please be kindIt’s not like I didn’t know that years would turned into months. Then weeks, and now days until Harlow starts “Big Girl” school. I knew it was creeping up on me, but like most things that I’m not ready to deal with, I pushed it way back in my emotional vault. I’m pretty sure Harlow is about 65% excited and 35% nervous to begin Kindergarten. I guess I might be feeling the opposite. Not because she won’t do great. I know she will. She always does. Sheis so smart and such a good little girl and I know she will make new friends and expand her knowledge and become more and more independent. So, when I’m laying in bed and my mind is racing and anxiety is beginning to make a lump form in my throat, I just keep whispering to myself, “Kinder, please be kind”.<br />
<br />
We can walk her to her classroom for the first THREE days. THREE!?!? That’s it!?! This is my baby. The only one I’ll ever have and I’m supposed to just throw her into the trenches and drive off? Ok, I realize school isn’t “the trenches” but for me it’s unknown territory. Yes, we’ve been to summer camps. Yes we’ve been to Pre K and she shined through all of those firsts, but this seems different somehow. More grown up. More permanent. Like a chapter that’s ending on her being a baby and suddenly she’s wearing a big kid backpack and walking the halls without me. I know some moms laugh at the women who tear up at the thought of their child beginning school, but I don’t care.<br />
<br />
What if she can’t find her way to the classroom?<br />
What if she can’t open her lunch?<br />
What is she gets diarrhea and needs help wiping? (Gross, I know. But still a worry).<br />
What if she doesn’t recognize one single child in her class?<br />
What if no one wants to play with her or partner up with her?<br />
What if her shoes are rubbing against her barely there heel?<br />
And what if, what if children make fun of her legs?!<br />
<br />
The last one usually overwhelms me to the point of tears. I know kids are kids. And kids are curious. But I pray that children will be kind and if they ask her questions, I hope they are gentle. I hope Harlow can remain as strong and mature about her scars as she has been in the past.<br />
<br />
Please don’t make fun of her. Please don’t point or whisper. Please don’t treat her differently or make rude comments.<br />
<br />
I know there are kids out there that have it so much worse. My child isn’t handicapped. She isn’t limited on most things. She survived and we are always reminded of how lucky we are and how amazing she is. I just hope that the teachers and students will always be sweet and understanding. I pray that she handles all questions and obstacles with bravery and grace. I hope she remains the kind child. <br />
<br />
I hope that like most things that I’ve built up in my head, this too will be an easy transition. But most of all, I wish my entire being that the tears shed at school are mine and not hers.<br />
<br />
Kindergarten, please be kind.julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-18878555943167592052016-06-17T12:01:00.001-05:002016-06-17T12:01:42.498-05:00Being "normal" is boringDeformities. Never will be normal. Sick bones and joints. <div><br></div><div>These were all words we were told at our Pediatric Orthopedic appointment yesterday. </div><div><br></div><div>Our amazing surgeon, Dr. Beale recently referred us to an orthopedic surgeon, as he just wanted to follow up on Harlow's legs and make sure everything was okay. Her skin and tissue expansion went perfectly and her leg is fully healed and looks amazing. Our Doctor did have some concerns about her mobility and range of motion on her left leg and foot and sent us to be assessed, just to be certain that Harlow was on the right track. He told us it would most likely be recommended that we do stretches with her and maybe do a little physical therapy. As you know, Harlow is missing a big chunk of her left heel and therefore sometimes walks on her toes with her left foot. We have slowly been working with her and encouraging her to consciously walk flat footed and help aide her in stretching and flexing that foot. </div><div><br></div><div>The Orthopedic doctor took X-rays of both of her legs/feet and with the new technology, we were able to view those images almost immediately. The physician began by showing us what a "normal" 3 year old's legs/feet should look like. Then he showed us what our daughter's look like. I'm not an x ray expert, nor am I a doctor, but although it seemed slight, there were differences. Especially on her left leg. I believe at one point he referred to it as her "sicker" leg. </div><div>He went on to say that with her "deformities" her ankles and legs could be more fragile. Deformities. Wow, that was a term we hadn't heard before and it immediately stung. Scars, sure, but deformities? I know there are far worse things than that and I'm also aware that so many parents have children who live with life changing deformities, but in that moment it was just me and my baby. And it hurt. He told us that by looking at the X-rays, he can see that her joints and legs were very sick when she was. Basically that when she was dying, they were too. She recovered, thank God, but they didn't. Even her right leg that looks almost totally normal now, with a few scars, is abnormal underneath. </div><div>We asked if we could fix it. Could she go into surgery, break her bones and repair the issues? Could he shave or shape her bones to make them normal? The answer was somewhat vague. Maybe. Maybe they can one day. I know how sick and near death my baby was. I will never forget that. I guess I just never thought that her bones and joints would still be "sick". </div><div>As of now, the plan is for our surgeon and this new Orthopedic surgeon to talk and make a plan. I don't think any immediate surgery is needed...thank goodness, but eventually the two docs may go in together and rebuild her heel and look at her bones and joints. </div><div>He told us to continue working on the walking and stretches and if we want, we can start some physical therapy. However, he mentioned that at three years old, it's more likely she will do better with us. So that's our plan. We will take this news with a grain of salt. We will continue to work with her and make her the best that she can possibly be. </div><div>So when we left and my eyes were a bit watery, I made myself stop and look for that silver lining. Here's what I found...</div><div><br></div><div>Her deformities are so small and insignificant compared to many other children out there</div><div><br></div><div>We are so lucky she still has limbs</div><div><br></div><div>There is always the chance that as she grows, her legs will improve and there are possible procedures to help. </div><div><br></div><div>She can still sign up for soccer and dance and do all the activities that normal toddlers do. </div><div><br></div><div>She doesn't know the difference between her normal and other people's normal.</div><div><br></div><div>But the best silver lining is most definitely that we aren't speaking about my precious baby in the past tense. Nothing is lost. No one is saying, "well, Harlow was just so sick that if she had of lived, she would have some complications". </div><div><br></div><div>She did live. She is here and we are so thankful for that. After all the horrific tragedies that occurred in Orlando this past week, it is all that matters. With all those parents who have to bury their babies. Old and young. We are so lucky to have this sassy, stubborn, always talking back, favorite person in the world still with us. </div><div>Normal is boring. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpbnc97ZRPzon2ewM-6LkI6p3FceaXVE4VSPBUZx97v_-PYl5zzEiEizPRItzRTyajRjkftezzp_XS8yI6Je2IiNjzr8gCdrquX_nl5zvH1Rfcf-SDZlgjAaoyp1QlCNvITl-jTe8478A/s640/blogger-image--807042166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpbnc97ZRPzon2ewM-6LkI6p3FceaXVE4VSPBUZx97v_-PYl5zzEiEizPRItzRTyajRjkftezzp_XS8yI6Je2IiNjzr8gCdrquX_nl5zvH1Rfcf-SDZlgjAaoyp1QlCNvITl-jTe8478A/s640/blogger-image--807042166.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm01KgE41xZY1WDHvEOxUphNzvWlgX0SijluXTuksR8y-LjlGJyyeeXS764LjegKWn3Lbk1aHb54BVyHgnLSBZPlbq_Eo8CQJpJfLSF1tcJc4xgSrj-plkHSra0btB1cHDda9RKSxD3Ew/s640/blogger-image--603567167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm01KgE41xZY1WDHvEOxUphNzvWlgX0SijluXTuksR8y-LjlGJyyeeXS764LjegKWn3Lbk1aHb54BVyHgnLSBZPlbq_Eo8CQJpJfLSF1tcJc4xgSrj-plkHSra0btB1cHDda9RKSxD3Ew/s640/blogger-image--603567167.jpg"></a></div></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-33311938269580505572016-05-31T13:06:00.001-05:002016-05-31T14:15:42.059-05:00Monkey See, Monkey DoA 4 year old boy fell into a Gorilla exhibit at the Cincinnati Zoo and suddenly everyone is a primate/parental expert. <div><br></div><div>Let me start by admitting that when I first heard this story, I was quick to judge. My first initial response was to blame the mother for not taking care of her child. "Where was his mom?!" "Why wasn't see watching him?!" "Mother of the year". </div><div><br></div><div>I think most of us said or felt that way. And I think to some aspect, there is some truth there. However, I've always tried to play Devil's Advocate in these situations and the more I learned of this scenario and more I heard from eye witnesses and animal experts, the guiltier I felt for rushing to my original judgement.</div><div><br></div><div>I can see both sides. The choice to save the child and unfortunately, kill the gorilla and I can also understand why people are upset that a wild animal, who was already held in captivity, was sacrificed for acting like, well, a wild animal. </div><div><br></div><div>There are so many details and points to evaluate in this terrible event. </div><div><br></div><div>Let's just start with the gorilla habitat and the security breach. Some people are saying that the exhibit was unsafe, as a toddler was able to pass the barriers and make his was into the area. Ok, I can see that. However, I feel our society has gotten so entitled and so in need of bigger and better stimulation, that a more natural and open exhibit was needed to keep people interested. Think about it. It may sound ridiculous but the movie Jurassic Park is a great example. We need more and more or we get bored. At some point, everyone pushes the limits to make a dollar and stay relevant. I sincerely hope we never actually attempt this with dinosaurs. Kidding. Unless it happens. Then I'm as serious as a heart attack. </div><div><br></div><div> Let's address the mother in this situation as she is by far catching the most heat. I will say that when I first read this article, I instantly blamed her. Which is sad. I'm a mom. No one is perfect and toddlers are hard work. The other day Harlow and I went to the donut shop and I turned away for TWO seconds to grab her a milk and just like that she was behind the counter, helping the lady serve pastries. Now, I totally understand that slipping behind a donut counter and falling into a gorilla exhibit are not the same...but the point remains that kids are fast. And sneaky. And don't listen. Imagine being at the zoo with two young children and one keeps saying how he wants to go swim in the gorilla's moat. Mom says no, obviously, but the toddler won't take no for an answer. Do you know how much useless junk I've purchased for my daughter, simply because I didn't feel like arguing with her anymore? The toddler ran away from her, while she tended to the younger sibling and quickly disappeared into the crowd. It's happened to me before. It's happened to you too. Maybe she should have had a closer eye on him. But it wasn't like she was dangling her child over the exhibit and lost her grip. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm still a bit confused about the witnesses who saw this toddler slip past the barriers that didn't grab him. Apparently one woman assumed the lady standing next to her was the boy's mother and therefore assumed the situation was under control. Once she realized it wasn't, it was too late. I go back and forth with this as a part of me thinks, why didn't she grab him and then find his mother? But then I'm reminded the world we now live in and how we have to be super sensitive about every little thing. If the lady would have snatched the child up and walked him around to find his parent, would the mother have been thankful or would she be livid at the lady for stepping in? Can't you see it on the news now? Two women got into an altercation at the zoo. It's sad. It's ridiculous. But it's the truth. </div><div><br></div><div>Now let's address all the primate experts. People all over the world are suddenly Gorilla experts and activists. Some say the gorilla was protecting the boy. Some say he was attacking him. Some say the gorilla's body language showed signs of aggression. Some say he was playing with the child. You know what I know about gorillas? Not a whole lot. They are big. And black. And hairy and I think they like bananas. I don't know their behaviors or lifestyles. People should stop acting like they know. Even the guy who lived amongst gorillas for many years doesn't know. He probably has a better idea than we do, but he isn't a gorilla and cannot fully understand. Even celebs are now voicing their opinions about how the gorilla died because people have no brains. Hmm. The people saying that do not have children of their own. Was he protecting the toddler? Maybe. And maybe not. </div><div><br></div><div>Killing the gorilla to save a child, was that right? I know PETA and animal enthusiasts all over will say no. Why must the primate die because a human came into his area? I see that. I get how it wasn't the animal's fault that a child came into his home and he shouldn't be faulted for acting like a wild animal. He is a wild animal. In captivity. I've watched the videos. I wasn't there. It was hard to tell if the animal was playing or being aggressive. All I know is it was scary to watch. </div><div><br></div><div> I think it's so very sad that an animal had to be killed in this situation. The gorilla was displaying it's natural instincts. How can he be punished for that? I get it. But for just one second, close your eyes and imagine it was YOUR baby in that exhibit. I know, I know, YOU would never let that happen to your child. You're amazing. And a perfect parent. But imagine if for whatever reason, your child was suddenly inside the gorilla habitat, being drug around by a 400 lb animal. Imagine the pure terror you would feel. The instant guilt you would carry forever. And tell me you would choose the animal over your baby. You can't. You wouldn't. </div><div><br></div><div>I love animals. I have an annual pass to the Dallas Zoo and take my 3 year old often. I would like to think that she is always right beside me, but she is a toddler. And I am human. I hate that this animal was killed due to this incident. It's not fair. But I know that if my child's life appeared in danger, I would have wanted the same actions to be taken. Selfish of me? You may think so, but I find it hard to believe that ANY parent would plead to save the gorilla over their child. </div><div><br></div><div>Now here comes the backlash. </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-64826310831933926712016-02-09T17:43:00.001-06:002016-02-09T17:44:01.199-06:00Thank You x 3Harlow,<div>I'm writing this letter to you even though I know you won't read it. You can't read yet. You are merely three years old, but oh how full your life has already been. The reason I'm writing this, is to say, thank you. You are by far, my best three years and you've been more than just my child; you've been my motivational, my purpose, my inspiration. </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for fighting so hard when a nasty illness tried to take you from me. </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for being so brave. In the hospital. Through multiple surgeries. And for all these painful fills. </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for making me smile, cry and laugh. </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for fighting with me every single damn morning about getting dressed. Who wants their morning routine to be easy?!</div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for being excited to see me every time we have been apart. The feeling is oh so mutual. </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for still asking me to rock you like a baby. You have no idea how much that breaks and mends my heart each time</div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for pooping in the bath tub. It was hysterical to me. But also, thank you for no longer doing that. </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for being such a great child. Of course you are starting to show very strong signs of terrible 3's, but I will take them. At least I have a toddler to deal with. </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for saying I'm your best friend. I know there will be times that you swear you despise me and I'm counting on these sweet times to get me through those years. </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you for never giving up. Even when the odds were stacked against you. Even when they said you wouldn't survive. I remember sitting by your hospital crib, pleading with you to please continue to fight to live. And you did. </div><div><br></div><div>You have exceeded all my dreams these past three years and although you won't understand this; I'm so thankful for you. Every ounce and tantrum. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OL9XlHMA8a0UXVZP0mrrr5BcpOt9d59F1ccRziV6HMG5UKoJKT4vh7qcB-6A4bueTQAAf43AOcYneDQ7CUVU9RpG5u0hsRhCA7Ii4pzqoiXtEub-h9RfP0HizKacnrJghkY_LStHrdM/s640/blogger-image-1281865585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OL9XlHMA8a0UXVZP0mrrr5BcpOt9d59F1ccRziV6HMG5UKoJKT4vh7qcB-6A4bueTQAAf43AOcYneDQ7CUVU9RpG5u0hsRhCA7Ii4pzqoiXtEub-h9RfP0HizKacnrJghkY_LStHrdM/s640/blogger-image-1281865585.jpg"></a></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-16335757517648982532016-01-04T15:11:00.001-06:002016-01-04T15:13:38.130-06:00Mamas, don't let your babies grow up. Period.I'd be lying if I said I never compare myself to other moms and Harlow to other toddlers her age. It's not a contest, because if it were, we would totally be winning. I'm kidding. It's just natural to see a child around the same age as yours, hitting milestones quicker or achieving certain things and not feel behind or a failure. My daughter has leapt over so many obstacles in her sweet, short life, that I always give her (and myself) the benefit of the doubt. <div><br><div>Case and point: pacifier, co sleeping and potty training. </div><div><br></div><div>I've heard so many moms say that one day they just said enough with diapers and strongly convinced their child to use the potty. That's amazing. Truth be told, diapers weren't a huge burden for me. I of course, don't enjoy cleaning up poop all day, but if you think about it...diapers are super convenient. You don't have to run to the potty the second your little one needs to go. If you are in the car, there is no end of the world crisis. You can sit through an entire movie without taking 30 potty breaks. Overall, those diaper things are a pretty great invention. Good job guys. </div><div><br></div><div>I knew I wanted to try that 3 day potty training program with Harlow and aimed to complete it before Christmas. It's sad how busy our lives get and how guilty I felt that it took over a month to find a completely open weekend for us. Plans changed a few times and finally the weekend came. I have heard all the horror stories about this process. So much pee and poop everywhere. Throwing out dozens of soiled panties. Losing patience. Needing lots of wine. And Valium. But really...it wasn't all that bad.</div><div><br></div><div>It always surprises me how certain things fall in to place so easily. After struggling for many years to get pregnant, once I conceived, everything was pretty smooth sailing. I loved my pregnancy. Labor and delivery were both beautiful and praceful. Nursing came naturally and every transition so far has gone well. I always build things up in my mind. Maybe I'm preparing for the worst so I won't freak out. Whatever the reason, potty training was just another thing that Harlow aced. </div><div><br></div><div>Yes, there were accidents and a few pairs of panties to toss in the trash. Yes, there were times I looked at her like, "did you really just piss on the floor again?!". But it didn't kill us and we still like each other. And...we are officially in big girl panties!! Well, I have been for a while , but after potty training Harlow, I see what a win it really is for us all. A few pull ups at night, for those measly little leaks, but overall...she is kicking butt. One of the hardest parts was finding Thomas The Train panties for little girls. They only came in boys' briefs. What? A little girl can't like locomotives too?! </div><div>I should feel proud. And I do. But there is a tiny piece of me that is sad too. Losing diapers means there is another "baby" part that is going away. Diapers represent babies and now that we are done with them, it's a bit devastating. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure if we will have another baby. It will just have to be a wait and see plan for now. I would love to give Harlow a sibling as I know she would shine as a big sister, but I'm totally content if she is all we ever have. She's simply magical and we are so lucky to have her. </div><div><br></div><div>As far as the pacifier goes...we are waiting until after her tissue and skin expansions and surgery are finished. I want her to be soothed in any way possible during this time. It seems almost cruel to strip her of it while she is going through all these procedures etc. </div><div><br></div><div>Now, for Co-sleeping. Forget about it. Ha ha ha </div><div><br></div></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyemrd9RGjfJWyakzjM19L9pVYORIjKZx3Hs277qaFkMS1QYvzZbaAhL3HMBrjg0f5D4T-ls_DxKArDi9xJw92zdoLYOGPaVeVTxg4QjLdWaaCyQKPu1ba5a7pr5SYnpkswKrKfiq4WsE/s640/blogger-image-1199840421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyemrd9RGjfJWyakzjM19L9pVYORIjKZx3Hs277qaFkMS1QYvzZbaAhL3HMBrjg0f5D4T-ls_DxKArDi9xJw92zdoLYOGPaVeVTxg4QjLdWaaCyQKPu1ba5a7pr5SYnpkswKrKfiq4WsE/s640/blogger-image-1199840421.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnUXQWb0IGGhqbgJUJpvhq2zXuSWQMNOM6l99V4O4rNtdgmQlxulPpts3S4CyIflhrE-RLniOodY5sx0HaOGWYymb_2TAb6X40kYfDGEz9KAae8y0mp1h9tL-5gEK33VkE_WhWpgONjIc/s640/blogger-image--544170781.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnUXQWb0IGGhqbgJUJpvhq2zXuSWQMNOM6l99V4O4rNtdgmQlxulPpts3S4CyIflhrE-RLniOodY5sx0HaOGWYymb_2TAb6X40kYfDGEz9KAae8y0mp1h9tL-5gEK33VkE_WhWpgONjIc/s640/blogger-image--544170781.jpg"></a></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-44951337071977519602015-11-19T13:31:00.001-06:002015-11-19T13:33:19.018-06:00Thank(FILL)Thanksgiving is next week and it seems only fitting to express how thankful I am, for all we've been given. I don't need a specified holiday to show and feel gratitude, as it's something I live with daily. <div>Tomorrow is Harlow's first fill and I'd be lying if I denied the ever growing lump in my throat. I was hoping by now we would be at the tail end of the expansion process, but unexpected complications have caused delays. Sometimes it feels wrong to use the term "we" as although I'm her mother and have the emotional attachment to this, I'll never know what it's like to be her; enduring all of this before the age of three. </div><div>Three. It's a number I'm so grateful for. There was a time I feared I'd never see past one and a half. </div><div>I pray that Harlow handles these 8-10 fills with the same courage and strength she has shown throughout this whole ordeal. </div><div>I pray this expansion is tolerable and as painless as possible. I pray that she understands why mommy and daddy are having her go through all of this. I pray this will all be a vague memory, at most, for her in the future. I pray for a successful procedure with the best outcome possible. </div><div>Thankful? Absolutely. Thankfill. </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-24370769969870678212015-10-05T15:37:00.001-05:002015-10-05T15:37:21.100-05:00Needing ClosureWe need closure. Not the emotional type that one seeks after an unexpected break up, but the physical kind. We literally need Harlow's sutures to pull her incision closed and heal. <div><br></div><div>I'll start by saying that Dr Beale wasn't pleased with her stitches last week. He said that the skin surrounding them looked compromised and he switched her to a stronger antibiotic. We were worried but knew we had to remain calm and stay positive. A few days on her new medicine and the incision was looking better and appeared to be healing; not just to me, but to the doctor as well. Last night when I was changing her bandage, I noticed what appears to be a hole in her skin. The sutures are spread apart and her skin is split. This is obviously not what we wanted or needed to happen. The silver lining is that throughout this whole ordeal, Harlow has been comfortable and happy. She never complains about pain or when we have to change her bandages. She's such a damn trooper. </div><div>I sent a picture of the area to our family friend, who happens to also be a nurse who has worked on many of Harlow's surgeries. Bonus: she will one day be quasi family! She confirmed that it wasn't supposed to look like that and she was kind enough to send that picture on to our doctor. He too, agreed that it was not ideal. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure why, but last night as Harlow was sleeping on my chest, I started having all these vivid memories of her in the hospital, getting respiratory therapy treatments. I had not thought of those times in a while, so the clearness of the events was a bit shocking to me. I couldn't tell if it was the 32 lb toddler on me or anxiety that was making it hard to breathe. </div><div>Maybe it was a little sign to let me know that things, although not how we hoped, still aren't as bad as how they were. I know how lucky we are. I hear and read stories almost daily that remind me of how easily things could have gone a different way. I will never stop being thankful for that. </div><div><br></div><div>This morning when the doctor called to inform me that we needed to go back into surgery, I shouldn't have felt so defeated; but I did. He is hoping that if the implant isn't exposed, that he can just remove the compromised area and put a new incision on the front of her leg. I know this isn't life changing. I know this isn't life threatening. I know everything will be ok. I'm just...sad. And disappointed. I'm upset for Harlow. She had such a rough time coming out of surgery a few weeks ago and now we have to put her through all of that again. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm thankful she is here. I'm thankful she still has limbs that can be operated on. I'm thankful that this child that I waited so very long for, is built with so much understanding and strength. And bravery. And cuteness. And mounds of curls. She's holding up her end of the deal and I'll be damned if I'm not going to hold up my end of it.</div><div><br></div><div>I cried. I wiped the tears away. I say this is a setback. Not a permanent roadblock. Little by little I'm getting the closure I need to move forward and let go of what happened and what could have been. Now we just need her body to continue working hard to better itself and finally reach the point where we can begin to put all of this behind us. Closure. </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-90953152907405664252015-07-31T11:59:00.001-05:002015-07-31T11:59:04.820-05:00All Sippy Cups Are Not Created EqualAs many of you know, my parenting style won't be featured in any guidance books any time soon. I don't think I'm doing anything particularly wrong, but I have a strong feeling that many moms would highly disagree. That's ok. Agree to disagree? <div>I cherish every single day with my child and in those few rare moments where she isn't my most favorite person in the world, I quickly go back to her days in the hospital and just like that...she's top notch again. </div><div> People always warn you about the toddler years and how the terrible twos will challenge you...I thought for sure, not my Harlow. She's so sweet. And quiet. And obedient. </div><div>And then she turned two. It was like clockwork. Tantrums began. Bawling over anything and everything. Frequently losing the ability to fetch things on her own. Disagreeing with me at every turn and a sudden independence that I wasn't quite prepared for. </div><div>I respect a girl who knows what she wants and I fully understand how certain things are simply superior to their generic competitors, however, there are days when I can't tell if Harlow is selective or battling OCD. </div><div>Case and point, the Sippy cup. Like many moms, I bought a variety of brands and styles, as the second you assume your toddler will like one type, they sure as hell will refuse it. $200 later, we settled on the Nuk Sippy. We all know I'm not a huge fan of the color pink, so I bought a few cups that were green with pink lady bugs and a few that were blue with turtles. At first it was smooth sailing. </div><div>Then came the urges </div><div>Tell me I'm not alone on this one. </div><div>Harlow gnaws down on the plastic nipple part super hard and grunts and grinds her teeth around. </div><div>Please, for the love of God, tell me I'm not alone on this one. </div><div>Said urges, cause additional holes and new leakage from the cup. This is not acceptable to Miss Priss. </div><div>She must have taken her anger out on the lady bug cups in particular, because now they just won't do. In her crying fits of rage for "Milky," I have been dumb enough to offer her the pink cup. </div><div>What the hell was I thinking?! </div><div>If I'm lucky enough to dodge the cup as it comes flying at my face, in return, I get to experience 5-20 minutes of pure unhappiness and frustration. (Sometimes from both of us). </div><div>Super Nanny would tell me I'm crazy. That if a child is really thirsty, they will drink from whatever cup is offered. That it is absolutely ridiculous that parents adhere to their child's behavior and exchange the "wrong" cup for the "right" one. </div><div>And I would agree. However...</div><div>Some may call it laziness, but there are times when it is simply easier to give in and find that damn blue Sippy. </div><div>Harlow has smartened up and now requests "blue Milky". She also let's me know that she wants it "heavy" which means full. The repercussions of presenting a half full Sippy cup are dangerous. </div><div><br></div><div>Other fun facts I'm quickly learning from my toddler:</div><div><br></div><div>She suddenly insists on wearing "big girl panties"... Over her diaper</div><div><br></div><div>Thomas the Train is her Número Uno, with Curious George running in at a close second. </div><div><br></div><div>She agrees that big girls don't need Pacis, therefore she isn't a big girl yet. </div><div><br></div><div>Time goes by at snail speed when I can't get the Apple TV to turn on quick enough </div><div><br></div><div>The "quick wash" cycle actually takes 10 years when her Blankie is being washed. </div><div><br></div><div>"Poo poo" also means "pee pee"</div><div><br></div><div>Coloring with her consists of her telling me where I can sit, what color I can use and where on the paper I'm allowed to draw. Any alterations to this will result in fury. </div><div><br></div><div>Harlow has two bedrooms. "Harlow's room" and "our room". When I've asked her why she doesn't sleep in her bed, she says "because I sleep with you". </div><div><br></div><div>Any article of clothing that has polka dots on it, resembles Minnie Mouse. She loves to sleep in her Minnie pjs. </div><div><br></div><div>Rain or shine. Winter or summer. Appropriate or not. The red Hunter boots are 9 out of 10 times, the ONLY accepted footwear. </div><div><br></div><div>Any food that she doesn't like is considered "too spicy". </div><div><br></div><div>Her baby dolls MUST have real milk. Pretending isn't acceptable and water is even worse. And as you guessed it, her dolls only like "blue milky" too. </div><div><br></div><div>When I do finally reprimand her and threaten to put her in the corner, she bats her eyes (on command) and compliments me. Sometimes they are odd compliments. The other day she said, "mommy, I like your arm. It's really pretty". </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I'm so screwed. </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-836917110109371162015-07-29T14:26:00.001-05:002015-07-29T14:26:51.281-05:00I will try and fix youLoss is experienced in so many different ways. No experience is like another and no two people feel the same. Many friends of mine have experienced the loss of babies. I simply cannot imagine. I still have heart wrenching flashbacks and thoughts of what could have been, but those are all they are. Flashbacks and thoughts. They aren't my reality or daily struggle. I believe I am a very sympathetic and empathetic person. I always try to put myself in others' shoes and help find a common ground. I know this is going to sound so awful and selfish, but the loss of a child is just not something I can allow my mind to imagine. In dealing with my friends and their children passing, I automatically get this gut wrenching feeling and have major anxiety. I know that most people share in those feelings, but mine still stem for the events of a year ago. I still cannot hear certain songs without bawling like a baby. I feel so helpless in my attempts to comfort those who have experienced something that I was fortunate enough to dodge. I would never compare my journey to those who have lost a child, but I still know the agony and pure terror of believing you are watching your baby slip away. My heart breaks for anyone who has to continue on without their precious little one, as I know the dark moments I had, when I was told that would most likely be my outcome. I pray for peace in their hearts. I hope for brighter days, where they can smile and put one foot in front of the other. I send love and energy as they begin this dreadful journey. I hold my Harlow even tighter when things like this happen. I have this sense of guilt as I sometimes feel like because so many of my own prayers were used and answered, that perhaps they no longer work for others. I know that sounds silly, but I still say them and hope they are heard. It's easy to get lost in the shuffle of day to day chaos and forget how quickly life can change and how suddenly people can be taken away. <div>Sorry for this super depressing entry, just have lots on my mind and needed to get it out. </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-22138178257820127142015-04-22T14:02:00.001-05:002015-04-22T14:02:53.094-05:00Landslide"...I've been afraid of changing, cause I've built my life around you..."<div><br></div><div>So far this new, fresh year has held up to most of my expectations. We swore to move forward, with our heads held high and face any new challenges with grace and optimism. </div><div><br></div><div>I'd say I faltered a bit in March, as harlow's plastic surgeon informed us that he wanted to proceed with tissue and skin expansions on her leg; years sooner than we had anticipated. I tried to act okay with this new turn of events, but somewhere deep inside of me, the tears and anxieties started to release again. Harlow has come so far and is just such a good little girl. She's happy and jumping and running the show in our house and we have been thankful for every single second. The mere thought of taking her down again and possibly tarnishing her spirit, left me with an unbearable aching. I've been told by others and by my own self, that this procedure is a good thing. It will help ensure that she continues to grow and move without any limitations. It will aide in much needed padding and physical scars, that we have slowly adjusted to. I'm aware that the younger she is, the quicker her recovery will be and the less she will remember. We will start the process in the fall and will advance through the steps over 5-6 months. I know it's the right thing and the very best thing for her, but that hasn't eased my nerves or my heart.</div><div><br></div><div>When I push that situation out of my mind, it's easy for me to get wrapped up in life, work, family etc. Although I know that change is good, I have been hoping for a little boring normalcy. No major events, as we had more than our share last year. </div><div><br></div><div>And then Dr. Sue let us know that she was retiring. If you read my blog, you'll remember I wrote about Harlow's pediatrician and just how much she means to me and my family. She took on so much more than a doctor's role while Harlow was sick. I had always loved her, but after seeing her true colors, I couldn't imagine life without her. I remember when my neighbor told me the bad news...we were at the zoo. I cried at the zoo. Right there in front of the elephants. I just wanted and needed everything to be the same this year and now, a huge part of Harlow's life (and mine) was abruptly changing. I'm trying to accept that we will be ok and with any bribing, perhaps we can get her to care for Harlow somewhere else. </div><div><br></div><div>The questions have started again on if or when Blake and I will have another baby. This always boggles my mind. If people asked if we "wanted" more children, I would get it. It's that they always ask if or when we are having more kids. Newsflash: we didn't get pregnant easily the first go around. I know people do get pregnant naturally after IVF, but that's not a guarantee. How could I possibly know if or when I'll get pregnant?. I may never. This isn't me being a pessimist, as I would love another baby. Harlow would shine as a big sister and I love having siblings. But I'm done putting that type of pressure on myself. Would I love another child? Yes. But am I slowly becoming at peace if Harlow is my one and only? Yes. I've read several articles about why people only have one child and while it wouldn't necessarily be my choice, it was a really good read. Lots of the points made sense to me. Could I love another baby the way I love Harlow? I hope so. I'm just not making any real plans as far as that goes. Our main focus is Harlow and getting her in the best place possible. This next procedure will take at least 6 months and I think that will take up most of our year. She's so worth it. </div><div><br></div><div>Again, I know change is enviable, but for now, I just want to focus on the present and what I've been lucky enough to be given already. </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-5778892871885892812015-01-01T13:11:00.001-06:002015-01-01T13:11:33.172-06:002014: i love you, goodbyeDear 2014,<div><br></div><div>I have such mixed emotions about you and feel we have had a love/hate relationship these last 365 days. You began with such promise and high hopes. In early February, we celebrated the beautiful first year of Harlow's life. A candy themed birthday party seemed only appropriate, as she has brought so much sweetness to our everyday life. I still couldn't thank everyone for sharing in her special day, without choking up. I'm not sure if or when I'll ever be able to speak about my daughter without getting emotional. It's a strength and a weakness. We watched as Harlow began to gain confidence and the ability to pull up on furniture and walk along side of things. After struggling for years to become a family, everything was finally the way I had always dreamt it to be. </div><div><br></div><div>Apparently you had other plans for us. On my dad's birthday, the April Fool's joke that unfolded was more than we could have handled or imagined. Harlow went into septic shock from the flu and strep throat and nearly died. We spent 5 weeks in the hospital, not knowing if we would walk out with our family of 3 in tact or as a man and woman in mourning. Thank God it wasn't the latter. You scarred my heart and eyes with what I felt and saw. I held my breath as I insanely stared at my baby's breathing monitor, trying to will her to take her own oxygen in and not depend on a machine. I learned to sleep to the rhythm of beeping from life supporting systems and nurses moving about. I sang to my child while surgeons stripped her delicate legs of their skin. I found comfort in clinging to my husband in a twin bed at the hospital. I learned to pray harder and deeper than I knew possible. I was shaken to my core and scared to death of what my year and entire life would end up being. We were robbed of the Spring months and all the optimism the new blooms usually mean to me. You left wounds to heal in my soul and all over my baby girl. </div><div><br></div><div> But you let us keep her. You showed me real fear and anguish, but from that nightmare, you also opened my eyes to something more precious than I can ever fully describe. I witnessed the good in people and true, raw beauty and love. My ears heard some of the most powerful prayers ever said, all in the name of Harlow. I was touched emotionally and physically from family and friends, to mere acquaintances and strangers. I made connections and lifelong relationships with nurses and doctors. I learned the importance of patience and waiting on things we value most. </div><div>I watched in awe as my baby learned to walk, without a portion of one heel. I played with my family in the sand and experienced the beach through my daughter's giggles and squeals. </div><div><br></div><div>Then you took Frank. And I was so angry. Why would you put us through so much in such a short time? Why wouldn't you give us a freaking break?! </div><div>You were kind to many and cruel to others. </div><div> </div><div>You gave people I adore happiness, success, love and babies and yet you took them away from others. You ripped life from us and gave it back. You lifted my spirits higher than they've ever been and drug me down to the darkest depths. I was hopeful. I was hopeless. I lost my faith. My faith was strengthened. I worked hard. I slacked off. I was angry. I was thankful. I was cursed. I was blessed. I was lost. I was found. </div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> I'm ready to say goodbye to you. I thank you for keeping me whole. For keeping me humble. For letting me remain a mommy. For weakening and strengthening my faith and marriage. For showing me I can make it through and still smile back at you. I hate moving forward without our Frankles, but have to. He is the only thing I hate leaving behind with you. I fear you. I love you. I appreciate you. I will not miss you. I needed you. But now you and I must part ways. Goodbye 2014. Please tell 2015 to continue to beautify all things in my life and be kind to us all. </span></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-12692648616655780922014-10-23T13:05:00.001-05:002014-10-23T13:05:33.264-05:00Bah Bye....<div><br></div>Things that could disappear forever and I'd be totally cool:<div><br></div><div>1. Acronyms. All of them! No exceptions. No "well, this one is okay". I mean it. Are we so busy that we can't spell out the actual words or phrase? Are our phone bills charging for every single letter we type, so we are just being financially savvy? Or is it a mix between trying to hip and laziness? Either way, I would love for all the "LOLs, IDKs, SMHs, TIAs, LMAOs" and all the others that I'm positive I don't know what they actually mean, to vanish into thin air. My sister is a literature teacher for 7/8 grade. She receives papers that contain acronyms, explanation points at the end of EVERY sentence, and wait for it...smiley faces. I fear that the younger generations will be illiterate, due to all of this. My daughter is a part of the "younger" generation. What if she only speaks to me in acronyms? It'll be a huge language barrier. FML. (I kid, I kid).</div><div><br></div><div>2. Smocked clothing for babies/toddlers/anyone. I know this look is very popular amongst the Southern states. I was born in Berkeley, so my parents probably dressed me in bell bottoms and fringe vests....but I will happily take that. I guess I just don't get all the rage around everything smocked and monogrammed. Is it precious to have some things with your baby's initials on it? Sure. I admittedly have at least one blanket and a couple of head wraps with "Harlow" or "HTJ" on them. I am just confused by those wanting to sew it on EVERYTHING! When Harlow was about 5 months old, I bought a smocked 4th of July dress. I had a weak moment. It happens to the best of us. Of course she looked adorable in it, but I think she could wear a burlap sack well. Looking back at pictures of that holiday, although she was clearly dressed for the occasion, I'm puzzled as to why I wanted that for her in the first place. I'm not Southern or preppy. I swear I'm not some judgmental asshole, so please find the humor in this and don't get offended. I have friends who only dress their kids in smocked outfits. It's not like I hate them. (The children not the outfits). Maybe it's just an overwhelming look for me, personally. To each their own. I dress my daughter in mostly gray and black and buy lots of her stuff from the boys' section. I'm sure some people don't particularly like her wardrobe. Perhaps it's more of the boys in those John John overall/apron things that make my skin itch. And there is one for every season, holiday, and sport. Nothing says, " I love the NFL" quite like a baby blue John John with footballs sewn on it. But as I said before, to each their own. At least now you know what NOT to buy Harlow for her birthday. </div><div><br></div><div>3. Ebola. I know, I know. You're probably just as sick of hearing that word as I am. Is it rare? Yes. Is it scary? Of course. Do we wish it had never been brought into the United States, specifically Dallas? No doubt about it. However, I guarantee that with the exception of those who think vaccinations are the devil, if an Ebola vaccine came out tomorrow, nearly everyone would get it. However, there ARE vaccines available for other sicknesses...like the flu and people have no interest in getting them. People don't seem to understand how dangerous and life threatening the Flu can really be. Someone made a joke that more people have been married to Kim Kardashian than have died from Ebola in the U.S. I rest my case. Take precautions, wash your hands...but please don't go buy a hazmat suit. Hey Ebola, thanks for the panic. You may now exit stage left. </div><div><br></div><div>4. Selfies. I'm sure I'll get a lot of hell over this one, but it's just got to be said. Enough already. Especially the ones with you in your car. Although I'm proud of you for wearing your seatbelt, I'm miffed by all the duck faced, personal phone pictures that are taken and posted on the daily. Maybe I'm just unlucky, but I have never felt obligated to snap a picture of myself while driving. I'm just not that hot. Unless I'm sending a photo to a friend to show her my new hairdo or the fact that I chipped my tooth, I just don't understand. </div><div><br></div><div>5. People that don't wave when you let them into your lane in traffic.</div><div><br></div><div>6. People that don't thank you for holding the door open for them. </div><div><br></div><div>7. People that jaywalk and then take their sweet ass time. </div><div><br></div><div>8. Terms like "bestie" "whatevs" "obvs" etc. </div><div><br></div><div>9. People who lack elevator etiquette. It's an unsaid rule that you allow people to exit the elevator before you try to get in.</div><div><br></div><div>10. On that note, people who must push the elevator button after its clearly lit up. I don't make it a habit of just standing in front of the elevator and guessing when it will finally come down to me. </div><div><br></div><div>11. Ungrateful people. I feel I have always be thankful and well aware of the many blessings in my life. Those who feel they are simply entitled to everything, make me sad. </div><div><br></div><div>12. Being rude to waitstaff, nurses, clerks, basically anyone who is helping you. How you treat someone says so much about your character. </div><div><br></div><div>13. The traffic and construction on 635.</div><div><br></div><div>14. April 1st and the 7-8 weeks or more that followed. </div><div><br></div><div>15. People that don't put their shopping cart back. It's not that far. </div><div><br></div><div>16. Overly loud phone talkers. Not everyone needs or wants to hear about how your date last night sucked. </div><div><br></div><div>To be continued. Please add on to this list with me. </div><div><br></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-58419903485415000432014-09-22T11:19:00.001-05:002014-09-22T11:19:48.203-05:00Just A DreamI swear that at some point, my posts will go back to being the random, funny ones they used to be...but for now, I just write whatever pops into my head. I feel lots has been weighing heavy on my mind as of late.<br />
<br />
Through the wonderful world of Facebook, I was introduced to a book. You know those creepy, stalker type ads that suddenly show up on the side of your Facebook page? Clearly we are being monitored, as the second I buy tampons, I receive ads about Essure or Midol. This particular ad caught my interest, as it was about a book a mother wrote, regarding the loss of her child. The title is, "Rare Bird" and for some reason, I felt drawn to read it. Now I know I am fortunate and did not lose my child, but that didn't take away the strong urge I had to buy it and peruse it's pages.<br />
<br />
Once it arrived, I quickly began reading it. As expected, it was loaded with religious information and yet contained so much raw emotion and real ness. I haven't even finished it yet, but I instantly felt a connection with this woman and her story. <br />
<br />
Then the dreams started. For several weeks now, I have had several similar dreams at night. Some at nearly faded memories of our time in the hospital, but there is one in particular that has been scaring the hell out of me. In this dream, all the days and time since we were discharged from the hospital on May 8th, up until today, have been a dream. I've made it all up. I have simply imagined what our life would look like and how the next few months would have played out. In this dream, Harlow did not beat the odds. I wake up and none do these past 6 months has really happened. I'm still in the hospital and the news of her passing is still fresh and intense.<br />
<br />
I hate this dream. I hate it because it scares the living shit out of me. It makes the alternative and possible outcomes too real for me. It makes me feel guilty for thinking I am allowed to be relieved that my daughter dying was just a dream, when so many other parents cannot wake up from their nightmares. It makes me question why I was spared such tragedy, but not for one second willing to give it back.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure if I'm entitled to feel some sort of PTSD from the whole Harlow deal. So many others have faced far worse and never admit to their suffering. Who am I to think that what I am now experiencing deserves such a strong aftermath diagnosis?! Maybe what is happening. To me is simply the grief seeping out. Finally.<br />
<br />
Last night, Blake and I made the very unwise decision to watch the movie, "Fault In Our Stars." WARNING: if you are having a crappy year, do NOT watch this! If you are having a fantastic year, do NOT watch this. The story is based on a teenage girl who is dying from cancer. Not at all my situation, I know, but so many parts of the movie touched too close to home. The mother crying, saying how if her daughter died, she wouldn't be a mother anymore. Gulp. I said those same words in the hospital and felt the same feeling. Different circumstances, but the same fear and anguish of that possibility. Again, I am not putting myself in the same category as those who have lost their child. I don't want to. The days and weeks of uncertainty were plenty for me and although we got off easy, it was enough to make me fully aware of the consequences.<br />
<br />
Harlow has been taking steps on her own. Not full on walking yet, but every day she is getting more confident. Some days she will try over and over again. Other days, she doesn't even entertain the idea. But it's progress. I'm so sorry for all those parents out there who never get to witness the aftermath. Who never get to relish in the second chance. Who never get to wake up from the reoccurring nightmare of losing a child. Is my life a dream life? No way. But I am humbled, afraid and very thankful that when my sleep shakes me to my core, I get to wake up and realize, it was just a dream. julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-81362612346862867022014-08-11T14:33:00.001-05:002014-08-11T14:35:32.115-05:00Sit. Shake. High Five. Stay. I Needed You To Stay.You died on a Friday. So did a huge part of your dad and I. It was a part reserved for you and all of the youthful, carefree times we shared. I finally pinpointed that that is what you resemble to me. To us. Youth and no worries. Days spent in California. Hiking and cooler weather. Bliss and no major responsibilities. The beach and you.<div> For so very long you were the center of our world. You were our new beginning. We had a puppy prior to you, but he was stolen so early on. We waited and took our time debating if we were ready for another bulldog. You fell into our lap and instantly made things better. You ruined all of our furniture and constantly peed on our DVD collection, but we didn't care. You had my engagement ring tied around a bow on your neck. I remember Blake saying, " Frank you're not doing your job" as you were licking me and not showcasing the ring. You were our save the date picture and our ring bearer at our wedding. Dressed up with angel wings. We tied homemade dog treats to the aisle chairs, to encourage you along. </div><div><br><div>When we made the move back home to Dallas, it took it's toll on you. Your allergies acted up. The major temperature change and life in a new place. With no hiking. No beach. Plenty of worries and responsibilities. But you stayed constant. Always entertaining us. Always making us laugh. Always. </div></div><div>When we struggled for 3 years trying to get pregnant, you would always sense my sadness and come rest your head on me. I knew you hurt too. When we finally were pregnant, I put a t shirt on you that said," I'm finally going to be a big brother" and that's how we told dad the big news. You rested on my growing belly and helped me read up on what to expect. Dad took some maternity pictures of me and you were in them too. You were always such a staple in our lives and we wanted to always include you. </div><div>When we adopted Gus, you were less than pleased. I know you had difficulty adjusting to someone new being in our home and we tried to ease that time. Gus was and is still a handful. He came from a bad place and wasn't always kind to you. I'm so sorry for that. I hope you eventually became okay with his presence and weren't unhappy. </div><div>When we brought your new baby sister home from the hospital, I researched how best to introduce you to her. I walked in first and greeted you and then dad brought Harlow in. You never seemed to mind or not mind her, so I assumed you were okay. I apologize for kicking you out of our bed. I know you loved sleeping in dad's armpit and I hated messing up your routine to better fit Harlow's. </div><div>As you grew older, you seemed less bothered by stuff and more into relaxing and being comfortable. It always made us giggle how put out you acted when we would force you to get exercise or take you to the dog park. </div><div>Things changed and life happened. I know I didn't spend enough time with you. Between work, Harlow etc, you kept getting pushed down the line. I loved you all the same but feel so bad that maybe you weren't shown enough. </div><div>The hardest part for me to face is thinking I didn't kiss you goodbye before we left on a Florida vacation. I was rushed packing, getting your sister ready, and getting myself ready. I can't recall for sure, but I think I just walked out the door without even acknowledging you. That is what is killing me. You stood by and were chosen over so often the last year and even though you were probably stressed that we were leaving, I was too caught up to hug you bye. </div><div>Had I only known, Frank. I took for granted that you would always be there. That you were always loyal. That you were struggling to adapt to all the changes. That you were there for all of my important moments and I lacked on my end. Getting that call to say on our last night of vacation, that you had died, will forever haunt me. Having to go tell dad and saying the words out loud. It still stings so bad. We cried all night. Knowing we weren't there for you in your final moments. Cried the whole plane ride home and had to race to get home, compose ourselves enough to bundle your lifeless body up in a blanket, and give you the proper goodbye you so deserved. We took you to a place where they will let us forever have a part of you. Dad wept as he fixed you up so I could see you. As I walked up to your body, my heart felt like it would stop. You were no longer there. You were already in another place. Hopefully you are on a beautiful beach, with a frisbee. Full of energy and life. Enjoying yourself but patiently waiting for us to join you. You weren't on that table, but I was. I cried and told you what a good boy you were. I told you how very sorry I was for sometimes neglecting you and for being absent when you needed me most. I rubbed your ears the way you always loved. I hope you heard me and felt me. </div><div>Bubba, I have been so torn apart these last few days. I can't even go to the dog food for Gus without feeling my stomach ache. I cannot walk through the dog alley at the store without tearing up. I miss you. I know it will get easier and we will always tell stories of your amazing life and companionship but I just wish you were still here. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to you. I dreamt of Harlow forcing you to play dress up. You would have hated it but bared it. I'm so so sorry Poops that your last days were spent with us gone. We will forever feel that pain. I hope you are happy and full of life. I hope you forgive us. I hope you will be waiting for us one day. You are and were my first baby and I love you so much. </div><div>You mastered sit, shake and high five. We never really concurred stay. Oh how badly I wish I could have made you stay. </div><div>August 9, 2014 was a horrific day for our family. Just when we were becoming whole again, a very important part of our family was taken away. </div><div>I want you back my sweet Frankles. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuowWLaqJJ0sT3KSYDqhFuYIhwtwy0l8cBRw2LDss-KjW2YG-DM_Yto4SxQEJLVICToIXuMGY6lYALodlmNrJrYGXbrc7illaWt-n0WDVBjAucmb25JCvhM-DtZiH6hP0vE6XUCTQoK9Q/s640/blogger-image--424153367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuowWLaqJJ0sT3KSYDqhFuYIhwtwy0l8cBRw2LDss-KjW2YG-DM_Yto4SxQEJLVICToIXuMGY6lYALodlmNrJrYGXbrc7illaWt-n0WDVBjAucmb25JCvhM-DtZiH6hP0vE6XUCTQoK9Q/s640/blogger-image--424153367.jpg"></a></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-26142532966702379082014-07-10T11:01:00.001-05:002014-07-10T11:04:39.025-05:00Loudness Of Your StareAs the near loss of my daughter turns another page on my calendar; life has begun to feel somewhat normal again. There are still doctor appointments to attend and although we have FINALLY shed that last cast, we have moved on to silicone therapy on her scarring. Her latest accessories come in the form of thick, knee high, athletic socks. Blake and I laughed, as before, when people would see Harlow with her wound dressings and cast, they would instantly show us pity, or smile at us. Now, people simply think we have no style whatsoever and think it's chic or cute to clothe our baby girl in a dress and tube socks. Oh well. I'll take it any day of the week. Means we are still moving forward. <div><br></div><div>As the dust settles on a horrific time in our lives, routines reinstate and days pass with little to no fumbles. It's funny how you naturally adjust to new schedules and additional daily tasks. Add it on to my to do list. It will get done. </div><div><br></div><div>It's nice to have the questions, puzzled looks and obvious whispering...lessen. It used to tear me to shreds to have strangers glare at my baby. I could feel their stares. I could sometimes feel their invisible fingers pointing at me, as if to blame me for what they imagined must have happened to my child. It was almost like I could hear them watching and assuming I neglected my daughter and her casts were because she broke both of her legs. That guilt that they placed upon me, cut like a knife. </div><div><br></div><div>Maybe I place blame on myself, for the scars that Harlow will forever have to bare. You always want your children to have it better than you did and in that sense, maybe I have let her down. I will never know what it's like to grow up with skin grafts on the back on my calves. I'll never know how it feels to walk with half of a heel. And I hate that. It makes me sick to my stomach to know that is her burden to carry. </div><div>But I did everything I could to keep her safe and healthy. She is my greatest joy and the best thing that I've ever had...protecting her is all I think about. Septic shock is nothing I could have prepared for. No one could.</div><div><br></div><div>Scars heal and slowly fade. She won't remember any of the trauma she experienced. I pray that walking comes easily for her and that with the help of physical therapy, she can learn to be mobile, with no pain. As those concerns ring in my head, new questions arise. </div><div><br></div><div>How is this little 17 month old so strong? How will these new scars affect her? And the most important one....how would I live my life without this precious blessing that I have been given? </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLWN5xLtH2uG07OqK9KOX6TtggcndhT4FLrWzOxNsIpJVz8FIgsFvAqLWWM0RlizDgJTEcGL2M06DHUNnOXd3YsNaauC7Tm_ZO1GwQ9s_7pn7MfThL1K2qV2Xx763_xDDVhyCc8-UfYo/s640/blogger-image-39814180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFLWN5xLtH2uG07OqK9KOX6TtggcndhT4FLrWzOxNsIpJVz8FIgsFvAqLWWM0RlizDgJTEcGL2M06DHUNnOXd3YsNaauC7Tm_ZO1GwQ9s_7pn7MfThL1K2qV2Xx763_xDDVhyCc8-UfYo/s640/blogger-image-39814180.jpg"></a></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-14432459209633351972014-06-30T15:03:00.000-05:002014-06-30T15:03:10.875-05:00Doctor Mom. Doctor Faith. Doctor Love. Dr. SueI know that with every dressing change, every appointment and every bath I give Harlow with a watertight bag on her leg, that time is slowly passing and with that, the memories of April1st through May 8th, will eventually become blurry. There are parts of that hospital stay that I will happily wave goodbye to, but there are other aspects and certainly people, who I want to embed in my memory for life.<br />
When you're pregnant you spend so much time trying to play by the rules. Eat healthy and well balanced meals. Take your prenatal vitamins. Don't kill yourself with strenuous exercise. Go to all of your doctor appointments. And the list goes on and on. You do the best you can to create a safe environment for your future child.<br />
Then when that precious baby finally arrives, you spend so much time trying to play by a whole new set of rules. You over analyze the smallest details and aim to be that "perfect" parent daily. Make sure the baby gets the best nutrition possible (except for those exhausting days where you pop mac and cheese in the microwave and hope no one finds out). Make sure the baby is in line with his or her milestones and that you are providing enough stimulation for them. Make sure they feel loved. Every. Single. Day. And of course there is that pesky task of keeping them safe from harm and sickness. And when something does go wrong or should I say when life happens and your baby does get a sniffle or an ear ache, who you choose to take over for you is so very important. When mommy's kisses won't make it all better, you need a pediatrician to come in and make everything okay again.<br />
There have been so many days when I feel I have failed Harlow at keeping her safe and healthy. You see, my daughter Harlow, who was merely 15 months old at the time, became very ill, very quickly. And my living nightmare rapidly followed. <br />
I believe in vaccinating my children. Whether you do or not isn't the point of this story. The reason I say this is because I feel I did everything the correct way, regarding Harlow's health. She received the Flu vaccine and was an extremely vivacious and healthy baby. Until she wasn't. Long story short...my daughter contracted the Flu A and then a secondary opportunist infection jumped on board too. There was nothing I could have done to prevent this. I'm slowly making myself accept and believe that. You can't wrap your kids up in a bubble. They have to get out and get dirty and scrap their knees. Of course I would be right there to kiss those knees, wash them off and apply Hello Kitty bandaids to them, but again, I'm getting off track.<br />
<div>
The night my daughter was rushed into the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, I watched as my whole world slowly turned to black. In the first several hours Harlow's mortality expectancy was 85%. Eighty Five Percent!! Family and friends fled to the hospital to be by our side and cover us in love and support. Many of those faces bring me joy and instant comfort, but none of them could answer my questions or relieve my heart from breaking. </div>
<div>
In the hours that continued, I felt like I was in a horrific movie. This couldn't be my life. The baby I wanted for years and was finally given through IVF, wasn't being taken from me. It was as if I was frozen and the world was still going on without me. I couldn't comprehend half of what the specialists were telling me. I would catch words here and there, but as soon as they would say "it's minute to minute on whether she survives" I blocked them out. My ears couldn't take tht kind of information. My heart wouldn't. </div>
<div>
Dr Sue Hubbard called my husband and I as soon as she caught word of Harlow's situation. It's amazing that feeling you have when you know someone is concerned for your child and wants to personally get in touch with you. Unfortunately the last thing on my mind was my phone, so her calls went unanswered. The next thing I know, in walks my pediatrician. I assumed she was making rounds. She wasn't. She wasn't even working that day. She came up to the hospital to check on her patient. And to check on us. </div>
<div>
I could feel the air rip from her chest when she laid eyes on my baby girl. Harlow had gone into septic shock. She was swollen from head to toe, covered in a rash and had every tube and iv imaginable attached to her frail body. Although Dr Sue is a professional and has to emotionally stay strong during these times, I could see her eyes glaze over. When she looked at me, her gaze was water filled and I knew she knew how bad it truly was. She hugged me and my husband and instantly became our support system. </div>
<div>
From that moment on, she became a face I needed to see, so that I could allow myself one second to take a break from my grief. </div>
<div>
Whether it was after workouts on her days off or making a pit stop in to visit us after a grueling workday; she was there. Keeping our faith when we were letting it go. Hugging me when I thought I couldn't stand the thought of being touched; but so needed to be. In those weeks of horror, my daughter's pediatrician became my everything. </div>
<div>
She became a mother to me. (Even though we all know she's far too young for that role). She picked me up when I was down. She constantly got onto me when I wasn't eating or sleeping. She shared in my pure amazement and joy as Harlow miraculously began to improve. She was there for Harlow. And me. </div>
<div>
Pediatricians don't have to do all of that. Her role is to care for my child and this wasn't her specialty, dealing with life threatening septic shock. She didn't have to visit us almost daily. She didn't have to call us from her cell phone, while out of town at a wedding. She didn't have to bring us snacks and goodies. She didn't have to believe that Harlow would get better. She didn't have to wrap us up in her own prayers. She didn't have to. But she did. </div>
<div>
I love her for that.<br />
<br /></div>
julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-44523034368479477722014-06-19T12:36:00.001-05:002014-06-19T12:45:22.202-05:00Shedding The Excess<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ATh-sJZh8YZTVcvbfjSzceQmqoRszaamjdiiHtNpp-fmgvnkEno7WOrlckiL0GJXlwOl8NZWnAH74RnYN2AM1O78RWPHi5W747y8sBk7yUeztozXF5n-nljOyI2JRFmuTwXYvI0MX1U/s640/blogger-image--1074956271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div>It's been 41 days since we brought Harlow back home from the hospital. It's odd to think that I used to love the month of April. Not just because it's my birthday month, but it means spring is here. Everything is colorful and blooming. The weather is patio worthy and slowly all the heavy winter apparel is packed away. A fresh start. Strangely April has come to resemble something different all together for me. It's the start of a nightmare. The beginning of an undesired journey. A membership opening to a club that I never wished to be a part of. <div>I spent the entire month of April watching my daughter's petals turn brown and fall off. I watched her once sparkly aura turn to black. I watched my entire meaning for living, fading away. </div><div>Please don't think I'm not aware that April is also the month that Harlow slowly began to improve. I know that her health began rebuilding in this month as well, but April still has a dark shadow hovering over it, in my mind.</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> But now, she's home. </span></div><div>Yesterday we had another follow up appointment with her surgeon to see how her heel was doing. To see if that 6th procedure could finally be her last for many years to come. </div><div>And it was. All of it. The heel, graft and skin flap all looked healthy, pink and healing. As the doctor removed her wound vac, I nearly choked up. For what seems like forever, she has had one or two cords attached to her legs. I've had the luxury of lugging around the satchel and machine, all the while becoming an expert on how not to trip over the cords, close them in car doors, make sure the machine is always charged etc. As the doc packed it all away...I felt a sense of relief release. Harlow felt it too. One less accessory. We usually LOVE adding a ton of accessories, but after this whole ordeal, we also appreciate the minimalist approach. </div><div>She began with so many cords, tubes, machines and ivs hanging from her frail body. I loved the nurses who knew how much it meant to me to see another machine taken away. Another tube disconnected. Clearing the way to my beautiful baby girl. </div><div>Harlow went from being the sickest baby in the PICU to being the happiest baby everywhere. She knows that she is no longer tied down with a wound vac. She knows she is free to crawl all over this world. We still have the back of a cast and ace bandage on her right foot, so she's not able to walk yet. But what a relieving process to slowly shed the excess. To slowly get back to where we were supposed to already be. </div><div>I'm thankful for her life. I'm thankful for all the machines, tubes and cords. They helped save her precious life. But...I'm so happy to leave them behind...</div><div>April Showers Bring May Flowers. I believe that. Those horrible April storms, allowed my daughter to reblossom in May. <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTtyREVqe3yJydbnPfyx_9hwbiadlp89BrcuigPAn2ab8WqtQhtE2MLm4cAKztoco9E6pgh66GFcakTD8up0J6mhoLxnbY1wpkIcV5nBqWS4RbBEwML6x-z7edZT02C8tgKAfFAdl0YE/s640/blogger-image--545168977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTtyREVqe3yJydbnPfyx_9hwbiadlp89BrcuigPAn2ab8WqtQhtE2MLm4cAKztoco9E6pgh66GFcakTD8up0J6mhoLxnbY1wpkIcV5nBqWS4RbBEwML6x-z7edZT02C8tgKAfFAdl0YE/s640/blogger-image--545168977.jpg"></a></div></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-63240463020285548562014-05-20T13:42:00.001-05:002014-05-20T13:52:13.163-05:00Fragile StrengthLately it seems I have been praised or applauded for my "strength" during the whole Harlow health scare. I have never been one to take a compliment well and it seems I'm no different in this scenario. I know that everyone who has taken the time to let me know how proud they are of me, how much they admire how I have dealt with all of this, how they can't imagine how I am doing so well throughout these past 6 weeks...they all mean nothing but the kindest of words and intentions. And I really appreciate all of them for that encouragement and support. But it almost makes me chuckle to hear that everyone thinks I'm super strong or facing this battle head on. The truth of the matter is...I'm not. Not at all. Someone posted on the #HealHarlow page a quote about not knowing how strong you are, until being strong is your only option. I choose that one. It's not that I wanted to be strong. It's that I HAD to be strong. I tucked away every fear, every panic attack, every nightmare, every cry in the shower, every piece of bad news, those first few days, the words "we almost lost her"....I stored it all in a vault that I reserve for these situations. For about an hour or so, I allowed myself to fall apart in the beginning. I bawled and hyperventilated and nearly passed out. I immediately went into that dark place, that I spend so much time trying to avoid. I imagined Harlow not making it. I imagined how my life would be over. I imagined leaving the hospital without my baby girl. I imagined walking back into our house and knowing that all the joy that once lived there, died with my angel. I went there. For about 60 seconds and then I shut it all off. I cannot go to that place as I fear I would never return. Some people say it's unhealthy to push feelings to the side, but it's my survival mechanism. It's the only way I could face my baby girl each day. Visitors constantly broke down when they laid eyes on Harlow. I don't fault them in anyway. It's a natural reaction and although I comforted these people and reassured them that she was getting better...inside I feel I was desperately begging them to let it all out. Their tears could be mine for the time being. Their sense of hopelessness could be mine as well. Could I have broken down every single second of the 39 days we spent in the hospital? Absolutely. Would I have been entitled to that? Of course. But thoughts become things. I was terrified of allowing my mind to wander and so I blocked out all negativity. I blocked out those first few days and all the odds we were against. I kept my eye on the prize. She would live. She would get better. This wasn't happening to her. Or to me. Or to all my plans and dreams for us. My life would be stripped of all it's purpose if she died. So there simply was no room inside of me to accept that fate. Once Harlow was awake and slowly revealing bits and pieces of her old self and spirit, there was even less space for my weakness. She was alert and very aware of her surroundings. She was affected when people became upset. You could read her face like a book. So mommy only smiled at her. I only cooed and praised her and handled her with white gloves. Perhaps that is what people were doing with me. Building me up so I didn't crumble. I thank them for that. Harlow is alive. She is safe and slowly getting back into a routine. She has limitations and needs more care, but she is back in our home and our family is in tact. Have allowed myself to weep for all that almost happened? Not quite yet. There is still a long road ahead of us. She has more procedures and appointments and wound vac changes and months worth of medicine to endure. She knows this isn't normal. I do too. But it's our normal for now. And I am thankful for every bit of this time. Thoughts become things. I said she would live. I said she would go home. I say now that her heel will heal. That she will recover quickly. That she will walk. That her calves and heels with keep improving and return to a somewhat normal appearance. I say it. I believe it. I have to. Strength? I'm not sure if that is what I'm exuding. Hope? Maybe. Need? 100%. I begged for time. I was told only time would tell us if she made it. It was known that this recovery would take a long time. I have that. Harlow has that. When will I find the time to allow this whole experience to truly sink in? I'm not certain. But I grew up witnessing my mom always being this pillar of positivity and happiness. She never showed weakness. I never saw her cry or appear hopeless. She always seemed like she had it all put together and didn't have the want, need or time to fall apart. I am forever in debt to my mom for showing me this. It is the only reason I made it through 6 weeks of hell. It's the reason I refused to believe the odds. It's the reason I have that vault. The trouble with hoarding all those emotions is that eventually, the door will open. But it's still sealed tight today, tomorrow and every day til I feel Harlow is well enough for me to grieve for all that was almost taken from me. julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-47244274796064999382014-05-08T00:05:00.001-05:002014-05-08T00:11:13.370-05:00Crunching Numbers3- number of years we tried to get pregnant<br>
4- failed iui procedures<br>
1- successful IVF round<br>
9- months of pure bliss and excitement<br>
02/05/13- the day My child was born<br>
1 hour and 15 minutes- amount of time I pushed<br>
5:42- when I became a mother<br>
5:43- when I met my Daughter...we didn't find out the gender<br>
13.5- months of perfection and adoration, watching Harlow grow and become her own person<br>
04.01.14- beginning of my worst nightmare<br>
85- percentage of her mortality rate for 3 days<br>
1,000,000- tears shed<br>
23+ - number of IVs and drips<br>
6- blood transfusions<br>
1 in 3- odds of recovering<br>
0- number of limbs she was expected to have in tact<br>
2-PICC lines<br>
8- leeches on harlow's right hand<br>
4- surgeries<br>
2- joy pink casts<br>
12- nails she may lose...toe nails and finger nails<br>
3 1/2- weeks we were in Pediatric Intensive Care Unit<br>
38- days that we have spent in Medical City<br>
0- nights I've spent away from the hospital<br>
1- day till we go home<br>
1- wound vac we take with us<br>
6 to 8- weeks til all the skin grafting is done and hopefully healed<br>
1- daddy who is ever thankful for his daughter's miraculous recovery<br>
1- mommy who has mentally blocked out the beginning of this horrific journey, to attempt to heal<br>
Infinity- the thank you' s we owe to everyone who has sent prayers, love, support, gifts, meals, visits, and continuous hope<br>
3- the members of our family going home tomorrow<div>2- hands in full recovery </div><div>2- legs, skin grafted and recovering<br>
1- mother who will celebrate more than usual this Mother's Day, at the amazing fact, that she, against all odds, is still a mother today</div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-66747449870249850822014-04-26T13:20:00.001-05:002015-01-13T12:44:18.654-06:00Day 25 and counting....I remember thinking back on those three long years that we tried to get pregnant. I remember how agonizing and difficult of a journey that time was. How we would wish, pray, beg and plead to finally be able to conceive our baby. I thought that was the most trying time in my life, our life; but I was so wrong. <div><br></div><div> </div><div>On April 1st, my father's birthday no less, my worse nightmare slowly began to unravel. Many of you already know the story and in an attempt to not make this post a novel, I will fast forward a bit. </div><div><br></div><div>Three years waiting and wondering if we would ever get to become parents was nothing compared to the three days that we waited and wondered if our baby girl would live or not. </div><div><br></div><div>In a nut shell...</div><div><br></div><div>Harlow had a fever and was vomiting</div><div><br></div><div>We took her to the doctor</div><div><br></div><div>Sent home to observe her as she had a stomach virus, most likely</div><div><br></div><div>She became lethargic and wouldn't drink anything and I panicked</div><div><br></div><div>Called doctor and was sent to the ER</div><div><br></div><div>Tested positive for Flu A and blood pressure, blood sugar and electrolytes were extremely low</div><div><br></div><div>Admitted to children's hospital</div><div><br></div><div>Watched for 5 hours as she slowly began dying right in front of us </div><div><br></div><div>Finally PICU doc sent to see her after I pointed out that she had a large abscess on her neck, was struggling to breath, and had a huge rash covering her entire body</div><div><br></div><div>Admitted to PICU where we waited for over an hour for any news</div><div><br></div><div>Told they almost lost her, twenty minutes after she was brought in</div><div><br></div><div>Blur, blur, blur</div><div><br></div><div>85% mortality rate for the first 3 days</div><div><br></div><div>Slowly began responding to meds and organs showed signs of working</div><div><br></div><div>Days and days passed</div><div><br></div><div>Almost lost her hand and two legs due to loss of blood flow</div><div><br></div><div>Medicinal leeches put on her hand and completely saved it</div><div><br></div><div>Two surgeries to remove dead tissue and skin from her legs and heel</div><div><br></div><div>22 days in PICU and finally sent to the normal children's hospital floor</div><div><br></div><div>Day 4 on the normal floor and we are thriving</div><div><br></div><div>Scheduled for skin grafts on Thursday, it's currently Saturday</div><div><br></div><div>Hoping to be sent home a day or two after the surgery</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I'm leaving out millions of tears, break downs, questions and details as not only would that take forever, but at this point I have mentally begun blocking out those first few days. It is just too difficult to try and recall or relive that terror. We made every deal with God and promised that I would never need another child. That I wouldn't even ask for another baby. That I would be content and wouldn't even mourn the possibility of a sibling for Harlow. But He could not take this baby from me. I wouldn't allow it. I wouldn't be able to handle that and would question everything if this happened. </div><div><br></div><div>I know now why we were put through the test of infertility. It was so we would cherish every single moment with our miracle baby. It was so I could gain strength and knowledge and empathy for others who struggle through the vicious cycle. It was so I could overcome my fear of needles and medications. It was so Blake and I could grow as a couple; fall apart and come together again. It was so we would never take our child's life for granted. And we don't. Ever. </div><div><br></div><div>But this test? I can't wrap my mind around why we would be put through this one. We had everything in perspective. We cherished and cherish the hell out of our daughter. We know what a miracle she is, everyday. </div><div><br></div><div>Maybe it was to show us how much Harlow has touched others' lives. To let us see how sharing our struggle, life and daughter with the world, has affected people. To let us know that we are not alone. That others also know what a special child our daughter is. So that we can one day share this story with her. To tell her she's magical and brave and a true miracle. Times two</div><div><br></div><div>We may never know the reason for this awful experience. But that's not my focus. My focus is that Harlow has beaten all the odds. She continues to amaze doctors and nurses who didn't expect her to survive, let alone keep her limbs. My focus is my child. I stare at her and can't even imagine what my life would be like without her. If the % would have proven true. She is my heart, my reason and my world. I exist because she does. I am ever thankful for these 25 days. We are still here. We are still fighting. We are trying to recover. We are still a family. Always. </div><div><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWGdDcpoaOzQPnzXBhbLG-dwAeYzdU1WOjNn2iFtRqzq0ucrkE_wDw1tf9wbWK_gxJxRcUxDjPN136HCyAM9NL18GHOeJC8GxXZCuZbUWWC_7oWB6kXyThTs1lNLXnoS-eyW7v44uTIo/s640/blogger-image--965498606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGWGdDcpoaOzQPnzXBhbLG-dwAeYzdU1WOjNn2iFtRqzq0ucrkE_wDw1tf9wbWK_gxJxRcUxDjPN136HCyAM9NL18GHOeJC8GxXZCuZbUWWC_7oWB6kXyThTs1lNLXnoS-eyW7v44uTIo/s640/blogger-image--965498606.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdREZpj6D3pfTigILmRGFtTRhhBWOtCT4pi7TrQ8qsqr-eoFVt0v1SP7gpA0Oh_oFRQ1zaxeXK4h2DSwOYKKPD5-OKbUp6CIrf33VYi8KGHG6mxRwmYS4TpmEX34nhmp4qCFJolmQ1FM/s640/blogger-image-843038046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdREZpj6D3pfTigILmRGFtTRhhBWOtCT4pi7TrQ8qsqr-eoFVt0v1SP7gpA0Oh_oFRQ1zaxeXK4h2DSwOYKKPD5-OKbUp6CIrf33VYi8KGHG6mxRwmYS4TpmEX34nhmp4qCFJolmQ1FM/s640/blogger-image-843038046.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9D0HOG_ojemSAiFZ1-w63hjzdWe5PgyJaJbyQaEzpHjmscPTTF9crpx-MiDDe360_0kXFM_ESWoLdmzw5dhypgzshGzK6C45-804BR5b9VQseYqMUgNFrpl6mxoHc0j03Wt8MiIAMau0/s640/blogger-image--316401791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9D0HOG_ojemSAiFZ1-w63hjzdWe5PgyJaJbyQaEzpHjmscPTTF9crpx-MiDDe360_0kXFM_ESWoLdmzw5dhypgzshGzK6C45-804BR5b9VQseYqMUgNFrpl6mxoHc0j03Wt8MiIAMau0/s640/blogger-image--316401791.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-SjZF7oKxxBdlJ42ElYnWatTgUrkuqiqPRErx6VVE8tgi0SbwDPsy7cvs0IET7iNPcdEmiNeDISZFzbjLId8Jjj_9IuAK-SZ2kG7C4DwC5Eu_pzEnD7OMa_gDN6exI4Ko_e5IBVJgsPM/s640/blogger-image-296776336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-SjZF7oKxxBdlJ42ElYnWatTgUrkuqiqPRErx6VVE8tgi0SbwDPsy7cvs0IET7iNPcdEmiNeDISZFzbjLId8Jjj_9IuAK-SZ2kG7C4DwC5Eu_pzEnD7OMa_gDN6exI4Ko_e5IBVJgsPM/s640/blogger-image-296776336.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMaRFqVuxkepF70TknVDlmZeH8m-r02LteRoYIqfcuZZmm0Bomzr94dPW5tmKp0tmrg-N25cfw6vFUMMimUgqrVj1exmMo6qbTL3f1hYyISSGnt0MxE1Sz6asmppL-r4DO50Rm3gMa6Q/s640/blogger-image-1780882242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMaRFqVuxkepF70TknVDlmZeH8m-r02LteRoYIqfcuZZmm0Bomzr94dPW5tmKp0tmrg-N25cfw6vFUMMimUgqrVj1exmMo6qbTL3f1hYyISSGnt0MxE1Sz6asmppL-r4DO50Rm3gMa6Q/s640/blogger-image-1780882242.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNq1vP_nQqvqVt9-DuOzh_qla86yz_knjs_KkL8QZYjlpdnCeedUpK9PvyATDlmJXyr3etX8DWNGZ6XNXlWjoWLYze5x9mTfdnaHehEu1HRDCMZ8vTvqpxlqjhCqGPraJVzdP_wHxO8LU/s640/blogger-image-1665460085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNq1vP_nQqvqVt9-DuOzh_qla86yz_knjs_KkL8QZYjlpdnCeedUpK9PvyATDlmJXyr3etX8DWNGZ6XNXlWjoWLYze5x9mTfdnaHehEu1HRDCMZ8vTvqpxlqjhCqGPraJVzdP_wHxO8LU/s640/blogger-image-1665460085.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggh31sIbG_ReZEpXIsAnqZA-pwjp5fwl7r1b9MB6hyphenhyphen53Iiu4q3r5IPYv-2PzV26uya5yYe-AQv-QftlI87t8r0iGI71B98bVYyoZBaTfwRrgWKedGAjqeH3AAsDVwZox4O2qew6iVCGTY/s640/blogger-image-2114761892.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggh31sIbG_ReZEpXIsAnqZA-pwjp5fwl7r1b9MB6hyphenhyphen53Iiu4q3r5IPYv-2PzV26uya5yYe-AQv-QftlI87t8r0iGI71B98bVYyoZBaTfwRrgWKedGAjqeH3AAsDVwZox4O2qew6iVCGTY/s640/blogger-image-2114761892.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1qsMFuoPpq7BDOqe1NJzewxqGZGrZjs6gY4s7FOF2GyV4fAcU8YWajSehHxDEj_aWdcf1vpWHVHYcYQCz4fdkerrc9EGFYHUy0pJZDASDImy2FNGct3puCqh_VSJDafhX7W0txS_NeM/s640/blogger-image--361123299.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1qsMFuoPpq7BDOqe1NJzewxqGZGrZjs6gY4s7FOF2GyV4fAcU8YWajSehHxDEj_aWdcf1vpWHVHYcYQCz4fdkerrc9EGFYHUy0pJZDASDImy2FNGct3puCqh_VSJDafhX7W0txS_NeM/s640/blogger-image--361123299.jpg"></a></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-92022222434659294892014-01-30T17:03:00.001-06:002014-01-30T19:01:56.518-06:00Black Is The New PinkThere is something so tender and whimsical about baby girls. Their innocence and gentle nature make it easy to see why the saying goes, "Thank Heaven For Little Girls". There is also that lil rhyme that says girls are made of, "sugar and spice and everything nice". I'd like to emphasize the SPICE part. <div><br></div><div>Why is it that society feels that all baby girls must be slathered in pink and ruffles?! If you go to any baby store, it's easy as pie to find the baby girls' section. It's the one that looks like it got doused in Pepto Bismal. Nearly every article of clothing is covered in pink (and maybe a tad bit of purple) and has a heart, kitten, flower or something else totally girly all over it. Now, some of he boys' stuff isn't much better....dinosaurs or sports much? But the boys also get all the cool designs. Arrows, stars, skulls and guitars. They get cool colors like gray and black. It's like it's never entered a baby girl clothing brand to dabble into other hues of the rainbow. (Ok, so I'm pretty sure gray and black aren't in the rainbow.....stay with me). </div><div>I'm happy to see animal print is now available but it's never a cool print. It's like the designer is afraid that if they just make clothes with leopard print, no one will buy them. How would anyone know the baby was a girl? I dare say you put a bow or headband on her head. So they slap on some silly pink and now it's suitable for girls. And just a PSA: it IS possible to dress your daughter in too much leopard. Same with camoflague. When was the last time you saw cool camo in the baby girls' department? Apparently moms can't just add their own flair to a camo outfit and justify it....nope. They have to have PINK camo pants....which totally makes sense. Try hunting in those and let me know what you get. </div><div><br></div><div>You should see the confusion on the sales clerk's face when I'm perusing the boys' section of baby gap, holding my daughter. They assume I must be buying a gift. Nope. I just want a cool flannel shirt that isn't purple and pink. I wasn't a traditional green, blue and red plaid. Same with some jeans. I don't want back pockets in the shape of hearts. I want normal looking jeans. Harlow wears lots of black and gray and red and she does wear a little pink. I'm not saying that some pink isn't adorable and stylish. I just don't get why everything has to be that shade. Your newborn daughter doesn't have to be in black leather pants and a blazer, but you bet your ass if they made that, I would've bought it. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-5397744054178787422014-01-13T10:16:00.001-06:002014-01-13T10:16:55.615-06:00Desperation -My First Journal EntryPeople always talk about the miraculous moments of pregnancy. There are those who tried for a month and voila, they were pregnant. There are those that were taken completely by surprise and had to adjust to the idea of having a baby. Oh the scary, joyous, breathtaking moment when their period didn't come and the home pregnancy test said "positive, +, =" or "pregnant". Basically saying, "blessed, fortunate, lucky" etc. <div><br></div><div>What people rarely, if ever, talk about is when that period DOES come-month after month. When that pregnancy test repeatedly says "negative, not pregnant, -, not this time, again no baby". That little stick holds all the hope and promise in what it tells you. The seconds before it changes to tell you your fate, your heart pounds outside of your chest. Your dreams of becoming a parent, images of yourself pregnant and what your baby will look like, and of course just how you will break the news to your husband- all lie in what that test says. </div><div><br></div><div>And just like that, it's over. All the anticipation that this whole last month was the last month you had to live this vicious cycle. That all the stress, tears, perfect timing, injections, blood work, ultrasounds, retaining water weight, hormonal fits and the inevitable let downs are OVER!! But then they're not. Whether it's that dreadful call from the lab or the ugly sign on the test...all at once, you're back at square one again. Being sad, mad, frustrated, tired, stressed, overwhelmed and done with the whole process. Time to take a break, to revive myself. Let my body rest and go back to it's normalcy. Not worry all month whether this time, the pills, shots and IUI worked or not. How can I keep doing this?</div><div><br></div><div>Yet, the though of holding off from possibly getting pregnant, for a month, two or more is almost as crushing as the realization that once again, after a year of trying and 7-8 months of medical assistance- I'm still not pregnant. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm so ready for my baby. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>(I wrote this entry on 12/13/11. Harlow will turn one this February 5th 2014. All is never lost). </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-76766639049842183322013-12-29T16:52:00.001-06:002013-12-29T17:00:07.684-06:00HolidazeHoping everyone had a fantastic Holiday and I'm wishing you all a memorable new year! Here are a few highlights from Harlow's first Christmas:<div><br></div><div>1. As an early Christmas present, Harlow got her very first ear infection. Which was sad on its own, but given the fact that she caught it right at the tail end of a flu cold...she was pissed. So was I. And anyone we encountered during this awful time. </div><div><br></div><div>2. We conquered the whole Santa Claus thing....twice. She loved him and smiled big for all the photos. Nailed it!!</div><div><br></div><div>3. In order to show her Noni that she loves her, Harlow graced my mother in law's bath tub with one of her famous tub poops.</div><div><br></div><div>4. Harlow is on the move and crawling all over. Not sure if this is a great thingfor me, as I loved the simplicity of a non mobile baby. But hey, at least she's hitting her milestones!</div><div><br></div><div>5. Harlow also learned how to wave so we spent the entire break greeting every person, place and thing. She broke a new record by waving at the same man for an entire catholic mass. To that sweet soul, thank you for playing along...for the entire hour. Hope your wrist heals. </div><div><br></div><div>6. If Santa was waiting for Harlow to fall asleep before he came down the chimney, then he is probably frost bitten. She decided to party all night long with us on Christmas Eve.</div><div><br></div><div>7. My daughter was beyond spoiled with dolls, toys, musical instruments, clothes, books and pushing charts. So I can completely understand that while sitting in the middle of all these amazing things...she would only be interested in a cardboard box.</div><div><br></div><div>8. When we returned home, to thank me for all her Christmas love and gifts...Harlow gave me a hug, a kiss, a wave, the word mama and one of her famous tub poops.</div><div><br></div><div>9. I'm fulfilled and trying to find places to stash all the crap she got. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCySdbyv8pr_LKRITGjnmmug2-D_DPuQzRzXpmMQoifXMvoMaLVccAkjyzPZGylYTX27RNNPatFQRTAmpTgjAFqAfYGDxBZMo61QXrK9TcYvyY6Q441pOXjhcVeyLj5_f8KlKVhSnzWo/s640/blogger-image-517266672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCySdbyv8pr_LKRITGjnmmug2-D_DPuQzRzXpmMQoifXMvoMaLVccAkjyzPZGylYTX27RNNPatFQRTAmpTgjAFqAfYGDxBZMo61QXrK9TcYvyY6Q441pOXjhcVeyLj5_f8KlKVhSnzWo/s640/blogger-image-517266672.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4mFDwzfFoUN2fgIY5Pxxb3FDeg5mR1fsE4ZHsTnvhtT5ojhf-vKQ-Hz499xXtkJtC_JmPd6m3hpUWXRj1ZR-Zb7qWqf-CS2q2HHuvcM97C9aAf5UBq1CMT5msb6ccLzDO5XKoHNW8Dc/s640/blogger-image-979541225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4mFDwzfFoUN2fgIY5Pxxb3FDeg5mR1fsE4ZHsTnvhtT5ojhf-vKQ-Hz499xXtkJtC_JmPd6m3hpUWXRj1ZR-Zb7qWqf-CS2q2HHuvcM97C9aAf5UBq1CMT5msb6ccLzDO5XKoHNW8Dc/s640/blogger-image-979541225.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzbTUz7i1BQGgm7plfMegpJZjMS68qus_XfKs8JNx_vcOdPgfx1kGlrH5VcgC_ad9oLbzt_aYZtnbtA1yluM-ZQFrsxJJv8Ht9f8paVInrDFNmDMIpF_okTt2B3H7wJeuz2USr_VcZE0/s640/blogger-image-583235336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzbTUz7i1BQGgm7plfMegpJZjMS68qus_XfKs8JNx_vcOdPgfx1kGlrH5VcgC_ad9oLbzt_aYZtnbtA1yluM-ZQFrsxJJv8Ht9f8paVInrDFNmDMIpF_okTt2B3H7wJeuz2USr_VcZE0/s640/blogger-image-583235336.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhu8ZAEioIh0aaar2MLYHXPhWbNxb8g_0Sn3a70kgC_MVeiRlce_t1bfMGmk93FVaTy-cFiA6kaWZarLwJ6CKWVKT5g1g_8Gjs5PFmjqssefMJOhDOWGcEVKcZ5w47EYEkPAXe44uRNA/s640/blogger-image--1014515857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhu8ZAEioIh0aaar2MLYHXPhWbNxb8g_0Sn3a70kgC_MVeiRlce_t1bfMGmk93FVaTy-cFiA6kaWZarLwJ6CKWVKT5g1g_8Gjs5PFmjqssefMJOhDOWGcEVKcZ5w47EYEkPAXe44uRNA/s640/blogger-image--1014515857.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPtAN07SCzQ880UrIWEZ81YXoTqxy-A4pij5bibm0F13UzVa7rgtXAw2RiGML8I-VjLnYDa8TVVodhpAPywXI1ghTG7kNlAn-Zm7-6gE5Xkn1FEu4docDC8TJSk5DUm0B3kRANCEGpkM/s640/blogger-image--777587427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPtAN07SCzQ880UrIWEZ81YXoTqxy-A4pij5bibm0F13UzVa7rgtXAw2RiGML8I-VjLnYDa8TVVodhpAPywXI1ghTG7kNlAn-Zm7-6gE5Xkn1FEu4docDC8TJSk5DUm0B3kRANCEGpkM/s640/blogger-image--777587427.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFB2vupVRYnDn_Ur8GA_k9jBGC-tmmSGys9xH9GCLetr-_X76ax-F8K0Q0yyoNXGnmboduF8ifoR-uu09CF_wrqw9pUwWWTdWb4LSjIF3Hq6wiMto6mLqtVBhMdoOuerj5xVs0MHiP9E/s640/blogger-image--607110386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbFB2vupVRYnDn_Ur8GA_k9jBGC-tmmSGys9xH9GCLetr-_X76ax-F8K0Q0yyoNXGnmboduF8ifoR-uu09CF_wrqw9pUwWWTdWb4LSjIF3Hq6wiMto6mLqtVBhMdoOuerj5xVs0MHiP9E/s640/blogger-image--607110386.jpg"></a></div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-33799647456980085722013-12-10T22:26:00.001-06:002013-12-10T22:26:09.896-06:00Why'd you have to go and take me at my word...I decided to start this blog as an outlet for my struggles, my journey, my sorrows and the pure magic that is being a mother to Harlow. I didn't expect anyone to care or bother to read any of my posts and I have truly being moved by all the sweet comments I have received. <div>I should know how important words can be; as I just wrote an entire post about how they can affect someone. I'm well aware how words can touch you; like lyrics to a song. I know firsthand how words can pierce your soul and cut through. And I also know how strengthening, powerful and healing words can be. Like I stated before, I didn't think many would read this blog, but I'm so so glad you have and can relate on many levels. I was not the first or only one to face these issues and unfortunately there will be many many more after me. I was so fortunate to have a female friend who had been through a similar journey and although our situations weren't mirrored reflections of one another; we both had the same yearning to become mothers some day. </div><div><br></div><div>I have been thanked by some for being so honest and courageous to tell so many personal stories and experiences. I have been floored to learn how many others share my story or one similar. I hope that you know that there is a happy ending and you have to believe that. </div><div>I hope I haven't offended anyone or hurt anyone's feelings. That is never my intention. For everyone who has reached out to me about something they have read in my blog...I have today thank you. It makes my struggles so much easier and my delight in the present so much purer. </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8993662468854272242.post-24656471633590834622013-11-19T11:03:00.001-06:002013-11-19T11:19:23.811-06:00Do Yourself A Solid And Don't AskHere's a little fairy tale for you....<div>A guy meets a girl. They fall in love. He proposes to her. They get married. They have kids. They live happily ever after; no questions asked. I hate to be the barer of bad news but that's never gonna happen. Here is a real life scenario:</div><div><br></div><div>You're single. </div><div>People will constantly ask you when you're going to meet someone. (Like you freaking know or something. Perhaps you enjoy being single or wish you could find someone).</div><div><br></div><div>You meet someone. </div><div>People will constantly ask when you're going to get engaged (even if you've only been dating that person for a few months).</div><div><br></div><div>You get engaged.</div><div>People may say "Congratulations" yet their very next question will be when is the wedding?</div><div><br></div><div>You get married. </div><div>People will ask when you're having a baby. (Even though the ink is still wet on all those checks you wrote for your big day).</div><div><br></div><div>You have a baby.</div><div>People will ask when you are having another baby. (Although you may not hear that one because </div><div>a) you are so sleep deprived, you barely catch a word anyone says these days </div><div>b) you have sweet potato in your ear from your baby's lunch session</div><div>c) you went to laugh and realized you peed yourself...again).</div><div><br></div><div>Oh and ps, it doesn't necessarily have to happen in that particular order but just a warning...if you decide to have a baby before you get married....the wedding questions will come at you 20 times more often in every which way. </div><div><br></div><div>I know people are just curious, concerned or interested in our lives, but my perspective has greatly changed on asking questions. Especially regarding the baby situation. </div><div><br></div><div>If you've read some of my blogs you know that my husband and I did IVF to conceive my daughter, Harlow. It's not a club I ever imagined or wanted to be a part of; but I'm so lucky that it was an option for us, that we were financially able to go through the process and of course that the first round worked! I've never been ashamed or hidden the fact that We got pregnant using in vitro fertilization; as so many couples have to. It's like when people get plastic surgery and won't own up to it. You could do it. You did it. Now accept it and admit it. </div><div><br></div><div>I wasn't always so open or honest about my fertility issues. Like many, I went through multiple stages of emotions and vulnerability. Denial, anger, depression, jealousy, hopelessness and the list could go on and on. I chose not to share my struggles with many people as I wanted to stay positive and for a few moments, not stress over it. I withdrew myself a little from my friends and social life as it got harder and harder to be around people and act lively, see them pregnant, etc. Due to this, lots of people didn't know my husband and I were even trying to have a baby. This can be a blessing or a curse. </div><div>I can so vividly remember when my family and I were sitting around on a Thanksgiving visit and my sister in law announced that she was expecting. We had been trying with medicine and testing for over two years and although it was the wrong reaction...I wanted to die. That's when a somewhat intoxicated person looked at me and said, "Well, you better hurry up and get on it Julie." I lost it and began uncontrollably bawling right there at the table. That statement killed me completely. She had no idea we were struggling but it didn't make it hurt any less. And so many times before and after that day, people constantly asked and probed us as to when we would start having kids. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm not making this a pity story about me. Just a nice PSA to everyone out there that asks. I know you just care and are eager for your friend or relative to start a family, but maybe they don't know if they ever want kids. Maybe they can't agree on the children decision. Maybe they aren't financially capable of having a baby right now. Maybe they have conceived and have lost one or more babies. Maybe they have been on a long waiting list to adopt. Or maybe, just maybe all they want is to get pregnant but are either struggling or are unable to. Please be gentle with your questions as every time you ask someone a question regarding their love life, marriage, or future children...you are simply reminding them of what they don't have. </div><div>I usually try to add humor to my posts but this one is near and dear to me. </div>julie thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06886991712516969497noreply@blogger.com0