Our Lives are Different. And that’s okay.

Growing up the baby of the family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

There is this idea that being the  youngest means you get away with everything your older sibling/s ended up grounded for weeks for.

Was I my mothers “wild child”? Yes, I’m not denying that. But my sister didn’t grow up doing all the things typical kids and teenagers do.

My sister is disabled. She didn’t go out with friends to the mall, to see a movie, to go shopping. She didn’t date. I love my sister very much and we have amazing memories growing up even though we have a significant age gap of 7 years. We didn’t have the traditional sister relationship where you older sister passes on her experiences and wisdom. But I don’t fault my sister for that. Never really thought about it till now.

I’ve never thought about any of this until recently. There have been a couple things brought up that made me realize that people think my sister is an innocent soul and that I’m the terrible child.

One terrible mistake people make is to assume that disabled means innocent. While it may seem sad that my sister missed out it doesn’t mean that I had it easier. It only means that my experience in life has been different. And that’s okay.

I’m sure I gave my mother one too many gray hairs. I wasn’t a perfect daughter back then and I’m certain I’m not a perfect daughter now. Only in addition to trying to be a decent daughter I have to balance being a wife and a mother to my children.

These are all roles that have their overwhelming moments. I’m nowhere near perfect in any of these roles. I do my best.

I consider myself to have grown up with a good life. I know I wasn’t an easy one to raise but I didn’t turn out too bad.

I didn’t give my mom any crazy trouble until I turned 18. It’s not like I was a promiscuous teenager who ended up 16 and pregnant. I didn’t date anyone in high school. I wasn’t a drop out. When I was 18 I took care of my grandmother until I couldn’t handle seeing her deteriorate each day. I didn’t slack off after I stopped taking care of her. The day my grandma died I was at work. It’s pretty easy to realize whats going on when you drive up and see vehicles from every family member parked along the street. Not easy.

My mom had cancer when I was 15 years old. From a young age I knew I’d grow up to someday take care of my sister or watch her die due to her health issues. I already have a dead father, to think your mom might die, and know that someday you might have to watch your sister die too. That’s rough stuff. But I’m the baby of the family so that means my life was easier, right?

My faults are easier for people to recognize.

Much was and still is expected from me because I’m not the one who is disabled. I don’t feel burdened with it. But I do get bitter when people think I’ve had an easy life.



My Daughters.

My sweet Belly and Beasy,

My wonderful girls. You are my world. You’ll never know just how much I love you.

I hug you tight in hopes that you’ll be able to feel just how much love there is in my heart for you two.
I look in your little eyes and tell you, “I love you”, in hopes that you’ll see just how much love there is in my heart for you two.

I love to hold your tiny hands, and kiss your chubby little cheeks. I love to feel your hugs. Those are the best. Especially, when followed by your kisses.

There is nothing I want more in life than for you both to be happy. I want you to love and be there for one another all your life.

I want you to pray for one another.

There is no greater joy than the sounds of your laughter. As long as I live I will do anything to hear you laugh and see you smile.

Whatever life may bring one thing is certain; I will always be your Mommy and you will always be my babies.

Oh! What a World!

Coffee sounds great every single day at any hour. The only problem is I’m trying to cut back because I’m TTC. For those of you that don’t know, that’s cool mommy forum talk for “Trying To Conceive”.

It’s been about a week and I’m certain my body is experiencing withdrawals. I feel so sluggish it’s even exhausting to crack a smile.

My husband has offered to go get me a Bacon Avocado Cheeseburger to lift my spirits. Now, I’m totally against emotional eating. Just kidding! It’s either the coffee withdrawals or Aunt Flo; maybe both.

According to my period tracker I’m only 3 days away from my period starting. This PMS’ing thing has got to go. It’s so irritating. It’s like every time I decide that yes, finally I’m going to start eating better and exercise daily,  I swear my fallopian tubes are there with an evil grin, laughing at whatever BS chemicals my body is producing that make me want to eat a horse.

Hoping that today ends peacefully since it’s already been rough with my youngest screaming her head off because she wants me to pick her up. But wait, no, she wants me to put her down. But wait, no, she wants to pick her up and put her down simultaneously.

I better pick myself up by the boots straps and teach her what a cruel world we live in that her request an impossibility.

Damn you, time and space!

My Husband Made Me Angry. But He’s Not Even Home.

My dear husband has managed to piss me off without even being home.

I woke up this morning ready to take on the world. And it didn’t even take a cup of coffee to get me feeling that way. I was motivated.

Because of this motivation I had going on I wanted to keep that momentum going so I decided I was going to put on my workout clothes and running shoes and REALLY get down on this place. Spic and span, son!

Well, it’s been about 15 minutes and I can’t find my workout leggings that I just purchased. I’d wear my other pairs but these are the new pair I bought because I finally admitted I had to buy a size bigger. My fat pants don’t even fit!

As I search in my closet I take notice of all the crap my husband has decided to throw on the floor. He’s always been a tidy and clean person so the fact that he has this pile of crap on the floor is odd. He’s been doing that a lot lately.  And I know if I tell him he will come back with, “Well, you have all your crap on the floor *As he gazes around the whole house wide eyed* so for me to have this tiny amount of square feet that’s messy isn’t a big deal.

He’s right. (Come again?)

But after the argument I’ve already played out in my head I’ve come to this simple reasoning: Just because I throw crap on the floor doesn’t mean you can! I mean, come on, I clean this place up(sort of). I actually have a bin in our closet that I throw my crap in so at least it has a “home”. This guy just has a mountain of stuff. Most of it will be gone when he take his stuff to the cleaners but I’m still flustered because this visual of mess is cramping my style, man!

I’ve managed to take a deep breath. I checked on the girls and they are playing together in their room. They are laying on the floor saying they are sick. Which of course made me smile. Of all the things they could have imagined to be they imagined they were sick. I love it.

I took one last look, found a pair of leggings that I forgot I still fit in. Managed to get pissed off at myself for now losing the shirt I was going to wear but found it quickly.

Now I’m pretty exhausted mentally because I played out that big argument in my head. Time to find the motivation again. But maybe I’ll check my facebook first.

Wal-Mart.com USA, LLC


The moment my eyes opened and I could hear my children up to no good I swear I heard it, “GOOOOD MORNING, VIETNAM!!!!!!!!”

A sign of the days to come.

I injured my back while gathering the laundry. The little one laughed as I tried my best to crawl to my room where I left my phone. She kept saying, “pony!” Finally I made it out of one room, peaked around the corner in hopes that the 3 year old would see me and run to aid her helpless mother. Instead she laughed and looked back at the TV.

I managed to get to the phone and email the hubs, “call me asap.” Then I quickly realized he was probably going to call the home phone which was in the other room. As I typed another message to call me on my cell phone(I totally just sang that Drake song in my head)as expected I hear the home phone ring. Now that I think about it it makes me annoyed that he called the home phone but at the time I was in so much pain I didn’t have the time to waste my annoyance.

I gave him the option of staying at work and calling my mom since I knew he has work to catch up on. So, my mom came to save the day.

I later went to Urgent Care and got an injection of an anti-inflammatory along with some norco and a muscle relaxer. This doctor said it was not sciatica.

Still in pain but with a different sensation I decided to go to the ER. It felt like my hip was going to break if I made the wrong move. This time I was told it was sciatica and received another shot of anti-inflammatory. But this time they offered an additional injection. DILAUDID, aka NARCOTIC. And what did I leave with, MORE muscle relaxers. At this point I feel like a total junkie. Thankfully, the anti-inflammatory drugs are helping enough that I don’t need the crazy meds.

With the holidays coming up I’m sure someone will take a peak at my medicine cabinet and come to the conclusion that I’m a stay at home pill popper.

Nothing says Fall like a Slightly Depressing Song and Dirty Dishes

Today I’ve decided that a week is far to long to have avoided doing the dishes. Could I have continued longer? Of course. The fact that I’ve been cleaning the rest of the house and it still looks the same is depressing. At least if I get the dishes done it will look beautiful for a few hours.

Right now I’m listening to Adele’s new song, “Hello”, so I can feel a bunch of mixed emotions which in turn will make me want to avoid those emotions by doing something such as WASHING THE DISHES!


If you’d care to join me in making the best of this beautiful fall morning I’ll be listening to “United States Top 50” on Spotify. Have a wonderful day and as you shake your ass and sing, “Can’t Feel My Face”,  know that I’m with you in spirit and somewhere in my kitchen shaking my shit too.

But I love it….but I love it. ohhhhhhh.

Cute Farts

Pardon me. We say “toots” in this house. Daddy does not want his girls to fart so he prefers the word “toots”. It makes it more girly. I guess…

I’m not trying to brag…OK OK. I am going to brag. My girls have great manners.  Whether it’s getting them a drink, food, or even a diaper change they say, “Thank you!” The little one even says, “Thank you much!” It is so damn adorable and sometimes I give her stuff just to hear her say it.

When they toot they know they are supposed to say excuse me. There are some toots that you need to remind them to excuse themselves but they are really good about it 98% of the time.

Around 3 am the other night the little one woke both of us up because of her tossing and turning.  It was super annoying. And then we hear, “TOOOOOOOT!!”, followed by a tired little laugh and “excuse me”.  I’ve never been so proud at such a ungodly hour.

Eating Gluten

Per doctors orders Isabella(3 year old) is eating gluten. This means that we get to buy bread that costs $1-$2 TOPS instead of bread that costs $6.99 and is a much smaller loaf. It’s been awesome making grilled cheese sandwiches without having an anxiety attack that the loaf is almost gone and we just bought it with an arm and a leg only yesterday.

As it turns out her blood work came back with some red flag for something called HLA DQ8. I guess it doesn’t mean she has celiac disease but is sort of a signal to seek further testing(biopsy via endoscopy)to confirm or rule it out. As of now she is diagnosed with gluten intolerance.

Because she was eating a mostly gluten-free diet her doctor wants her to eat gluten in order for the tests to give us the best information. She directed us to have gluten in her diet every day for at least a month, maybe 2. We are currently in month #2 and will be getting the blood work done again on Halloween.

Thankfully, her blood work lines up yet again with myself needing to be poked. This really helped us last time. I took her with me when only I needed labs done and let her know that yes it hurt but it was only a poke for a moment. On the day she was to get her blood drawn Daddy also was getting his done. Which was perfect because now she would be seeing the process for a second time knowing that it’s a not so scary, normal experience.

She sat with him and she even told him, “It’s okay, Dad. Take a deep breath. Good job, Daddy!”.The phlebotomist was so nice and gave her stickers. Now it’s Isabella’s turn. The phlebotomist wraps the tourniquet around her arm and Isabella quickly realizes she’s next as she tosses the stickers back to the kind phlebotomist. A great attempt at surrendering but not stopping anything. I reminded her to focus on her breathing as tears rolled down her face. She took deep breaths in and out and before you know it she was done and she was so thrilled by the great job she did. Both her and Daddy walked out with their band aids as they bonded over their job well done.

We’ll see the gastroenterologist again next month to discuss the endoscopy. It sucks, but we’re getting answers now. It took 3 years to be taken seriously and look where we are today. It’s been a struggle, but it’s been worth it to get our daughter the answers she needs for the future of her health.


I lost my baby.

This would have been my third child. We were very excited.

“What if it’s a boy?!”
“I hope it’s twin boys!”
“If it’s a girl we can name her Christiana.”
“If it’s a boy we’ll name him Leo.”
“We’ll be holding a baby when we have our next wedding anniversary”
“Now we’ll have birthdays 4 months in a row, May, June, July, and mine in August.”
“How should we announce we’re pregnant? We can do it on Thanksgiving again.”
“Just think, Honey. We’re going to have 3 children now.”

Over the weekend we celebrated the baptism of my friends son. It was a beautiful church and a beautiful message on the importance of baptism(of course), and the importance of teaching your children to seek Christ. A great reminder that it is important to bring them to church to receive God’s great gift of salvation through Jesus Christ through their little ears.

We haven’t been to church much since Isabella was born. As we started to get a few church attendances in back to back I soon became pregnant with Sofia. I was exhausted and again the bad habit of missing church soon came. Time passes so soon. I’ve held my children back from hearing the gospel. But on Saturday, October 17, the baptism was a great reminder that God is always with us and not to neglect the good gifts He has blessed us with every Sunday morning. Witnessing the baptism was a blessing to know that despite our poor church attendance that God has been and always is with us.

We came home that Saturday afternoon. I had a terrible headache that lasted for hours into the evening. We were hoping to attend church that Saturday evening but I was feeling terrible.

Sunday morning came and went. My whole body ached. I thought I had done too much on Saturday and that because I slept on the floor in the girls room that my pregnant body had enough and demanded rest.

I challenged my fatigued body and went on a family walk. Leo pushed the stroller this time. I could not believe how sore my body was. One lap around is less than a mile and as we walked up the tiny incline up our street I could not believe how hard it had become for me. That’s what I get for not being as active as I should be. I decided to listen to my body and get back inside to rest.

Evening came and we realized that “The Walking Dead” was going to start in 30 minutes and we needed to get the girls to bed ASAP! They fell asleep fast. We even had 10 minutes to spare to grab and ice cream that we didn’t have to share with anyone, and could cuddle and watch one of our favorites shows, together and uninterrupted. During a commercial I went to the restroom and noticed a little blood. Spotting. Nothing alarming but something I knew to monitor. The next morning it seemed to have calmed down. Still spotting but not as much. My second trip to the restroom that Monday morning was what made me concerned. More blood. And this time it was a brighter red. I laid down as much as possible. My husband came home early since he had concerns from the moment he woke up.

We ended up in the emergency room at 5:08pm since I now noticed blood clots. It was packed. We didn’t get called until almost 9pm. The nurse was nice, the doctor was trustworthy. I had an ultrasound done. I had already done my research on what to expect to see in the monitor to indicate that the pregnancy is not viable. I googled what an ultrasound with and without a fetal pole looks like and tried to remember as much as I could. I should have been 9 weeks along. The ultrasound tech said the doctor would tell me more and that it might be too early to see a fetal pole. That possibly the dates are wrong and maybe I’m earlier than expected, around 6 weeks.

The doctor had ordered blood work to check hcg levels. I knew that my hcg level on September 26th was at 6226 miu/ml. When the doctor came back with results from both the ultrasound and blood work he said it wasn’t great news, but hopeful. He said the ultrasound showed no fetal pole and again said it might still be too early. He informed me that my hcg level was in the 6400’s, which was still good. That is when I knew. I told him at that point about the previous hcg level being about the same. It is supposed to double every 2-3 days. He apologized and told me it is likely the pregnancy is not viable.

I followed up with the Nurse Practitioner the following day which would have been my first OB visit for this pregnancy. I cried there in room 39. I cried again as I walked towards the ER lobby. A nurse stopped what she was doing to get me a box of tissue. I held back tears as I walked through the mass of people in the ER waiting room. I tried not to cry as we waited for our car. Leo opened the car door for me. As soon as the door shut I cried and cried. The hopes and dreams we had for our new baby stopped.

I kept trying to make sense of it searching for one last piece of hope to cling to. So that is when I cried and begged God to save this baby. I begged God on the baby’s behalf as I remembered the prayer Jonah cried out to God:

In my distress I called to the Lord,
    and he answered me.
From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help,
    and you listened to my cry.”

I knew that if a miracle would happen that it would. With the evidence given to me it was clear the baby stopped growing at an early stage. God spared us. It was slightly easier to cope knowing that no fetal pole might mean that there may never have been a heart at all that once beat. It’s hard to explain and understand that.

After our appointment yesterday, October 20th, the nurse gave us the option of a natural miscarriage or D&C. Both my girls were csection and I have felt bad that my body never felt the pain of labor and would never birth naturally. I didn’t want the D&C. Not against it, but felt like I really needed to do this naturally. I felt like if I didn’t I would have failed this child. The nurse said I was not dilated at all and that it may take a week or two for my body to understand what was happening. I felt like I could finally relax my body because I felt like since the bleeding started I just kept clinging to the small bit of hope. As we drove back home I felt like I accepted what was happening and my body felt less tense.

Later that evening around 7pm I passed what would have grown into my third child. My body felt better and I felt okay mentally. I accepted what was taking place as much as I could. I know that it’s okay to cry and I do cry here and there.

From the excitement of getting the positive pregnancy test on September 13th, the excitement I had on September 28th when I saw my updated medical record showed “Pregnancy”, up until yesterday, all the excitement of a child, dreaming about his or hers future; I’m somehow thankful. I’m thankful that there was no worry during those few weeks. I’m thankful for the renewed love of my husband. I’m thankful that I am able to grieve with my husband.

We will miss what would have been. But we are as okay as we can be.

Seeing the smile on our girls faces makes things better. They lift my spirits. Even through this tragic event my heart still feels grateful. I’m not sure how and maybe I’ll feel angry at some point but for now I feel okay.

Young Love: Planned Parenthood

To be 18 again. Wow! That’d be something else.

When I was 18 I felt so empowered. So on a mission to be my own person, my rules, my life, and most importantly my choices. I bought cigarettes just because I could. So silly.

At that time I was involved with a guy. He’d make me laugh and smile. We’d stay up and talk for hours and end up falling asleep on each other.  It was cute.  I remember he called me one night because he was going to grab a bite to eat and asked if I wanted to join. I declined and he asked if he could still stop by and see me. Even if it was just for 5 minutes. He made me feel so special! We went out to see movies and just drive around the city. He’d drop me off back at home and then call me once he got home so we could talk some more. Though we had the makings of what would be a romantic relationship he was never my boyfriend. I was never his girlfriend. But we still had a sexual relationship.

I missed a period and told him I might be pregnant. He was stressed out! I told him I could go to Planned Parenthood to find out. He picked me up and sat there with me in the waiting room as I filled out  forms. He had to work that day. And if it turned out I was pregnant he sure as hell couldn’t miss a day of work.

They finally called my name. I asked if he could come along with me and was told by staff, NO. But what if I was going to find out I was pregnant? I wanted him to be there for whatever life changing news we might hear.  But no, I was told he could stay in the waiting room. Either way, he was pressed for time and eventually had to leave me there so he could go to work. The scowl faced doctor came in and we talked about why I was there. I peed in the cup and walked back to the room and waited.

I remember sitting there thinking, “My life might change right now“. I knew I was going to keep the baby. I knew it would be difficult since I didn’t have a good job or any experience to find a great paying one. But I was 18! I was a woman! And empowered to do what it takes to raise a child because I’m a woman! I am strong! I can do this! I wasn’t about to call it quits and abort my child. NO WAY! I am woman, hear me roar! (oh yeah, which reminds me, RIP CECIL)

As the doctor walked in I was so nervous because if she told me it was negative I was going to be a little disappointed. The door hadn’t even shut behind her as she said, “Congratulations…”. I was so excited to hear positive words. This is what I had prepared myself for. She continued “..you’re NOT pregnant.” The joy I was ready to feel was abruptly sucked out of me. (hmm, I see a trend here)

It occurred to me that no one that day had asked me how I would feel if it turned out I was pregnant. The doctor had no idea how I valued the little life that might be developing inside of me. The doctor decided that I was happy to NOT be pregnant. But really, I felt sad. I wondered what she would have said if I was pregnant, Would she have then apologized for being the bearer of bad news?

I had been to Planned Parenthood a couple times before that day to get birth control. Felt a little crazy being there to get condoms for free but hell, I was doing the responsible thing. I never felt comfortable there. But that’s okay, I was doing the responsible thing. They told me that my guy couldn’t come to the room with me, but that’s okay, I was doing the responsible thing. The doctor didn’t know I was a little disappointed when she congratulated me that I was not pregnant. But that’s okay, I was there to do the responsible thing.

From the moment they told me that my partner could not come back with me I felt a little less in control of the care I was receiving from them. I felt like I was wrong that I might be happy to be pregnant. The doctor left me feeling very uncomfortable. The only time I truly felt comfortable with Planned Parenthood was with the people I made the appointment with over the phone. Always kind. But once I got there I felt like a number. More like a $$$.

That was the day my mind started to question what other girls in my position might have experienced. The ones that didn’t feel empowered, the girls who wanted the baby but felt like it was the more responsible choice to have an abortion.

Now I’m a wife and mother of 2 beautiful, amazing little girls. And motherhood, #mommylife, looks exactly as I pictured it and even more. It’s not easy, but I already knew it required a good amount of selflessness. Add a couple of dashes of exhaustion, frustration, and a handful of no make up and bad hair days. But you know what is crazy about all that? It’s AWESOME and I CAN DO IT! #allday