children – Page 2 – Angel Wheeler

Day 1: Reporting In

I consider today my first day on the job as an official SAHM.

I was tired by 9:30.

Last week was actually the first week of summer vacation, but my sister and her two rug rats drove down from New Mexico and spent the week with us. So, of course, the house didn’t get cleaned, boxes from my classroom didn’t get put away, and EK was not on a schedule (as if she’s ever been). J-Dub also had some family drive in for the weekend, so I can assure you EK was extremely neglected with all the company. But now the aunts and cousins have all returned to their normal routines, and the baby and I are trying to find our normal routine, if one even exists.

This is my favorite picture as of now.

Tomorrow I’m sure I’ll have another.

I love this picture because that is the image of the baby of my dreams. A calm, quite, studious daughter who can be found with her nose in a book.

My mom bought EK these 12 little Disney board books. We began reading and EK took the book and put it in a perfect hold. I had to take a quick snap with the camera, as it didn’t last long.

For the past 4 months, we’ve wondered what kind of a kid EK is going to be. What kind of an adult? What kind of a an overall human being. As much as I’d love to snuggle up in bed on Saturday and read books together, I’m beginning to get the feeling she isn’t going to want to be still for very long.

I know you have all said she has been alert since the day she was born, and it’s true. Even now, she won’t hardly sleep because she’s afraid she’s going to miss something. Nursing is beginning to present yet another challenge as she pops her head up and looks around at the slightest sound. Even snapping her picture while she naps awakens her.

She kicks her little legs fiercely and pedals a million miles a day on her imaginary bicycle.

She’s a little roly poly now too as she’s learned how to roll across the room. I lay her on her blanket, leave the room for 1 minute (I swear) and she’s across the room chewing on the vacuum cleaner cord.

I’ve spent my first day as a SAHM trying to clean the floors since she’s on the move. Because you see, I have this shedding problem. It’s my hair. It comes out in GOBS. It’s probably an undiagnosed medical condition of some sort, and it is totally gross when you pick up your baby and have to grab long brown hair out of her wet little fists and off her wet little chin. I know…..Grody, Gross, Gross.

On the bright side, I’m looking forward to the weight loss when I’m chasing her around the house.
A girl can dream anyway, can’t she?

On the go or sleeping, she’s a dollbaby. That’s all there is to it. Her personality is beginning to emerge and even if she isn’t that calm, quiet, studious child; she’s mine.

And I couldn’t be happier.

She’s Here……

After a long awaited 41 weeks, our little girl, Emma Kate arrived on January 28 at 2:47 p.m. weighing in at 7.4 oz and 20 inches long.

She spent 6 days in the Neonatal ICU with breathing complications, and finally after a long, exhausting, emotionally and physically draining time where days and nights ran together, and J-Dub and I ran through the motions, we came home.

I am spending my days at home recovering from a C-section, which is no easy task and something I was completely and totally unprepared for.

Emma Kate is the absolute joy of our lives.

I can never explain how much we love her, and I already feel like she is growing up too fast. Where has the last 9 days gone?

Right now, she is filling up her diaper, and I don’t even mind!!

I’ll be updating soon, I hope, so bear with me.

Angel

My life. My thoughts. My faith. My family

Well today is Sunday, and those who may have been looking for it, might have missed my “in memory of my dad story” yesterday. I’ve been a little busy, which is no excuse.

I’ve been:

sleeping (today anyway)
trying to revive a dead front yard from a serious drought
cleaning out a junk room of boxes and inessentials to make room for a crib and diapers
scouring baby books and the internet for the perfect little girl name
guarding my red toenails from pecking chickens
gathering 5-6 fresh eggs a day
enjoying the beautiful fall days
teaching a class of 22 darling second graders
cleaning, washing, drying, sweeping, mopping
attempting to bring my husband back to reality from our recent visit to Colorado
Oh, and building a baby

I went to Lubbock, Texas this weekend to listen to one of my most beloved Bible teachers, Beth Moore. Some church friends and I spent the day knee deep in the book of Luke and Acts and reveling in the reminder of how awesome our God is, and I wasn’t able to get to a computer to post my dad’s story and did not have the wherewithall to post earlier. I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up shortly.

While my dad was living, he spent some time writing commentaries and sports for his hometown newspapers, The Tahlequah Times. My sister brought me a basketful of old newspaper clippings, so each Saturday I post one. I will post them until I run out of stories or until I run out of Saturdays, whichever comes first. I chose Saturday because that was the day he died. A Saturday afternoon. Just a normal, unsuspecting one. Much like this day 10 years ago when our country was attacked. Much like the day when Jesus will return. Normal. Unsuspecting.

I had spoken with him back and forth on his facebook wall that morning, and was planning a visit in July for a family reunion. That afternoon, I was home alone standing in my kitchen with a cardboard box and newspaper pages scattered on the kitchen counters, wrapping drinking glasses in preparation for a move to a new place when my phone rang. I almost didn’t answer it because the number was bizarre. I’m glad I did. It was my dad’s friend, Jane, on the other end tearfully explaining to me “we’ve lost your daddy.” I had to call my sister, my mom, and my brother. It was a difficult day, as is days that come and go still. My dad has been gone a little over six months and my goodness, so much has happened in that short time. I miss him, and I so wish he was here to share what is happening in my life now.

When I first shared with my family that Jason and I would be having a baby, both my mom and my sister remarked how they wished my dad was here. How he would have loved to know the baby. And it made me sad for a split second. But then I remembered something my friend had told me and I had an epiphany. We all come from different backgrounds and beliefs and sometimes we get stuck thinking ours is “right” and everyone else is wrong. I have a very dear friend who, when speaking about babies, she would often mention “spirit children” in heaven waiting for a body in order to come to earth. I had never heard of this from anyone before. Although it was her belief, it was one I didn’t share. I hadn’t been taught this idea, I hadn’t ever read about this idea, so I dismissed it, quite frankly, as cuckoo. Until the day I needed desperately to believe that.

I believe that our spirits live forever. When we die our spirits live on, either in heaven or in hell. And it came to me clearly, if our spirits live forever after our earthly body is gone, then how narrow-minded of me to think our spirits only begin when our human bodies form in the womb. Of course they exist before our earthly body and of course they exist after our earthly body. Of course there are “spirit children”. And of course my dad’s spirit, who lives in heaven, and my baby’s spirit who lived in heaven, have met one another. My dad is not missing out on knowing my baby. I believe they have met one another. In the heavenly realm of which we know very little about, they’ve become acquainted. They are well acquainted.

I let my imagination run wild with this idea. Not only have they met, and shook hands, and said hello, I’m your grandpa, but perhaps they’ve played together. Maybe he’s already given her horsey back rides and swung her around in his arms. Could it be possible that he’s sat her in his lap, hugged her close, kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. Have they’ve splashed in crystal seas digging for the perfect skipping rocks ? Have they held hands and played ring around the rosey on a golden street?
Is it unfathomable?
Not to me.
Is it cuckoo?
Not to me. Not anymore.

I enjoy Saturdays with my dad’s stories because I get to hear from him again. I’ve never read all his stories, there were only a select few that he mailed to me. I’m so glad I have them, and I’m honored to share them. Granted, some are better than others, as are all of mine as well. But we live on with our words. We can impact people years later with our writings. Last week his story told about a blue and white seersucker jacket he had that served him well for both weddings and funerals. My sister commented and said I should have posted this picture of him wearing that jacket.

That’s us in 1993. I’m the one with the big hair. Take your hands off your gaping mouths. Yes, that hair is real. Yes, I left the house with hair that big. Yes, that hair was sort-of in style. And that’s my handsome dad standing proudly beside me. He was always proud of me, and told me often.

I thank God he was my dad. I thank God for the time we had together. I thank God He prepared a place for him. And for me. We will see him again. And we will laugh. And hug. And he will give me his sloppy kisses as he always did.

He loved much, and is loved and sorely missed by many.

Baby

There comes a time in a blogger’s life, when she must decide if something is too personal to share. It’s easy to share chicken stories and recipes, possum deaths, and classroom funnies, but not so easy to tell others when you’re falling apart. Not for me anyway. There is an occurrence in my life and something on my heart that I want to write down. I want to be able to reflect back on this season. And I must decide. Do I want everyone who happens upon this blog to know my struggles? But then again, there may even be the wild chance that it might help someone else. Or even there might be someone who can help me. Who knows.

I’m a very private person really, although it may be hard to believe. A lot of the things I write are simply stories and day-to-day happenings that really are just for entertainment purposes and possibly posterity., I keep myself tightly guarded for the most part, but sometimes I find myself wanting to share my emotions. Today is one of those times. This leap leaves me wide open. Open to criticism, open to judgement, open to pity. Today I’m deciding to share something very personal and something that I’ve only shared with my closest loved ones. But I’m sharing it for a few reasons.

1) Prayer: It allows people to pray for me, which is all I’ve got.

2) Humility: It’s very humbling to admit when I’m in the valley. I don’t want to sin by being proud, and it is something I struggle with.

3) Support: By sharing, I hope to hear stories that will comfot and rest my heart.

4) Friends: I know I have enemies, but I like to believe I have friends too. I know that people care about me and I am overwhelmed by the love of friends and even strangers who I only know through this computer screen.

My pregnancy was unplanned and the shock of my life. It also has been a piece of cake so far. At times, I’ve even felt guilty when I see and know of pregnant women who are struggling with sickness, puking their guts up, hooked to IV’s, dehydrated because they can’t keep anything down. I know that God has granted me good health during this time.

I enjoy being pregnant. After I passed through the initial shock and the acceptance stage, I have discovered that being pregnant is an awesome experience. When people ask me how I am feeling, I tell them I feel great, but what I really want to say, but don’t for fear of sounding hokey is, “I feel honored”. And I do. This is truly an honor to be chosen to carry a baby. To know that I am working with God to create a miracle, if for only a short time. To look at the night sky, at the vast expanse of stars, aware that the planet I live on is a tiny mass in a small galaxy in a huge universe. And I, an insignificant, minute speck, have been chosen to carry this one little being, this little combination of me and my dear husband, to nurture it, and sustain it. Sappy, sappy, sappy, I know. But it’s true.

I am beginning to get a little more excited each week. My belly is starting to noticeably grow, and I love to lay on my back and press on my abdomen and feel that hard little ball of cells and organs, and imagine it slowly and miraculously developing into this being with fingers and toes and a little button nose whom I already absolutely adore. I can’t wait to meet him. Or her.

Yesterday, however, I received a call from the doctor’s office and it rattled me to the core. At my last appointment, I had an optional blood test done called an AFPTetra. It screens for certain abnormalities like Spina Bifida, Down’s Syndrome, and Trisomy 18, and tests to see if I’m a carrier of cystic fibrosis. All the screens came back negative, except one. Down’s Syndrome. This does NOT mean our sweet baby has Down’s Syndrome. It is only an indication that it is at an increased risk. I’m sitting at the “advanced maternal age” of 36, and based on that, it appears I have a 1:198 possibility it could have Down Syndrome. Based on the test, however, I have a 1:75 chance. This test has been known to worry and fret a lot of women, all for naught. It’s only an indicator of risk, not a confirmation. The test is notorious for false positives and more often than not, the baby is just fine. But even knowing all that, I experienced my first tearful, worrisome night as a mother. I cried, I fretted, I imagined, I planned, I prayed and prayed and prayed.

Next Thursday I will visit a genetic specialist who will give me a consultation and an ultrasound. The way I understand it, they will look for certain “markers” of Down Syndrome during the ultrasound. It also can not confirm the baby has it, only an amniocentisis can do that.

It’s an extremely scary, uncertain time for us all. My loved ones are praying and reassuring me that everything will be fine, and I desperately want to believe that. My heart, my hope, and my faith is shaken right now. But one thing I know: God is good, all the time. All good things come from Him. I know that this precious baby is fearfully and wonderfully made, knit together, with all his days ordained. I know that God will never give us more than we can bear. I know that this baby may not have been planned by Jason and I, but it was planned by Him, and is loved immensely already, no matter.

We will hold tight to our faith and not allow the devil to cause fear and panic into our hearts.

The scriptures I’ve been focusing on are:

Proverbs 3:5—Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all thine ways, acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.

Isaiah 41:10—Do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

2 Timothy 1:7 For you have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.

Psalm 121—I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

⁷ The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
⁸ the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

~Angel