speed bumps

*about a year ago*

we had been hearing about the baby all night long. he'd been born at 3:30 that afternoon and gone under oxygen. that happens sometimes-babies need a little extra help transitioning from inside mama to the great big world. after several hours, though, the baby was still having trouble. i imagine someone went to that mother's room to tell her that her arms, aching now with a very present emptiness, would be joined with an aching and fearful heart-"We're going to have to transfer your baby to the NICU."

icu? intensive care? our baby is going to die? i can imagine the fear flashing through her heart, the drop in her stomach like a roller coaster ride, her eyes and throat constricting and welling up as a flood of tears makes itself present and showers her face. her firstborn, the child she has cherished since mid-march--and something is wrong.

we get him when he's about 15 hours old. he hangs on all day and part of the night, but is just not oxygenating as well as we'd like. we have to put him on CPAP about two in the morning, approximately 24 hours after we admit him to nicu. and again, that mother is awoken from sleep-your son is not doing as well as we'd like, so he'll need a little more help.

hand in hand, she and her husband come down the hall and go a floor below where they are, to the place that they know now is not full of death but is still scary. they go to little Jack*, and the plastic tent he was tucked into is gone, replaced with a blue machine standing by his bed. a mask is attached to his little nose and tied up around his head in a cap, a long white tube sticking up from the mask, his own little rhinocerous horn. they reach for his hands, hearts aching to know what's wrong with their son but at the same time wishing only that he was better.

a nurse appears and asks what questions they have. they look at each other, bewildered, not knowing enough to know what questions to ask. she begins to explain, seeming to understand their utter loss for words. softly, simply (but not in a condescending manner) she explains each piece of equipment and its basic purpose. she gives them an idea of what to expect while their son is here, shows them a place to bring toys and put them above his bed, little sentries watching over him when they are not there.

she seems to understand their fears and tells them that being here, touching him, talking quietly to him...these are the best things for him, almost better than anything they as nurses can do. they thank her, a bit more comforted, and she disappears, leaving them alone with their world-their child-and being more reassured that this is merely a speed bump-not the brick wall they'd thought.


that's one of the things i love the most. being able to sit with parents and give them a little reassurance that this precious child of theirs has a 97% chance of walking out of here alive. explaining the odds. reassuring them over and over that they didn't do anything wrong...that there are no stupid questions...and that it's ok to ask them over and over if they don't remember.

grass in my nose, dirt in my toes...i am SHE-RA!

so it's been a while since i mowed my yard...a while enough that it was roughly the same height as me (ok, maybe an exaggeration, but it was definitely too long). so when i got home from work, i ran my rent check to my landlord's house and then came home. after lifting my manual garage door up by myself, i went out to the back and brought the mower up to the front. i then proceeded to crank it BY MYSELF ON THE FIRST TRY and then mow the whole front and back yard in about an hour. the whole time i was kind of just grinning to myself and thinking i was pretty much hot stuff.

came back in and texted a good friend, "i am SHE-RA!" (She-Ra is my Superwoman alter ego). she told me i was funny. and then, out of nowhere...God decided to remind me just how amazing He thinks i am. i had an epiphany...here's my texted realization.

God gives me my she-ra moments to remind me that i can be strong and do anything i want, just me and Him. i can be proud of myself for doing stuff as a single woman. men are nice, but i have the ability to be confident in MYSELF and not need a man to reassure me and boost my self-worth. i can do lots of things...start the lawnmower on the first try and mow the whole yard, live by myself and not be scared when i'm the only one in the house in the middle of the night and it's not on an upper floor. i am beautiful even in a messed-up ponytail with sweat and dirt streaking my face, wearing paint-stained nike shorts and a sports bra. i can be a woman and still be myself. i can wear makeup and not be using it to hide myself.

in short...I ROCK!!!