Glory Baby: The Story of #4

On February 17, I was shocked to discover that I was pregnant. You wouldn't think that it would be a surprise, but since it had been nearly 36 months since my last positive test, I think my heart stopped for a second. I was at once overjoyed and terrified. I'd waited until over a week after my missed period, pretty sure that something else had to be going on. For the fourth time, I was pregnant, yet I have no living babies. My eyes immediately welled up with tears as those two bright pink lines showed up right away. I called Carson (on his way to work) and he came home in a split second. We stared at the test and prayed about the life growing inside me.

For the next few weeks, I felt very on-edge. I had pregnancy symptoms that were getting stronger by the day. I had food aversion and exhaustion and insomnia and was so thirsty and went to the bathroom like fifteen times a night (it seemed). We had our long flight to Cleveland planned and I was terrified that somehow flying would rock the boat and cause me to miscarry again. I don't think I've ever prayed so much about anything in my entire life, but every breath I took, every little thing that felt off or wrong or scary, and I was praying for peace and a healthy pregnancy. I had spotting from about six weeks on, and I was in a constant panic.

I was so nervous about making it to the 8 week mark, because that's when I've miscarried pretty much every time - I've never made it to 8 weeks and 1 day. I was supposed to hit that milestone on the day of the wedding, and so I spent that entire day doing my best to sit and rest and not do anything that might hurt this fragile life inside me. I felt a great relief at getting past that point, even though I was still nervous. I was and still am jealous of people who somehow find out they're already thirteen weeks, having made it to that magical date.

On March 17, I had my first doctor's appointment. I wasn't sure what to expect, because I've also never made it to a doctor's appointment in time while pregnant, and because of course, I was in Germany. The doctor thankfully speaks English as well, and because of my history of miscarriage, she decided to do an ultrasound and a blood test.

Being well versed in google searches, I know what an 8 week fetus should look like on an ultrasound. I knew that the image on the screen did not look like the images I would have expected. The doctor guessed that I was just off on my calculations and that all was fine. But you know when you know something just isn't right? Looking at the long awaited image, I fought back tears. There was a baby, on the screen, but even though the doctor tried to reassure me that all was well, the size of the image told me that it was not. They took a blood sample to check out my hormone levels and sent us home.

That was a hard, weird weekend. Carson found things on the internet that suggested that sometimes the ultrasound is off and the baby just measures really small from the get-go and everything is fine. He was a major optimist, while in this, I was absolutely the realist. I felt like we were just sitting around waiting to miscarry the child that was no longer living inside me, but I didn't know for certain. We both struggled. Carson went on a late-night run to get out some of his frustrations, and I camped out in bed, hoping and praying for a miracle.

The following Tuesday, the doctor drew my blood again to compare, having called to say that my numbers from Friday looked really high and good. She planned another ultrasound for that Friday, just to check to see if the baby had grown. I slept most of the day after we got back from the doctor's office, feeling strangely weak and weird.

I didn't sleep at all that night and at 3am, I began to realize that I couldn't sleep because I was in pain. The pain increased and I realized quickly that my body was contracting. I remembered my previous miscarriages as being painful, but they were nothing like this. I was absolutely nauseated, in immense pain, doubled over on the bathroom floor actually moaning. At around 5 in the morning on March 22, at what would have been nine weeks and five days pregnant, exactly three years since my last miscarriage, I miscarried our fourth baby.

The feeling is like no other, laboring in a bathroom to deliver a baby that you will never know in this life. There was extreme pain and extreme sorrow, with absolutely no promise of the joy I hear comes from a live birth. For hours, I sat in that bathroom, at my absolute worst, going through the process of delivery. The last time I miscarried, I was at work, which is also horrible, but this time Carson was by my side, trying to be helpful and clearly wishing he could do something to ease the pain.

It was the strangest thing, and I don't know how to say it well, but once I had miscarried, it was the oddest mixture of sorrow and also great relief. For weeks, I'd prayed for the health of this baby. I prayed that my body could protect it while it lived inside me. I was consumed with doing what I was capable of doing to keep it safe - eating right, drinking lots of water, doing my best to rest and not do anything strenuous. When I lost the baby, I felt a strange peace at knowing that it was no longer in my hands at all. I could not physically do anything more for that baby, and though my body failed me once again in this task, I knew that God was more than capable of taking this little life in His hands. I feel like my body is my own a little more than I did before, and I think about how I wish that wasn't the case. I wanted the nausea and bloating and all that went along with it.

Life now feels oddly normal. It feels surreal to think that I was actually pregnant just a little over a month ago. This is going to sound very pity-party of me, but life now is familiar territory. The emptiness is a little bit routine. There were a few weeks where we got to live an unfamiliar life and to navigate the world of pregnancy, and now it's a little bit business as usual.

We buried the baby under a tree in the backyard here, and Carson fashioned a cross out of some sticks. Two weeks after we buried the baby, we came home to the most beautiful white flowers on the tree. It feels strange to walk past that spot on our way to the lake, knowing a part of our family will always be there. It will feel wrong to leave our baby in Germany when we go home. In October, we will do something on the day our baby was due to remember this loss, and to remind ourselves to keep pressing on in the Lord.

This journey is hard, harder than I expected it to be, and longer too, and we still pray that one day, in some way, we would be given the opportunity to raise children. We can't and won't forget the four that we've lost, or this chapter of our lives, and I pray that all of this will make us better parents and more committed followers of Christ. 

The Pizza

I don't know if I've posted this picture before (probably, let's be honest), but this was one of the funniest things that's happened in a long time. Carson brought it up the other day and I just had to search for the picture. 

Here's what happened:Carson was really excited about this frozen pizza. It had been a tough week or a busy season and he was just really looking forward to relaxing in the guest room/office and eating this pizza. I was in the bathroom or other bedroom doing something else. Meanwhile Carson was in the happiest mood, talking about his great pizza and how excited he was to devour it. The oven went off, he put it on a plate and headed on his merry way into the guestroom to eat the pizza. 

Suddenly, I heard a wail of grief. "Oh noooooo!" cried brokenhearted Carson. I rushed in to see what was the matter, thinking surely he was seriously wounded and maimed. He wasn't physically hurt, but his heart had broken. He was standing at the doorway, plate still in hand, looking mournfully at most of the pizza. The offending food had escaped the clutches of the plate and had blissfully smacked into the door and slid down it, before somehow rolling and landing in polka dot pattern on the carpeted floor. For too long, Carson stood there in shock, holding a lone slice on his plate. 

I did not react well. 

Instead of recognizing the gravity of the situation, I saw the humor in it, and my reaction was ill-timed. I burst into laughter and doubled over in mirth. My poor husband, still processing the untimely death of his long awaited meal, turned his head slowly and looked at me in shock as if to say how dare you laugh in a time like this? although he was unable to form words at all. Instead of attempting to comfort the mourner, I grabbed my camera and captured the moment. As I enjoyed the moment, Carson moved through the different stages of grief and landed on a brief stage of anger, which manifested more like frustration, which I now totally understand. I was unfeeling in his time of need. 

The pizza cleaned up just fine and surprisingly left no traces, which I felt was honestly a bit gross. Now I wonder what else had been disguised in that carpet from who knows how many years of prior tenants. The pizza, cloaked by who knows what from who knows whom, was indeed consumed that day. Carson soon forgave me, although his joy that day had been squashed.

Just like the pizza. 

Terminator: Home Invasion

Disclaimer: If you love small animals and judge people who don't, you aren't going to like this.

As you may remember, back in September, we made the wise decision to move our bedroom downstairs. During the coldest winter anyone from Ohio can remember (that's what they all say, really), it has been great to have a smaller room that our tiny space heater can actually heat. During the tiny bit of warmth we had in September, it was much easier to cool.

But this doesn't mean that moving didn't have drawbacks.

For instance, it turns out that our next door neighbor runs his car early in the morning before he leaves for work. How do I know this? Because the lights from his car shine riiiiiight into my window at 4:30 in the morning. Additionally, the downstairs bedroom is right next to the kitchen and bathroom, which means that if someone has to - ahem - loudly use either of those rooms before the other is up, they might do so and the blender or, um, other noises might in fact make the other person wake up, and not in a fairy princess sort of manner.

But these things pale in comparison to the annoyance that was the bird situation.

I was home alone one day this past fall when I very clearly heard a scratching sound. Being home alone and hearing a strange noise are not the best combination, but it was all made more frightening by the suspicion that the tiny noises were intruders of the rodent variety. Naturally I listened for the sound when Carson was home so that could identify it, but of course they/it was/were sleeping whenever he tried. I couldn't identify WHAT it was and more frightening, WHERE the sound originated.

Over the months, the sound grew more annoying and more frequent. I began putting my phone on its video setting to record the scratchy noises and prove my point. I began cautiously examining the bags of clothes-to-give-away in the attic where I assumed my enemies lived. I never saw a tail or hole or even the infamous mouse poop. It was infuriating. Was I going insane? COULD anyone else hear the sounds?

I woke up at 4 in the morning once, thanks to our neighbor, and heard the sound. The little creature was going to town! I woke Carson up from a deep slumber (he snores like crazy but you just have to say his name, even quietly and it works every time to wake him up) and he heard it too! Thus began many nights of trying to identify the sound, as our little intruder made himself more and more at home.

After some detective work, it was finally determined that the sound originated from a small hole above the window in our bedroom. There's a gap between the window frame and the siding that allowed for an entrance. I attempted to scare them by knocking on the walls which worked for awhile, but it was still 15 degrees outside and with piles of snow on the ground I had never ventured over to actually scare them. So they got to a point where they weren't bothered by me.

Soon we discovered that our rodent was actually a bird. The scratching sounds began to sound more like wing sounds (presumably as the bird worked its way further into our house and made itself cozier).

I've always heard that birds don't have babies until the spring, but I don't really believe that anymore. From out of nowhere the bird was BIRDS. Suddenly at all hours of the day (and night, especially at night), there were bird noises, from the sounds of walking birds to the sounds of birds exiting their home, to the sounds of birds communicating with one another. I don't know if they adopted birds, had baby birds, or invited another family of birds to the party, but it was LOUD. And while bird chirps usually bring a little joy since they signal spring, chirping from my wall at 2am was driving me crazy. 

And yes, I did wake Carson up occasionally so that he could experience the torture with me. One does not suffer alone in marriage; it wouldn't be fair.

Finally I hit a point where I couldn't take it anymore. The birds were too much. "But it's winter! What will they do?" said I-still-have-a-heart Carson. "I don't care. We need to call our landlord or get a gun. This is not their home and they should have gone South" said heartless-horrible-not-an-animal-rights-activist Lindsay. Carson tried to wait until the birds were gone, and tried to nail a board in the way so they couldn't get in, but that small hole was no longer small, thanks to the birds. 

The heroic attempt

So we called the landlord, who protested as well "But it's so cold! What will they do?!" until he arrived equipped with a ladder and spray foam and discovered the extent of the damage to his home. 

He reported later that he'd seen the hole in the fall, which was at the time rather small. But now it was hollowed out and they'd wired the place for cable, set up their armchairs, and really made the place their own. I was inside during his visit, and I heard slight curses under his breath (the damage was apparently extensive) and the sound of foam being released from an aerosol can. 

I slept just like Carson that night, waking up relieved and refreshed to an astonishingly quiet wall. It was wonderful and magical and every night since has been just as quiet.

But just yesterday, as I was stepping out the door to go to work, I heard a fluttering in the wall above the bathroom window and a tiny bird flew out just as I went to check on it. 

Our landlord will be here later this week.

My Crazy College Days...

Once upon a time, I went to college.

I didn't have a crazy college experience. I went to a Bible school and lived with four relatively normal girls my first year. We would stay up late, yes, but it was mostly because we were studying or making music videos to Disney soundtracks. We would stay up till 2am creating funny pictures like this one:

Embarrassing, but not really crazy. 

Anyway, Molly and I both really REALLY wanted to get our noses pierced that year. Apparently, we're not the sort of people to make an impulse decision (plus, it costs $50. $50 is a COMMITMENT.) because we did not get our noses pierced during our first year. We did, however buy glue and a package of rhinestones commonly used as nail art. And then we... well, we glued little rhinestones to our noses just to get the effect.

We LOVED the effect. But we never really had $50 dollars and we weren't sure what our dads would say, so we stuck with rhinestones that kept falling off our faces.

So on and off, we would talk about piercing our precious little noses. Friends began to pierce them and we thought that maybe we'd look too much like we were following another trend. Still, we thought about it. 

Time passed, and we laughed about our rhinestone days. 

More time passed, and we both got married. We still talked about our noses. 

Fast forward to our senior year.

I asked Carson what he thought about my nose getting pierced (I showed him the picture I just showed you) and he said he liked it. I told Molly and we decided that the time had come (this was probably early 2011).

I really don't think I've communicated it enough here, but I am scared of needles and sometimes hyperventilate after I have blood drawn. I also happen to know that they don't use a staple gun on your nose like they do with ears - they use a needle. 

But then again, I had wanted to pierce my nose for over three years. The time had clearly come. I didn't want to be 75 years old and still considering it. There is a window after all. (ps - if you are 75 and want to get your nose pierced, by all means FEEL FREE...)

So we discovered that one of the piercing places nearby had $10 off on Tuesdays. Tuesday it was. Carson was working, and just in case I'd decide to chicken out, I risked the embarrassment of telling him what I was going to do. Days before, I asked for his permission, just to be clear. "So, if I were serious about getting my nose pierced, what would you say? Are you really okay with it? Because I think this time I'm serious." And he said go for it (I don't think he actually cared at all). 

Molly and I went to the mall, full of trepidation. Well, I was. She'd decided not to pierce her nose after all. 

I signed medical releases (scary) and we went into a little room. I had my nose marked with a marker to show where the piercing would go. I okay'd the spot, then they cleaned my nose with a q-tip (I don't think I would like cleaning noses and such as part of my job. I bet they see really gross things.), stuck a little tube up my nose (it was weird), and told me to close my eyes (if I can't see the needle, maybe I won't know it's there). She said "I'm going to count to three and then you'll feel a pinch. "1... pinch". Smart going, lady. I didn't even have time to tense up. It pinched and made my eyes water and then I was told (this is tmi) that it was "gushing" so I kept a cotton ball on it. 

So after that, we went to get ice cream (we'd saved $10, remember?!) to celebrate the accomplishment of a first-year goal... three years later. 

I loved it. Carson was surprised that I went through with it but said he liked it too.

I would have expected that I was responsible enough for such a piercing. And I was, for exactly three days.

I went on a retreat and was toweling off after a shower when suddenly - ow! My nose ring came out and I couldn't get it back in (it was the corkscrew kind and I still don't know how to work them). I used the only substitute I had - a real earring, which seemed normal-sized on my ear, but was ridiculous on my nose. Someone called "diva" because of my bling and everyone laughed at me. I deserved that.

But then one Tuesday later, we found ourselves in that very same little room for Molly - who'd decided to get her tragus (the little flap thing on your ear) pierced. I imagine that hers was much more painful, but she has the highest pain tolerance ever so it wasn't a big deal.

Anyway, that's the story of how crazy we were in college. 

Insane, right?

I Kissed My Ideals Goodbye, Part 2

[click here for part one]

So as previously mentioned, I had pretty well-formed thoughts on dating, courtship, and the like. In retrospect, it was a little like setting your parenting ideals on the table before your first child is born. Lofty goals, but without an ounce of experience.

You may remember that something dear to my heart was the idea of the family sitting around the kitchen table laughing and making memories while bonding with my future husband. It seemed only right that "he" would be a person I had known for forever, respected and trusted as a friend first.

Enter Carson: A man I had not known for years, did not know my family, and definitely had not sat at my kitchen table.

I'm going to add in here that my ideals have a lot to do with the fact that I am a firstborn. I get something in my head and there is no one who is going to take that away from me.

Carson Bay did not know this about me.

(He knew I was a firstborn because one of his roommates was in my speech class in which we gave biographical speeches and that loving friend recounted all my information to Carson. But he did not know that he was dealing with such a stubborn individual.)

I accepted his first offer, which was to be his date to the spring formal. My reasoning was because you just couldn't say no without a reason. That would be entirely too rude.

When he got obtained my phone number (a true mystery to me... I hadn't included that in any speech), he called me to see if I would be interested in coffee. I demurely replied that I did not think it was a good idea. He, also being a firstborn, gave me several reasons why it was.. I didn't buy it and again refused.

And then tried my darndest to ignore the guy. Meanwhile, he pursued with all his might. Our story is really one of persistence, his trying to get me and my trying to "not lead him on" (because he was not the long-time-family-friend of my dreams).

He won, as you might well assume. Two weeks after that spring formal, we had a conversation in which we calmly told one another that we thought it would work for us to get married. It was a conversation oddly devoid of emotion for being about marriage and a future together.

He called my dad the next day (after he had talked to me... there went one ideal... but then again, how else would he get his phone number?). That evening, over coffee, we...

Started dating. Not courting. Dating.
One thing I've realized... the terms kind of coincide. But I've always pictured courting as more of a "family hangs out with the guy" thing and dating as a "family meets the guy after there's a relationship" thing... and so I call it dating. In reality, it doesn't matter. It's just a term thing, right?

He would sometimes come over and hang out with me and my roommates, but that was as family-oriented as it got. We were often unsupervised, unchaperoned, as we visited an Arboretum, went to lunch, went for walks, and sat under a tree at school, talking. It was not what I had envisioned. We even held hands once in awhile. It was wild.

After three months of dating (we dated in Spokane for 3 weeks and then were apart for 2 months), we got engaged.

Three seconds after that (or in that general vicinity), we had our first kiss. We were not married yet. Another ideal, just flushed down the toilet.

[While that was written oh-so-flippantly, I must let you know that none of it was actually done in that manner. The dating a boy I had not known for years and years scared me to death. I prayed about it like there was no tomorrow. The holding hands was discussed. The kiss before marriage was discussed.] 

One of the biggest things being in a relationship taught me was that I had been locking my ideals up in an iron castle. I had made things that weren't so big out to be non-negotiables, and not even considered things that were actually of importance.
The decisions we made while dating were made after lots of prayer and a considerable amount of discussion. We both tend to be over thinkers so that wasn't very hard for us.

Throughout my life, one of the bigger things God has had to "talk" to me about has been my setting my ideals above everything else, often including seeking Him in prayer on the issue.

This was the case initially with Carson... the reason I was deadset against his interest in me was because I was sure that it wasn't the right time. Unfortunately in my certainty, I had failed to consult with the One who created time. Once I prayed about it I realized that perhaps this was something that He had brought about at that specific time for a specific purpose.

I had to trust God and let go of my ideals, which has sort of been the story of my life.

This has really been written because God has been teaching me a thing or two about my ideals (did I not say it was the story of my life?). This whole relationship thing was entirely new to me before Carson and SUCH a good example of how easy it was to set my "I will" and "I will not" plans before the Lord.

It's reminded me that even really good intentions in ideals can become idols if we don't place them before God. And honestly, at least in my case, they could probably ruin relationships.

- Mrs. Bay ;)

I Kissed My Ideals Goodbye, Part 1

When I was in Junior High, I read Joshua Harris' "I Kissed Dating Goodbye".

As a very mature (in my own mind) fourteen year old, I defined several key elements to my own future courtship. That book and its sequel, "Boy Meets Girl" were actually quite influential in my early dating philosophy.

[disclaimer:] I will say this... they're not bad books! And while I think "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" does idealize courtship perhaps a bit too much, I think much of the advice is sound. The book has nothing to do with it other than setting ideas in my head. I made ideals of my own free will. I tend toward making rules on things that are actually more like gray areas... and that's what this post is actually mostly about...

So for several years, I planned to do things the old fashioned way. I would be friends with a boy, he would like me and without my knowledge, speak to my father. He would outline his plans to woo me and wed me, and we would have a lovely little wedding in a small white church, in which we would have our first kiss. During the period of courtship, he would spend Sunday afternoons at my parent's house after church and throw the football with my dad. He would be from the South and our babies would have accents just like him.

Well, I moved away from home at the age of 19 (a year away from my intended "marry by" age, also determined when I was fourteen), thoroughly single. I did have close guy friends, but no marriage proposal kept me home.

By this time, I was actually a bit cynical on the whole relationship thing as a whole, having seen so many broken hearts from both dating relationships and courtships. I liked the idea of getting married, but the pre-marriage, relationship part freaked me out. It was at this time that I decided that I would agree to an arranged marriage. No games, just "Here he is!"

That didn't happen either.

So I was 3,000 miles from home, single, and content in that. Possibly overjoyed in that. Possibly smug and prideful in that. Possibly just about to have my lofty ideals kicked in the face.

Over Christmas break that year my relationship status was discussed. A friend asked me about my single state. I made lovely comments on being content and all sorts of things. I even had a conversation with God about possibly making a vow to not get into a relationship that year... not that I had all sorts of offers that needed turning down, but it was really heavy on my heart. The sign I asked for didn't happen so I didn't make that promise...

...and that turned out to be good. Because just five or so weeks into the semester, a strange guy from two of my classes (who coincidentally happened to be around a lot more), asked me to the spring formal.

My ideals were about to be crushed. I was going to lose a battle.

And to make it even worse, people from Washington don't have Southern accents. No hope for those future children.

...to be continued...