Real in Red Heels

I am so excited to introduce a new special feature on my blog! My friend Kara has agreed to begin contributing to a (hopefully) weekly column we are going to call "REAL IN RED HEELS." Here is installment number 1. Stay tuned for hopefully more of a real chic woman who become a mom and now, has no idea where her red heels are!

Yes! That's me and my husband taken during pregnancy #1.

Hello webby friends! I’m Kara and I’m half the woman that our dear Wendi is. I am half of her height and have half as many children. Surprisingly, I am just as worn out, and she says that my two might be more exhausting than her four!

I’m going to let you in on a little secret ... I used to have it together. By “together,” I mean that my house was always clean according to my OCD standards, our dinners were homemade and fancy and my outfits usually matched and were actually a little bit stylish. Don’t get me wrong, my 5’0" self never modeled for Vogue and InStyle never called me for interviews, but I embraced fashion and used it as a way of expressing myself. I used to be a jet-setter and have traveled to many countries around the world. It’s a story for another day, but I even studied abroad in Africa, alone, at 21 years old. I did an internship in a second language and survived a military coup and malaria, simultaneously. I thought I was pretty tough, smart and independent. In many ways, I did possess those traits, but I was incredibly naïve when it came to love, marriage and babies in a baby carriage.

Then one cold, gray February day, I bore a son and became a mom. Other than a few awful HOURS of him crowning without any painkillers, it was a perfect day. 

(You read that right, sweet virtual sisters, he crowned for 2.5 hours but wouldn’t come out.)  

The second day, he started to cry and he wouldn’t sleep. He screamed all night long until I was physically shaking from exhaustion. My husband wasn’t in the hospital room that second night, because he was home sleeping after being at the hospital for 48 hours. He was a resident physician (with Wendi’s stellar hubby), and he was busy delivering another woman’s child when I arrived at the hospital. 

(I should have known then that this parenting journey was going to be the adventure of all adventures!)

My son cried for weeks and weeks and didn’t sleep through the night until 11 months old. It turned out that he had reflux and was an early teether, but in the moment, I was confused and so. very. tired. I took four showers a day, because we were both covered often in spit-up. I was clean, but a rumpled mess. I lived in t-shirts and yoga pants.  

Okay, I lied.

I saved the yoga pants for my dressing up days when people were coming over and wore t-shirts, giant hoodies and pajama pants most of the time. My chic wardrobe turned into cottons only and my most frequent accessory was spit-up. My hair was most frequently fashioned into a bun, but not a beautiful ballerina bun, more like a sloppy knot on top of my head away from the death-grip of sticky baby hands.

I looked awful for an entire year and this is from the girl who wore high heels to the L&D and left the hospital in a dress, leggings and high heels with my baby in a Moby Wrap.

Seriously.

I did that.

We even stopped at the store so we could pick up fresh groceries on the way home. I literally wandered the aisles of the commissary with an ice pad under a dress in high heels with a baby strapped to me.

You are actually laughing out loud, aren’t you?

It cracks me up now.

I started to get my groove back by the time my son turned two years old. I had caught up on my sleep again, reorganized my house and started doing creative things like baking cakes with fondant, taking pictures and wearing socially-acceptable outfits.

It was great.

Then, I got pregnant again.

Back to baggy clothes and leggings and practical shoes like ballet flats (or slippers.) I live in a cold, northern climate and I did the thing that I swore I would never do and bought Uggs.

Okay, I lied again.

They aren’t real Ugg’s, because those babies are expensive. I wore knock-off Ugg’s -- Fugg’s.

Here I am with a 3.5 year old wild child of a son and a sassy, spunky 6 month old. I spent three hours getting them to sleep tonight, and my husband is gone again. He’s a good man, but the military trumps our marriage so I’ve been a single-parent for the past month. During which, my lovely baby has started teething fast and furiously and has stopped sleeping through the night.

Perfect.

Who needs sleep?

In all honesty, I looked at the clock this afternoon expecting it to say 6:30pm and it said 3:30pm. Ahhh. Have you ever had one of those days? The kind when you think the power must have gone out and messed up your clocks, because there is NO WAY that it could ONLY be 3 o’clock in the afternoon?

I am at that crazy place again.

It’s the tired, frumpy, try-not-to-be-grumpy mom stage. My hair is back in a bun, my pants have babyfood on them, and I have only worn make-up three times this month. I should be legally required to wear mascara and concealer under my eyes, but I haven’t, because I don’t want to waste the time or product on a preschooler and a baby. I have a joke that the other parents at my son’s preschool must think we are homeless. If you think I am joking, these are the cartoons that have been sent to me by my friends and neighbors THIS WEEK!

I hope they made you smile. If you have little kids at home, I hope you feel encouraged. I want to normaliz mama’s!

In line with me "keepin' it real", here is my maternity photo from pregnancy #2. A far cry from pregnancy #1, don't you think?

Hita/Rita

I found this picture of our housekeeper and the kiddos that I had never put on the blog. It has to be from winter based on the space heater on the floor!

Rita spells her name with an R but it is pronounced with a deep, guttural, Heeeee=ta. Hita comes every Monday. For 30 euro (roughly 40 US dollars), and she spends 8-5 helping me. She cleans the whole house, does laundry, dishes etc.

The kids love Hita. She speaks very little English but enough for us to communicate -- with some charades sprinkled in. They don't seem to know this though. They talk to her as if she understands everything they are saying, and she does a good job just going through the motions. While I am pretty sure she can't read -- even in Portuguese -- she goes through the motions -- turning pages and pretending she does. She lets them tell her long stories that she obviously cannot understand. And when they jump out from various locations around the house to "surprise" her, she jumps and says, "I so scared."

I also love that, no matter how many times I correct her, she calls a broom a spoon.

Reminds me of Hatice in Turkey. The refrigerator was always a refrigerary. And "it doesn't matter" what always pronounced "It don't marry."

It's so strange to me that something that is so popular in Europe -- housekeepers -- is so rare in the USA. While I would love to continue the practice when we return to the USA, I know it will not be as easy to find someone or to pay someone!

I make a real point to explain to the kids that Hita is here to help Mommy. That we are going to help her with her job. In the mornings, she cleans the upstairs, and we take time to clean up all our toys and put away all our clothes, so that we can help Hita. In the afternoons, she comes downstairs, and we go upstairs for naps. Again, we make sure that the downstairs is cleaned up. We try to look at this as something we are all working on together. Every day when Hita is done, we make it a point to thank her for helping our family. We give her hugs and say good bye and tell her what a great job she did helping us lead better lives.

There are so many things that my kids just assume are normal. They assume that playing with children who do not understand you is normal. They assume that knowing multiple ways to say thank you is normal. People don't look like them. There are different kinds of money. Showing your ID when you enter and exit the Base? Completely normal.

Next summer, we will return to America, and we will return to our "normal lives." I hope that my children, especially my boys, can glean something from the four years they spent living overseas during their childhood.

Monday K.I.S.S.

Ever heard the expression K.I.S.S?

K.I.S.S. = Keep It Simple, Stupid.

I am hoping to do a new installment on my blog. In addition to "Friday Funnies" and "Wee-Wind Wednesdays", I am planning on doing a "Monday K.I.S.S."

Keep It Simple, Stupid!

In other words, make your life easy. This means just what it implies. Don't complicate your life. Don't make it harder on yourself than it needs to be. If there is a way to make things easier: do it!

Today's Mom K.I.S.S.: Make it multiple!

We have lived in three different homes since having children (Eglin, Turkey, and the Azores.) I have made sure to have at least two diaper changing stations in each of my homes. In this home, I actually have three right now because it is so stinkin' big.

Even in a small house, make sure you have a diaper changing station available in easy locations. This is especially important if you have multiple children and one might be sleeping in a location where the changing table is while another is awake.

Don't worry about how it looks. You don't want to have to travel across the house for changing or risk waking another child. Put a station where you need it.

Keep mandatory items in both locations. Each of my stations have wipes, diaper cream, diapers, burp cloths, and changes of clothes.

To say I was afraid of post-partum depression would be a gross understatement.

Terrified?

Easily.

Even though I could reflect on making it through PPD two times previously, I could easily recall how horribly the "getting through" part was -- especially during my pregnancy with Abigail. 

One thing I knew for certain.

I did not want to feel that way again.

Ever again.

I also did not want to stop having to breastfeed because of a medication I had to take to combat a vicious emotional attacker.*

JB and I discussed PPD often during my pregnancy. We knew that the fact that I had faced it previously increased my risks. We also knew that the fact that I was battling depression during my pregnancy did not help my case either.

I prayed hard.

I asked others to pray.

We also brainstormed ways to help prevent a repeat of pregnancy number two. We decided that to give myself the best chance of keeping that darkness way, I would:

• Get as much rest as possible 
• Surround myself with as must support as possible
• Not stress about breast feeding
• Not over extend myself

It was very important to us that JB was present post-partum as much as possible. It was for that reason we chose to have me fly to the USA solo. We wanted to save as much of JB's leave time as we possibly could for after delivery.

We also planned to have his mother come back to Portugal with us. We couldn't be positive, until the twelfth hour, that this would occur, but we were hopeful that it would. And it did.

My mother, saved a week of her vacation to use while I was home. But while I so wanted her to use that time during the end of my pregnancy, I held back my requests as much as possible so that she could use those days after I had the baby -- a key time in my healing time.

And so far, so good. I am now five weeks post-partum and feeling amazing. 

JB asked me today: "Do you even feel slightly depressed?" I do not!

I really haven't had any moments. Not a single one. 

Oh praise the Lord!

He asked me: "Do you feel like you are just getting trough each day?" I do not!

I feel like I am thriving. I am enjoying my days. I am enjoying my children. I am in love with life. There are a lot of adjustments. There are four children under five in my home. That's a lot. But we are doing as well as we possibly can.

It is amazing to be able to say that. Depression is a dark, terrible place. Mental illness is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. I'd rather be physically ill than mentally ill without question. 

I continue to pray that PPD stays at bay! Each day that I am healthy is an amazing blessing from the Lord.

*Many women choose to breastfeed on antidepressants. This was a personal decision my husband and I made regarding medications and breastfeeding. 

New baby = Nothing Done

Just got this article from a friend. It's entitled "New Mamas Get Nothing Done (and Other Untruths)."

I found it incredibly spot-on. 

I wish I could say I wrote it myself.

While I do, actually, feel like I get things done, I feel that these things are tiny things. I am working on Abigail's baby book. (Yes, Abigail's -- not Hannah's.) If I get two or three pages done during a day, I mark that as a day of accomplishment. My other need-to-get-done-things might include: 

• reading to the kids.
• bathing the kids.
• taking the kids outside.
• getting some homeschool time in.
• spending 1-on-1 time with each of the kids.
• keeping the house semi-picked-up all day.

Often, when JB gets home, he'll ask me what we did that day.

The list is usually incredibly short. Short on things I can say with words. "We read books. We took a bath. We brushed our teeth. We ate popcorn. We played Candyland." You know, that sort of thing. 

And when I tell him, he often says: "Good job."

How wonderful to hear that.

Not all Moms hear that. Many are measured, both by themselves and their spouses (and possibly others) in errands they ran, events they attended, and friends with whom they visited.

But I have been learning that trying to do those things, when you have small children at home, is probably counterproductive to the life you want to be leading with them. 

While I agree that staying home feels and doing ... nothing, feels, well, like nothing, I want to encourage us all to do more of this. Our kids just want to be with us. They want you to put on music and dance in your pajamas. They want you to color with them. They want you to read to them. They want you to hold them. To snuggle under a blanket on the couch.

This article talks about that. I'd love to hear what you think about Anne Rusts' words.

Enjoy! (My favorite parts are in bold.)

"New Mamas Get Nothing Done (and Other Untruths)"

By Ann Rust


I often talk to new mamas with babies who “aren’t very good sleepers.” The latest mama has a happy 5-month-old girl who doesn’t nap more than 15 minutes at a time and is still waking up about every 3-4 hours at night. It’s exhausting.

I run through my usual suggestions. First, this can be a normal pattern for some babies at this age. It helps to know that. I recommend a good, comfy, hands-free baby carrier (a must) and a sleeping arrangement that helps her stay close (and safe) with baby at night. I tell her that she isn’t doing anything wrong—most likely there is no “solution” to this issue, it’s just who her baby is and what she needs right now.  This too shall pass, and all of that.

This mama looks at me blankly for a minute, and then, looking confused, says, “So do you just not get anything done then??”

Mamas, I want to tell you the truth. And here it is: You will not get anything done when you are home with a baby. And anyone who told you otherwise is not being very forthcoming (or perhaps they just have a lousy memory). You might get yourself fed. You might get yourself dressed (then again, you might not). You might take a walk (it makes baby happy). You might have a short phone conversation or start a load of laundry, neither of which you will finish. This is your new mom normal.

So what are you doing all day? Not much that can be measured, really. You’re simply responding appropriately and with patience (through fatigue), to smiles, to tears, to hunger cues, and to drowsiness, teaching your baby how to navigate this complex and (to a baby) highly emotional and raw world. You are keeping your baby clean, which on some days involves more costume changes (for both of you) than any non-mother can begin to fathom. You are teaching a tiny, helpless person all about the world—at least the important parts, like how we treat each other and what it means to be connected to a family. You are creating a foundation of love and trust between you and your baby, one that will help you set your parenting compass, inform your future interactions, and provide a basis for the way your child relates to the larger world.  You may be breastfeeding your baby—another time consuming task (though once established, it takes less time than bottle feeding) that reaches forward through time to heal and protect your child, and simultaneously reducesyour risk of disease. Oh, and you’re becoming a mother. It started the day your baby was conceived, and it continues beyond birth. Your baby is stretching and growing into this new body, and you are too.

But that’s about it, really. That’s your day.

Our culture doesn’t have a good way to measure what you are accomplishing. Your baby will grow and meet milestones: check. But to the untrained eye most of this work, at the end of the day, will look like nothing.

But we know better.

There is no greater task than the nothing you did yesterday, the nothing you are doing today, and the nothing you will do tomorrow. Caring for a baby is all about the immediate experience, yet the first two years are all about investment. It’s give, give, give, and give some more. These are hard-fought, rough-and-tumble years that can cut us down to our core and take us soaring high above the clouds, all in the space of 5 minutes. And yes, as you do the hardest work of your life, it will seem like you’re not getting anything done at all. Crazy, huh?

But here’s where it gets interesting: As much as you need and want a break now (and you should take one, more on that later), no mother has ever looked back on this time and thought, “I wish I had held my baby less.” You will not remember the dishes that didn’t get done, the vacuuming that you just couldn’t make happen, or the dirty clothes you wore more often than you’d like to admit. You will remember the first smile, the first belly laugh, the first words, the first steps. You will remember the way you looked at your baby, and the way your baby looked at you.

So the next time you find yourself wondering how another day is gone and nothing is done, stop. Hold your baby—feel the way that tiny body strains to contain this giant soul—complete, and full of potential all at the same time. Take a deep, slow breath. Close your eyes and measure your day not as tasks, but as feelings, as sounds, as colors. Exhaustion is part of it. And it’s true, you will get “nothing” done. But the hard parts will fade. The intense, burning love is what remains, and it is yours to keep forever.

Families Feel the Squeeze as More Airlines Adopt Kid-Free Zones

As a mother who has flown, alone, with her three children, across the world, not just across the country, I found this article to be very interesting. I was especially hit by the following two comments:

• Securing seats together for a family is almost as difficult as finding a deal on airfare these days, since many airlines offer preferred economy seating and planes are flying with fewer open seats. I totally agree! I can't tell you how many times I find out that there are no seats available for us together and that it will be up to me to try to ask people to move once on board the plane. Or, there is open seating and just no room when we get on board the plane to sit together. At least I look pitiful enough to get people to help and move. Many families aren't sitting next to each other while on their "vacation" and that is a shame!
• “As a mother that's flown many times with babies and small children, I can tell you that moms and dads are doing their very best to keep their children from crying,” Gifford said. “It's a hard situation, particularly when the seatbelt sign is on and you can't get up to try to bounce or soothe your child in the aisle.” Again, I agree. I work very hard to keep my kids from crying. Most people are incredibly kind with me on the plane, but I do run into some people who really get frustrated by the crying. Trust me, if I could stop it, I would!

So, what do you think about the possibility of kid free zones on the plane? Would you pay an extra $14 a seat to assure you didn't have to sit next to a crying kid? (And, if you did pay it and still heard the crying, does that mean you'd get a refund?)

You can read the entire article on Fox News clicking here.

*****

Families feel the squeeze as more airlines adopt kid-free zones

They may be little, but more airlines are placing big restrictions on kids. 

Last week Singapore Airlines’ budget carrier Scoot Airlines introduced its "ScootinSilence" section.

For $14, travelers can sit in an area free of children under 12 years old, with legroom four inches greater than those in economy class. Two other airlines, Malaysian Airlines and AirAsia X, already ban kids on certain rows or sections on some flights. 

So far, no U.S.-based airlines have announced any plans to follow the trend in Asia. But as airlines introduce an ever-growing number of fees on everything from bags to beverages, the Scoot's fee-based quiet zone raises the question as to whether we could see airlines kicking kids and their families out of premium economy or first class seats here in the U.S.

Jami Counter, senior director for SeatGuru.com, a website that summarizes aircraft information for travelers, says he would be surprised to see a kid-free zone here in the States. He says the aircraft bodies that fly most domestic routes are too small, the public outcry would be too loud and government regulations likely wouldn’t let the concept take off.

Frequent flier and father of three, Doug Peterson, travels weekly to New York City from Salt Lake City for business. He says he'd oppose airlines enforcing restrictions on where kids can sit on planes, and notes that in his travels, he rarely sees children misbehaving.

“As a parent of small children, I wouldn't like that my tax dollars would subsidize an airline that would then ban my kids and thus me from taking a vacation,” Peterson said. “I also don't want to be banned from first class nor extra leg room seats.”

Still, some people say they wish they had the option.

“This poor little kid kept crying and crying,” said frequent traveler Blake Flow of California. “I felt terrible for him, but after one hour I said to myself, ‘I would pay more to not have to hear this.'"  
Even some parents think they could benefit from others upgrading.

“I think it’s brilliant marketing,” said Bonnie Overly, a mother of three from Salt Lake City. “I've spent some of the worst days of my life wrangling kids on a plane or a train, having them cry no matter what I do, and having all the people around me make flat-out rude, judgmental, and horrible comments about my lack of parenting skills. If these people had had the option of a kid-free cabin, we all would have been happier.”

These attitudes reflect a growing consensus in the U.S. A recent Harris Interactive poll showed that 63 percent of people surveyed said they would rather sit next to a crying baby than a smelly adult.
Yet, the question remains if cost-conscious Americans would actually pay to sit in a kid-free zone.

Erin Gifford, family travel expert and the founder of Kidventurous.com, says she wouldn’t pay for the upgrade if traveling without her four children because she doubts you’d get what you pay for.
“The airlines may then find themselves with a bigger headache in the form of a section of grumbling adults ringing their call buttons because they can still hear the crying baby just a few rows behind the kid-free zone,” Gifford said.

CURRENT SEATING PROBLEMS FOR FAMILIES

The move by Scoot and other airlines reflects larger changes in the airline industry that are making it increasingly difficult for families to sit together on an aircraft. 

Securing seats together for a family is almost as difficult as finding a deal on airfare these days, since many airlines offer preferred economy seating and planes are flying with fewer open seats.

“From a personal point of view, I can’t believe people aren’t more upset about this,” said Suzanne Rowan Kelleher, the managing editor of family travel booking site, MiniTime.com. “On principle, I think you should be able to sit with your children without having to pay extra... It adds an incredible layer of stress for the parent and the child not to be seated with people they know.”

DREAMS OF FRIENDLIER SKIES
As a solution, Counter says, instead of having a kid -free zone, airlines should create a family-friendly zone at the back of the plane, where they would be closer to restrooms and flight attendants if the kids need more snacks or drinks.

Now, families with younger children are forced to be proactive about getting seats together right when booking, or run the risk of having their 3-year-old sit with strangers. “Definitely shop ahead, look at seats early, look at the seat maps, and see where they can be together,” Counter said.
Even if the airlines charged a fee for a family friendly flight experience, some parents say they’d be happy to buy a less stressful travel adventure.

“The irony of all of this is that if the airlines put a little more thought into the needs of flying families - more legroom, bassinets, snacks, especially a ‘family zone’ on an airplane - (then) more families would probably fly and be happily segregated from other travelers,” said Shanna Farnsworth, a New York City resident and mother of two. “Everyone's annoyances would be solved.”

While parents dream of kid-friendly seating, experts say a little bit of sensitivity and understanding can go a long way until their wish comes true.

“As a mother that's flown many times with babies and small children, I can tell you that moms and dads are doing their very best to keep their children from crying,” Gifford said. “It's a hard situation, particularly when the seatbelt sign is on and you can't get up to try to bounce or soothe your child in the aisle.”

Yes, Sometimes I think I'm crazy too

Isaac (5), me (37 weeks pregnant), Sidge (4.5) and Abigail (2)

We had to drive to Target in two cars.

Me. Three kids. My Dad. My Mom.

That equals six.

Cars only hold five.

Dad probably would have stayed home, but we were going to go to Boston Market after the stop at Target to take advantage of a "Kid's Eat Free" coupon, and we needed him. Well, he needs food. And with one adult per child on the coupons, we needed him too.

So I randomly picked two kids to go in the back of my mom's car. My father willingly scooped up the leftover boy and put him in the back of his car, and off we went.

I had promised the boys a $10 superhero toy if they reached a swimming goal. I thought it would take them most of the summer but gosh darn it they hadn't accomplished their goal already: snagged a ring from the four foot mark (Isaac); swam across the deep end (Elijah).

So off to Target we went.

In our two cars.

I waddled into Target with my huge belly and my three small children, instantly thankful for the presence of my parents. We were used to a military Base Exchange on a tiny island. A place that had one half of an aisle of toys to look at. A place that I didn't worry if the kids went missing on another aisle for a second. (Not that they'd want to move to the next aisle since it had dog food on it.)

Super Target in South Florida?

Not even on the same planet.

The extra eyes were invaluable as each boy changed their mind seventeen times while my little lady opted to go and find something much more pink in nature. During the negotiations (they have no idea what $10 actually is so I must keep saying "that's too much. pick something else.") one child had to go to the bathroom. Another pulled a whole ream of superheroes off the rack.

I feel the stares.

I often feel like I should be wearing a t-shirt that says: "I'm not that woman." Or maybe one that says: "Wait! You don't know the whole story."

Ten years of marriage. Five years of infertility. Five failed IUI's. Four failed IVF's. Adoption. Pregnancy. Pregnancy again. A return for some of our IVF embryos. Pregnant again on the last try.

And so here I waddle into Target with three other children in tow.

On our little military base, this is no big deal. People are used to seeing me. I am used to the people. We know each other. They know my story. And it's the military (where I have found larger families to be the norm.)

But leave the confines of the Base and suddenly all bets are off.

So is the edit button people's mouths.

On the way out of Target, a man was "helping" me get the two randomly chosen children into my mother's backseat. By "helping" I mean he was trying to get me to hurry up so that I could shut the backdoor of the car, and he could get into his car. He said, and I quote: "I'm trying to figure out why you have that belly when you already have these two children in the backseat."

(And he didn't even know about third child going into my dad's car.)

Another woman asked me: "Are all of these yours?" at the park. When I replied yes and saw her expression, I playfully quipped: "God's plans are not our plans." She replied: "Well, I am glad you are choosing to look at it so positively and with such a good attitude. I wouldn't be."

Seriously?

And when asked my due date by another woman, I told her that I had a C-section scheduled for September 4th. She said, "Aren't you gonna try to have a natural delivery?"

Note: Maybe I need to wear another shirt that says: "Was in labor 1.5 days. Tried to push my first kid out for three hours before being taken back for a stat C-section."

Geezie peezie.

I've been out of the country for three, going on four years. Husband stationed in Turkey for two years. Now in Portugal for going on year four.

I forgot how brazenly honest Americans can be. People in Europe don't ask such personal questions or make such obnoxious statements so readily. I get that. I am remembering that.

I remember when Isaac was little. He was pigeon toed. Still is a bit. This woman stopped me and said, "Oh my gosh. He has the parrot feet." I didn't even try to correct her by explaining that the correct expression is pigeon toed. "Have you had the doctor look at them?"

Seriously?

And I've heard, "Oh my gosh is she tall," more times this trip than I have heard it in the three years I have been gone.

Okay, a bit of a tangent. Rude, obnoxious Americans is a whole 'nother post for another day.

But the stares and comments about my brood. The looks that scream, "You are pregnant? With three little kids?"

Well, let me address that once and for all right now. I'm just going to write this here now so I can say it once and not feel like I need to say it again and again.

Yes, sometimes I think I am crazy too.

I ask myself:

• How did I go from a barren womb to a family of six (seven if you count the dog) in just five years?
• God, do you really think I am capable of this?
• How do I do this?

I think to myself:

• I'm tired.
• This is hard.

I wonder of myself:

• If I am really capable.
• If I will fail.
• How I will manage when this little girl is on the outside.

I am learning that truly, the only way to do this is to trust. To trust God. To put it in His hands. That's it. That's all there has to be.

(And to ignore ignorant Americans who make stupid statements just because they can't keep their mouths shut!)

To read this post as it originally appeared on my Daily Blog, click here.