Wait, What? It's A Girl!

Last Friday will definitely go down in our family’s history as one of the most amazing and exciting days of our lives. I woke up last Friday and felt I needed to write a bit about this pregnancy and what I was going through. I always feel so much support from those of you out there who read my blog and I needed some loving arms around me. I spent the morning writing and it felt validating. Writing helped me clarify my thoughts even more and I felt capable in this pregnancy journey. I was having a boy, I was half way through and I was overcoming some difficult emotional, physical and spiritual tests. Life was good.

I published my blog post (you can read that post here) and later that afternoon, headed down to Phoenix for my first ultrasound. At 20 weeks, I knew they could and would determine the gender, but through a blood test at 12 weeks, I already knew it was a boy. My friend Chandra was in town, so along with Eden and Canyon there with me, the ultrasound tech lead us to the room and we got started. She checked measurements, we listened to the heartbeat and then she started checking to confirm gender. Now, when I took the blood test from a company called Sneak Peak, there was a stipulation in the set of instructions. It said the test, which I could conduct from the comfort of my own home, would be 99% accurate. The instructions also said to not have the packaging handled by a male, not to conduct the blood test in a bathroom that a male had recently used and to scrub your hands, including underneath your fingernails to prevent any contamination. Wanting an accurate read, I left my house, my five boys, my boy-dominated bathrooms and went down to my parents with the test. My sister Anna was in town for Easter and she helped me follow the instructions perfectly and conduct the test. After washing my hands with hot water and soup, scrubbing my fingernails and drying my hands on paper towels just out the package, I went into the bedroom where Anna was staying, pricked my finger with a little contraption in the Sneak Peak box, and slowly watched as little drops of my blood filled a small vile. When finished, we snapped the lid on the container, placed the blood sample in a box, sealed it and off it went to the post office. I couldn’t wait for the results confirming I was having a girl. As you all know, that wasn’t the case. Just a few days later, it was confirmed in an email that my blood work, as the email stated showed with “100% accuracy” I was having a boy. Signed, sealed, delivered – a little boy was on his way.

I know very few people put so much emphasis on the gender of their baby, but I have a story about this baby and it just wasn’t fitting the narrative I had been feeling and quite frankly, witnessing.

After I had Canyon, I was done having babies. Six children, five boys and one girl was great and Canyon was healthy and strong. Eden was a trooper and loved having a baby brother. Through intermittent fasting (you can read about that here), I got my health back, I was moving along in my writing goals, I’d published 3 very personal books and a coloring book in 2 years, I opened a publishing house, was traveling, speaking, working with Rising Star India and I passionately wanted to travel there to meet the girls I cared so deeply about. Canyon turned two and potty-trained himself, he was more and more independent each day and life had returned to a lovely routine. I’d made it out alive, so to speak when on Thanksgiving day, I found out a dear friend of mine had suffered a heart attack, fallen and had a brain bleed. His chances of survival were practically zero. Derek and I committed to fasting the next day for him and so powerful was that fasting experience I decided to do another 30-day fast in which I would fast 16-18 hours a day. This meant I would fast every day until Christmas. The experience immediately took on a very spiritual purpose. I couldn’t wait to feel closer to my Savior and Heavenly Father, especially over the holidays.

On the third day of my fast, I prayed for my friend in the hospital when a feeling overcame me. “Pray for a baby,” the prompting said. What? I wasn’t even thinking about having another baby. Was this about adopting a little girl? “Pray to have a baby,” I felt again. Wow, I knew enough about how God speaks to me to understand I needed to obey this prompting, so I did. In that quiet moment, I opened my mouth and prayed for a baby. What happened left me speechless. A love came over me so strong, so powerful that not only did I pray for a baby, I plead for her. And I knew it was her. I could feel this wonderful opportunity that this was a gift I was asking for, even pleading for. Derek and I had tried adopting a girl from India a year earlier, but because of our age (we were too old), we didn’t quality. Did God have something else in mind? My prayer became fervent and when I was finished, I wondered what had just happened. I carried on with my day, checked in with my friend’s husband and he was slowly making progress. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but he was stable. The next day, as I neared the end of my fast, I went into pray. Again, the feeling came strongly over me, “Pray you will have a baby.” Again, I opened my mouth and spoke to Heavenly Father, “Please grant me this baby,” I plead. The love that poured over me left me in tears, like sobbing. I knew who she was. I wanted her so bad. I'd seen her in a dream and so had Eden. Would God really grant her to me, to our family? This experience happened one more time, the next day and I finally told Derek. This wonderful husband of mine, who has loved and nurtured me since the day we meet, completely was on board, but was I? Logic set in. This was crazy. I was 45 years old. Could I even get pregnant? And would I have a girl? After having five boys, it certainly didn’t seem possible. I did some research and found at my age, there’s about a 4% chance of becoming pregnant without some sort of fertility help. There were ways to "try to have a girl", timing ovulation, changing the bodies alkalinity, etc., but I was skeptical. And yes, I was doing well, but things were still challenging in my home. I had two particular boys who seemed to be “testing” most of the time, a son graduating and preparing to leave on a mission, a cherished daughter who I was eager to spend as much time with as possible and a two year old who still wanted to be carried, cuddled and well, be the baby. Before all this happened, I was thinking of going back to school for a master’s degree and really pushing through on some of my career goals. Publishing books, working, traveling, volunteering, and so on. Did a baby really fit into the equation? No, but deep down I knew she was there and I wanted her more then anything else. God had told me if I asked, she could be mine.

This is why the results I was having a boy completely through me off kilter. Not only had I prayed for a girl, not only did I get pregnant right away, but I had been told a girl was coming to me. It’s one thing to ask God for a particular blessing, it’s another to be told by the spirit to prayer for a special blessing God has in store for you. I was instructed to pray for a baby, for her. I can’t think when I’ve ever been told by the spirit to pray for a specific purpose. Usually, when I pray for something, those desires come from my own heart.

So, there I lay at this ultrasound last Friday knowing the test originally said 99% accuracy, but my email confirming the blood work said male DNA was 100% detected in my blood stream. In my mind, I didn’t even have the 1% chance the test was inaccurate and I’d let that ship sail months ago any way.  There was no way I was having this girl, EVER and I'd accepted that, but the technician was having a difficult time finding the gender, “I think the baby’s legs are crossed,” she said. She had me get up, drink some more water, wait about 10 minutes and this time, she had me lay on my side. I wasn’t sure if all this was to determine the gender, or for more measurements and I’d learned since having six babies, just let the ultrasound tech do her job. Don’t ask a ton of questions, she can’t say anything until a doctor looks at the results anyway.

“Tell me about this blood test you took? How accurate are the results?” she asked. My heart skipped a bit. What was she asking? Why?

Don’t even go there, Laura, I said to myself, but my heart was practically beating out of my chest.

I told her the results were 99%, well according to my test, 100% accurate, and she continued her search. “I’m just not finding any male parts on this baby and I’ve been looking,” and she sounded determined. “I’m about 99% this baby isn’t a boy. This looks like a girl, but let me get my supervisor.”

Wait, what????? No way!!! But, no, I’m sure with a little more effort, they’ll find something sticking out there, confirming it’s a boy.

The supervisor came in and started searching. My eyes were glued to the screen.  There was a little bum, two legs, but where was the boy part? I’d seen enough ultrasounds confirming it’s a boy to know what to look for, but nothing.

“Why don’t you turn and lay on your other side,” the supervisor suggested. Like a beached whale (I’m already that big), and now in a third different position, I rolled myself and that giant belly over, more searching when she typed on the screen, “It’s a girl.”

“This is a little girl,” she said and showed me the proof. I gasped. I practically choked. Chandra just stared. I don’t think Eden had a clue what was going on. “You’re having a girl,” the supervisor said enthusiastically and at this point, there were about five other employees in the room. By now, everyone in the clinic knew what was going on. I was speechless.

How could I say, “I knew it! I’ve been told all along this is a girl. I have had signs every where, in nature, in impressions, in dreams, she was a girl. I'd been told her name. I’ve seen her. I know her. She’s mine. She’s always been mine. I’ve been searching around the world and into eternity for her. God granted her to me. He told me she was mine if only I asked. Of course she’s a girl!”

And physically, I’d felt so different with this pregnancy. I wasn’t gaining crazy weight, like I had with my boys. My nose wasn’t fat, my face wasn’t puffy. I wasn’t getting wide, but instead my belly was sticking straight out. My hair was crazy thick and growing so fast, my skin was nourished, my cravings were healthy and sugar made me sick. This was way different then when I carried my boys.

But, I just quietly took it all in – her warmth, her presence, her gift, her female spirit. She was real and she was really coming. She was mine forever.

I feel like a princess. I wake up and say out loud, “It’s a girl.” I say her name. I’m starting to open up to my impressions again, to have faith in how God speaks to me, to be vulnerable to whatever the spirit wants to tell me, to trust myself again. 

I’m not ready to look backwards, to consider how much this trial hurt my ability to understand my impressions, to hope I handled it the best way possible, to know I would have loved another boy with all my heart. This was a tough one and my sister-in-law Sasha, who gifted me the gender reveal test feels awful. “Will you ever forgive me,” she pleads and we just hugged and laughed. She’d used Sneak Peak for her recent pregnancy and it had been accurate. She has a precious 8-week old baby boy to prove it. Now that I've done a bit more research into this type of blood test, I must have had some "boy" DNA on my hair, or perhaps my shirt that contaminated the blood work. I guess even leaving my home didn't clean out all the boys I have around me. “We’ll always have Sneak Peak,” I said to Sasha. She's already been to Target and cleaned out the girl section for this baby. When I called my sister Becky, she cheered on in her usual fashion, always supporting me, always cheering me on. "I knew it," she said! On our date night, Derek and I stopped to pick up some of her first outfits too. 

(On our date Saturday night.)

It’s so surreal. Just last week at Goodwill, I found some darling little boy clothes and there they are, sitting in a box in my closet. I’ve already told Sasha I have a box of clothes and shoes for her little baby boy.

I’m so thankful I followed through on what God told me to do. I am 45, pregnant, sick as a dog, some days barely getting by, loving on my kids, preparing wholesome food when I can, thankful beyond words, closer to my husband then I’ve ever been, living in a state of gratitude and grace, and leaning on friends and family. I just marvel at this life. 

(My oldest and my youngest at church on Sunday.)

People keep reminding me I’ll be pregnant through an Arizona summer, but I’m all in, praying for this little girl to be healthy and to know she’s loved from here to heaven and back.

Learning Another One of Life’s Lessons

I have been very guarded with my feelings during this pregnancy. Partially, because I was so very open and vulnerable with how I felt during my pregnancy and delivery with Canyon.

Anyone who has followed my blog would probably wonder why after such a difficult pregnancy and delivery, many emotional breakdowns, health problems and most likely a midlife crisis, why would I even consider getting pregnant again? Six children is enough, plus I had Canyon at the ripe old age of 42, which was already pushing the biological clock. Why take it all on again? The answer is simple. Canyon has literally been the glue of our family, the constant joy and laughter. He’s everyone’s best friend. 

We all love seeing the world through his eyes, through his language and laughter. He’s such a light in our family that I have had love literally overflowing in my heart and I wondered, “Could I do it again?”  This ride is just too good. Let’s bring on another little bundle of joy and see the blessings he or she can bring.

Of course, I was certain I’d get a she. After five boys, a girl can slip through, right? Timing is everything. It was my time to have a girl. God knows my heart, He hears my prayers. Let’s get Eden’s sister here after all. I went all in, full faith, full on prayer, full on power of positive thinking and bam, she was coming!

From the start, I’ve tried to be very positive. 

(after getting my hair done last week)

Even when the morning sickness came and my bedroom started spinning, because most days getting out of bed still is a major accomplishment. Finally at around 10 weeks, the morning sickness was so bad I had to start on medication, which left me even more tired, but I could do it. I know how great the reward. I am a very driven person with many personal and professional goals, but they could wait. I have physical fitness goals, but they could wait too.

I knew what I was getting myself into, but everyday, I do have to pick myself up. I can do this. I’m strong enough. This was the right decision. I have so much support. My husband is amazing. 

I spent a lot of time outside, taking long walks and spending time with my kids at the park. I found so much comfort in nature, in the wind, in the sun, with birds. I felt like everything around me was there to comfort me, to be my friend and send me encouragement. I would call my sister or mom and tell them about my experiences, how the world around me was lifting me up and validating what I was going through. It was amazing and magical. 

(This painting really spoke to me.)

This little girl I was carrying was full of love and the world was already celebrating her arrival. Everybody, even the cashier at the store told me “You’re having a girl. Oh, it’s obvious by how you’re carrying her.” My dad’s friend, a gentle kind man who is very quiet spoke up one day and confirmed what he'd been feeling, “It’s a girl.” Everyone around me seemed to be having the same impressions as I was.

When I found out I was having a boy through a blood test at 12 weeks, it really shock my faith. You’d think by now, I’d keep that window open, perhaps I could be having a boy, but no, this was really tough for me. What happened? Why was this very special request to have a girl denied? I immediately pushed away my intuition. It had failed me. It was difficult not to become cynical. I didn’t want to see anymore birds, especially humming birds which at the start of my pregnancy were around me all the time. If you’ve read my book Starving Girl, you know I have had very special experiences with nature. I feel God everywhere. I listen to my heart and follow promptings. Finding out this next baby was a boy, it was like my personal inner guide had been completely wrong. Would I ever learn to trust in my instincts again? Not trusting my intuition, questioning my ability to read into the experiences around me, wondering why I keep dreaming about this little girl and I was told her name – I had to say good bye to her – forever, because this is the last time I’ll be pregnant.

Boy. Hello, little boy. I want to know you. Who are you? Are you alright? Do you know I love you? Even though I’m having a really difficult time, I really do want you? I know your patient with me. I love you.

I’ve had a whole lot going on emotionally, mentally, spiritually, physically, but I’ve stayed close to my mom, my sister Becky, my husband, several close friends and when the days are too tough, I reach out to them (or most of the time, they’re already there reaching out to me). One very difficult day, I was very sick and could not get out of bed when a neighbor came over. She recently returned from a mission in Africa and came to check in on me. She sat at my side and poured out her heart, how she made it through nine pregnancies, how she relied on God as a mother, how everything works out even during the difficult times. Her visit felt like a gift from God and her faith still lifts me when the difficulties of pregnancy take over everything. I’ve had visits, texts, encouraging messages, food, love, support and more. I ran into a friend at the grocery store who didn’t know I was pregnant yet and when I told her, she wrapped her arms around me, offering encouragement and love. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. I felt her love and support to the core.

(I'm wearing my feelings on my shirt. I love this guy so much.)

I’ve never been so sick, so tired, so worn out, but not overwhelmed. No, I’m very focused on my children right now, on loving those around me, on taking long walks and reconnecting with nature and birds, water, sun and wind. 

I’m slowing trusting myself, trusting God knows what’s best for me and trusting I’m strong enough to do this. I would do this again. I want this precious boy and he knows that. I feel the baby moving and I tell him “I love you.” He’s already brought joyful anticipation into our home. The kids can’t wait to hold him, play with him and love him. Life is a beautiful path, not always the path we thought we’d be on, but nonetheless, it’s simply beautiful.

My Baby Canyon Is Born

My little prince is born.

I have a new best buddy and we are spending a lot of time together.  It took some work getting him here, but as you can imagine, it was certainly worth it.

This pregnancy was different then any of the others. 

First of all, at the age of 42 I had many concerns about my health and the baby’s.  Turns out I had a perfect pregnancy and a perfect baby, so those concerns were unmerited.  Still, I gained many wrinkle lines and gray hairs because I choose to worry instead of have faith.

Second, I was so shocked to be having a 5^th son, it took some time adjusting.  In a sense, I had to say goodbye to the baby girl I’d met in my mind and reintroduce myself to a little boy.  Once I was used to the idea, I was fine.  Actually, I was more than fine.  Wrapping my mind around five sons, I mean WOW! 

Third, my energy went from feeling overwhelmed and burdened (you can read about that post here) to one of gratitude.  Once I met Canyon, I felt honored, truly humbled he choose me to be his mother. 

My experience in delivering Canyon is one I’ll never forget. 

When you’re pregnant, you think your due date will never arrive.  You watch other pregnant woman have their babies and you’re certain you will be pregnant FOREVER!  Looking back now, I can see how the weeks flew by, but at the time I thought I’d be huge and uncomfortable with swollen ankles and nausea for who knew how long? 

But, at 38 weeks I went into labor all on my own.  This is uncommon for me.  Usually I am induced near my due date, but thanks to a nice foot massage the day before, I think I got a break.  The counselor and I arrived at the hospital on May 6^th at 2:00am.  I was dilated to a 3 and having regular contractions.  The contractions were strong; strong enough to scare me.  Normally, when I’m induced I have the baby in a hurry.  I was certain each contraction was pushing just as fast.  I started to panic a bit and my breathing became irregular as I moaned and cried through the pain.  After a couple hours of this, the counselor went out to use the restroom and get himself a drink.  For the first time since we’d arrived at the hospital, I was all alone.  No husband or nurse in sight.  Another contraction came and I started to cry.  It was difficult to breathe when I realized no one was there to comfort me.  No one was there to tell me everything was going to be alright.  Crying and panting alone in that hospital room, I realized how ridiculous I was acting.  This wasn’t what I wanted at all.  After a little internal pep talk, I stopped acting out and kept my emotions inside.  This was a very important transition for me as I started using my mind to manage the pain. 

By 6am I was dilated to a 6 so they went ahead and admitted me.  The nurse put an IV incorrectly in my hand and spilled blood all over the floor, but there was more coming so I couldn’t worry too much about that.  Besides, I was too caught up in my mind of controlled breathing and pain management.  What was amazing is I was really in a good place.  As each contraction came I felt myself getting stronger.  Sure, I was still scared but I knew I could do it.  “I’ve got this,” I said to myself through the pain.  “My body is working perfect, exactly how it was designed,” I said.  “What a privilege to have this beautiful baby,” and so I continued with positive self talk until finally at 10:00am and dilated to a 7 I received my epidural. 

My mom and sister Becky arrived and along with the counselor, I had my glorious birth team.  They were all smiles and radiated such love.  This was really it.  That highly-desired due date I thought would never come was really here.  Maybe I could handle being pregnant a bit longer, but no, I really had to do this.  I had to push this baby out.  No one was going to do it for me. The epidural took, but an hour after receiving it my contractions stopped.  At noon my doctor came into check on me and broke my water.  Add a little pitocin and those contractions started up just lovely again.  Problem was, the epidural decided to check out.  Not literally, I was still hooked up to it but no longer was the medicine helping ease the pain of each contraction.  Unfortunately this is also common for me.  I’m not sure about my body, but I don’t do pain medication very well.  Out of six pregnancies the epidural had only worked once and that was when I gave birth to Eden!!!

So, it was back to the internal pep talk.  “I’ve got this,” I said again through the pain.  “Each contraction is a blessing,” and I really believed it.  I knew this was how it had to be.  I could be weak or I could be strong.  My mom sat in her chair next to me and out of my peripheral vision I could see her praying.  She mouthed the words of each plea to God.  I knew she was praying with all the faith of her heart for me and my unborn son.  Becky stayed close, holding my hand and running her fingers through my hair.  Her touch gave me so much strength when I had an idea.  “Can you turn on some music,” I asked the counselor.  He brought his iphone and started playing my favorite song Overwhelmed.  Written by Big Daddy Weave, this song has literally been my fight song this year.  What started out as a negative word, I decided OVERWHELMED would be my word of the year. 

I’d never used the word overwhelmed much until I found out I was pregnant with my 6^th child. I’ve always been a very positive person.  People would ask “How are you doing,” but now instead of saying the expected word “fine” or “great” I would blow out a sigh of exasperation and say “I’m overwhelmed.”  I felt burdened, discouraged, heavy!  I received a lot of encouragement, but after a while I realized how negative I sounded.  Overwhelmed?  Me?  With all my blessings?  That’s when I heard the song Overwhelmed on K-Love radio.  I asked the Lord to help me focus more on my overwhelming blessings.  HE did.  I started to play the song Overwhelmed to help me focus on my new positive attitude. 

So, when the song Overwhelmed began to play in that hospital room it was my scripture.  I knew every word and every word became alive to me.  The strength from praising God, from the mantra of that song lifted me.  Becky and I cried, holding each other and there was a moment when she looked at me with such love I could feel her energy carry me.  I knew I’d known my sister for eons of time and she would be my sister for eternity.  Her love was so pure, if she could take away my pain and take it on as her own she would do it.

It had been nearly twelve hours since I’d arrived at the hospital. There was little I could do about the pain now.  I couldn’t keep it inside my mind anymore.  I began to shiver uncontrollably and needed oxygen because I wasn’t getting enough air.  In a weak voice, I spoke out loud “I’ve got this.”  “I was made to do this.”  “I love you, Jesus.”  Yes, it was like a regular church service in that room near the end.  Christian songs playing, me shouting out praises to Jesus, my mom with her reverent prayers became more vocal “Lord, Jesus, help this girl!” 

The pressure of the baby coming was too much.  The pain was too much and I began to doubt myself.  Negative self-talk crept into my mind.  What had I gotten myself into?  Could I escape?  Where could I run?  All I could do was turn back to my Savior.  I envisioned Him in my mind when I saw a beautiful green light.  The light started out small and began filling my mind when I saw my Savior carrying a baby.  He was coming towards me.  He was bringing me my baby.  He was holding my son.  The love for my child became my focus.  I loved my baby.  I wanted him.  He was mine and I was his.

At 2:00pm the doctor came back into the room to check on me.  I heard the nurse say two things you never want to hear your nurse say when you’re having a baby.  First, she said “That is a big baby in there.”  Um, please keep that to yourself and second, “The baby hasn’t dropped yet.”  Great!  Then why was I feeling so much pressure and like I needed to push?

Well, that’s why they pay doctors the big bucks.  My doctor told me to start pushing through my next contraction.  I had to do it.  This was my marathon.  This was my moment to be the athlete I knew I was.  I was strong enough.  I remembered my sister-in-law Monique and how she’d had her baby Clementine naturally with no medication.  Even though it wasn’t my choice to have no medication, this was my reality.  I thought of Becky; how strong she'd been when she had her first son Austin.  I thought of my own mother; how she'd made the sacrifice to have me.  I thought of woman long ago who didn't have hospitals or doctors to help them.  I thought of women today in countries that don't have medical care for pregnant women.  I felt the honor, purpose and power of motherhood.  This was what my body was made for.  If I pushed as hard as I could, it would be over soon.  Pushing was the last hurtle.

And pushed I did.  At 2:30pm I had my beautiful 8 pound 10 ounce little boy.  The doctor laid him on my chest and I marveled in my prize.  He looked like he'd worked just about as hard as I did to get here.  Better than any gold medal and worth more to me than any earthly possession – my little Canyon Samuel was here.

I named him Canyon because in many ways I had to travel through my own canyon of emotional, spiritual and physical growth to get him here.  “Through the valley” as the scriptures say.  Canyon also means “beautiful, diverse, far-reaching, out-stretched.”  

Canyon is now 2 months old.  I’m getting a little sleep here and there, but I am always excited when he wakes up.  I love holding my little boyfriend.  We kiss and hug and snuggle every chance we get and I ask myself “How did I ever live without him?”

The Give and Take of Motherhood

I have been immersed in motherhood.  My mothering soul is reaching out to the universe looking for enlightenment and encouragement.  I take long walks and listen to talks on motherhood, love and parenting, raising children and creating loving family relationships. I'm reading books, talking with other mothers and reaching out more and more to my own mom.

A few weeks ago while thrifting for more stretchy skirts and xl shirts to fit over my growing belly, I found two old wood ornate frames.  I knew immediately I wanted to turn them into chalkboards.  This is my thing lately, and I do it with old mirrors too.

The first old frame had a thick cardboard print-out with this painting photocopied on it. (I want to emphasize photocopy so you don't think this is a blog post about the 25 million dollar painting I found at the thrift store!)

I’d seen the painting before.  I’m not sure where, but it did look familiar to me.  I looked at it for a moment, appreciating the beauty, then quickly moved on.  I was ready to chalk-paint over it when something told me to look at the print a bit longer.  Was the image sisters, friends, mother-daughter? 

I set it aside, painted the beautiful frame it had come in and thought nothing more of it.

Until the next morning, I sat down for breakfast and opened a book I’ve been reading.  

Art of Motherhood is filled with a collection of beautiful paintings and text discussing mothering through the ages.  I found the book many years ago at the thrift store and you can see from the tattered corners, it’s been looked through a few times.

Would you believe I opened the book up to this exact page?

I found it amazing.  Was this painting trying to teach me something? I stared like I was seeing it for the first time.  How tender the embrace, how in love the two are.  I began reading the history of Madame Vigee Lebrun’s painting title Madame Vigee Lebrun and Child.  The painting is the artist with her daughter, Jeanne Lucie Louise. I grabbed Eden and hugged her in my arms while reading.

The text read:

“One wonders what sort of mother she was to little Julie.  She reportedly took her impending motherhood in stride, continuing to paint energetically throughout her pregnancy.  On the day of Julie’s birth, the artist’s closest friend, Mme de Verdun, came to see her in the studio and found her working, as the artist remembered, “between the throes.”  Urged to take to her bed, the artist replied that this was simply not possible, she had a sitting for a portrait the next day.  The artist did, however, take her friend’s advice, and her daughter was born that night.”

Oh, the joy I found in this little piece of history.  That Madame Vigee Lebrun was too busy in her heart's passion/painting to attend to her own labor is simply wonderful.  I remember editing a manuscript while in the hospital laboring with Reef.  I find the pull in motherhood between giving of ourselves but the desire to keep a bit of ourselves is constant.  We make sacrifices for our children, but still desire to make our mark as individuals, not just mothers. 

I recently found the artist Kate Daisy and I’m in love with her work.  

(images found here)

Here she is, painting with baby in tow. 

Passion to create.  Passion to live life to it's fullest.  Passion to love beyond measure.

And my sister-in-law Monique who I admire so much.   Here she is living her passions with her baby.  They are both so beautiful.

I love strong mothers.  I have friends going back to school for higher education, training for marathons, learning about interior design, teaching dance classes, traveling to exotic places, learning about whole foods or essential oils and writing books.  I admire strength in woman who do all they desire to do.  Nothing holds them back.  To teach these attributes to your child is a great thing.

I find with each child I have there is a larger capacity and desire to be creative in mothering, but in other things too.  How is that?  Sure days are busy and time is limited, but in some ways my passions are magnified and I’m able to accomplish more then before.

My favorite gift this Christmas was something my father-in-law said to me while we were out on a walk with Eden on Christmas day at sunset.  The air was cool and crisp and he lovingly held my arm in his.  I love this man and think he is very wise.  He’s just lost his wife and finding his footing again.  He’s felt sorrow beyond my comprehension and still, with hope and optimism he said to me:  “The heart has an infinite capacity to love.” I've thought about this over and over again.  I always have room in my heart  to love more.  Love will always grow.

I didn’t turn the copy of Madame Vigee Lebrun and Child into a chalkboard.  I hung it in Eden’s room as a reminder as mother’s and woman, we can have it all!  

So you want to raise a boy . . . again?

On December 29th at 20 weeks pregnant I lay on the table at the ultrasound clinic, certain the tech would confirm my motherly intuition. 

All the dreams, impressions, comments from strangers, coincidences – all of it said I was having a girl.

“You’re having a girl,” the tech was supposed to say.

“I knew it,” I was supposed to say.

I had my daughter’s name picked out.

I had her first outfit.

In my mind, everything was set.

Four boys, two girls!  Eden would have a sister. 

But, the tech didn’t say I was having a girl.

“There he is, it’s a boy,” she said with delight.  She didn’t know she was supposed to “It’s a girl.”  I hadn’t told her that.

To hear I was having a boy was about as foreign to me as if she’d said “Congratulations.  You’re having an alien.”

I told my boys I was crying tears of joy.  “I am so happy,” I said, choking through the sobs. I asked the counselor to come hug me so I could hide my face in his shoulders.  I was doing one of those ugly cries.  I have been very emotional during this pregnancy, but what was this I was feeling?  I realized I’d made one major mistake with this pregnancy.  For the first time ever, I picked the gender of my unborn child in my mind from the very start.  It was a girl.  I wanted a repeat of Eden.  I had all the clothes.  I had the pink room.  I had the hair bows!  With all my other children, gender didn’t matter.  I’d wanted a baby anyway the baby came.  So why did it matter this time?

Truth was I wasn’t sad to be having a boy at all.  I love boys.  My boys are the best.  I love being surrounded by them, their energy, the special way they nurture me. I love watching them set goals and accomplish difficult things. I love watching them run, jump, slam dunk, climb, throw, wrestle (ok, not so much the wrestling part), pray, study and learn.  I love having a husband who is so good because I know my son’s have an incredible example. 

I realized I was crying because I was saying goodbye to my almost there/just within reach potential second daughter.  All the things I’d planned we’d do, all the cute dresses, all the tutus!  Once I got a grip and told myself I’d work through the emotions of this later, my thought was “I’m having a boy.  I’m having a boy!  OH MY GOSH!  This is amazing, but I know nothing about raising a boy.”  I thought this while sitting in a room with my four sons.

I know nothing about raising boys.

Nothing.

Crazy, but that’s how I felt.

Perhaps overwhelmed is a better way to say it.

What do I know about boys?  I know I love my boys.  This is a normal day for me.  

My boys with their friends.  Eden and I are outnumbered!

My boys!  They play, they eat, they work, they eat, I discipline, I threaten, they obey, I reward, they eat, I threaten again, they say sorry, they play, they eat, they wrestle, I yell “Take it outside!”  We have lots of basketballs and skateboards. They experiment with my tools, search NBA.com and leave their sport equipment all over the house. We do a lot of hiking, love to travel, the counselor takes them camping, SUNS games, UofA games, monster truck events– you name it – we’ve done it with our boys.

Boys!

They’re so special,

they’re so amazing,

they’re so complex!

The world tries to pull boys in so many directions to count.  As a parent, I feel like it's a strange game of tug-of-war.  There are drugs, addictions, laziness, and violent video games.  So many things that corrupt. There is fighting, gangs and wars.  There is showing off to friends and ridiculous stunts with consequences.  I know, I have four younger brothers.  I heard the stories of the pool-hopping, the car chases, the girl’s they liked with the pretty blond hair.  Boys are exhausting.

And with all that, boys have a lot to aspire to.  My brothers did it.  Because my parent’s loved them, feed them, prayed for them and taught them how to work they are all amazing men.  John Mayer says it best, doesn’t he?  

I know daughters have just as much potential and complexities, but I get girls.  I’m a girl.  I feel like I have some sort of grip on raising my daughter.  Both boys and girls will make their mark in the world, find a promising career, fall in love.  But, my boys.  They are a mystery.  Oh how I want each of my boys to be good to their wife, like their dad is to me.  Someday each of my boys will be a dad too, they will be a provider of their own family.  Most importantly, I want them to grow up and be happy.

How do I do that?

How do I raise a boy who grows up to be a happy man? A good man?

I’ve done some soul searching.  I’ve spent a lot of time in prayer.  Having a fifth son has forced me to get a grip on my growing basketball team.  

“My dream team,” I’m calling them.  

"I can do this!  I can do this!” My new mantra!  

And then I remembered a book from my childhood.  So You Want To Raise A Boy by W. Cleon Skousen, published in 1958.  

This book sat on my parent’s book shelf in the living room.  I remember staring at this book (and the very cute boy on the cover) time and time again thinking “If there’s a book written on raising boys, it must be a very difficult thing to do.”  I watched my mom reference it over and over again, each time blowing off steam then to regain her composure, bow her head in prayer and try again. 

I borrowed the worn book from my parent's last week and after reading it, I wanted to through it against the wall.  Yep, it confirms the inevitable.  Boys are complex little people who can go in all sorts of different directions.  They don’t make sense, they do crazy things and they have lots of testosterone.  I was hoping for a check list.  

Where was my check list?  

Do A, B and C and you will have a perfect boy, but the book doesn’t say that. 

Then I got to the chapter 29 “What is the Ideal Mother.”  From the first sentence, my racing mind was finally silenced.  I felt peace.  I could relate to every single word.  I read it in pure humility.  This is when I got it.  Each sentence seemed to feed my soul.  Everything was making sense.  All the confusion I felt was replaced with a small smile appearing on my face.  I felt so honored to be the mother of boys; to be the mother of almost six children.  Boys, girls; whatever!  They all need love . . . and food!

“The ideal mother is struggling toward heaven and drawing her children with her.”

“By design the ideal mother is a perfect imperfectionist.”

“An ideal mother becomes the model or standard by which her son will judge women.”

“A wise mother finds herself in a key position to guide the entire family toward unity and solidarity.”

What a position of power I have.  Wow!  Shaping these boys, all my children that will someday be leaders in their homes, cities and countries.  It’s such a privilege.  I can do this.  It’s what I was born to do.

I have asked myself “Is Eden enough?”  I have one daughter.  Since finding out I’m having another boy, I look at her and know 100% she’s enough.  She’s my perfect feminine spirit and I’m so blessed to have her.  We have such a special bond, my oh my!

Since finding out I’m having another boy, I feel a bit softer towards my boys.  They need just as much love and nurturing as girls.  Being pregnant makes me a better person and mother.  I have a constant reminder of the sacrifice of what I’m doing; how they are worth it and the rewards and joy to come.  I can’t wait to meet my new son (just typing this I have tears in my eyes).  My five most precious moments in the world are when the doctor holds up my brand new baby and introduces us for the first time.  I’m so happy I get to again try to figure out how to raise a boy.  Most of all, I can’t wait to see my boys with a new little brother.  There will be laughter, there will be joy and if I have anything to do with it, there will be cake!

So, what was my husband's reaction at the ultrasound clinic?  Fist-pumping excitement all the way.

More cranberry sauce please.

On Monday I craved cranberry sauce from the depths of my maternal soul. 

I would have crawled to Egypt (ok, maybe just down the street, maybe next door –  who am kidding, into my kitchen was far enough) for cranberry sauce.

Cranberry sauce, not the cheep stuff with corn syrup, it had to be pure and perfect.

Real Cranberry Sauce.

(image found here)

I think this baby’s first world will be cranberry sauce.

“Goo goo, cranberry sauce.”

Everybody knows you can’t eat cranberry sauce plain, that would be gross, but with a Thanksgiving meal – cranberry sauce reaches its potential.

A Thanksgiving meal it had to be.

I started with yams and marshmallows, than green bean casserole, cheesy mashed potatoes when on a whim (since it takes like all day to make a turkey and my craving had started late in the afternoon) I made cornbread stuffing meatloaf out of ground turkey. 

The table was set, we’d invited my neighbor the caterer and her sweet family over because really, I’d made enough food to feed a family of 14.

Personally, I started with a couple of scoops of cranberry sauce, and then the rest of the food piled on my plate.  Every bite was better than the next.  It was everything I’d dreamed and hoped for.  I was in cranberry heaven

But later, I became nauseous and comatose; a lovely condition saved only for the old and pregnant.
The kids were watching a Disney show on Netflix and the fake laughter after every punch line was more then I could handle.  

So, I went to bed for 12 hours.

The first 6 hours I dreamt I was on a military helicopter, swerving here and there as we traveled an across country flight.  The next 6 hours, I dreamt I was sitting in a shopping cart while someone whirled me from isle to isle.  All sorts of food blurred past my vision.

It was no fun.

But, I survived.  Today I’m craving whip cream.  

Real whip cream, not the cheap stuff!  

I've been waiting, but it hasn't happened!

I’m waiting.

I’ve got my emotional boxing gloves on.

Who wants a shot at me!

When we were in Durango, the counselor and I along with the kids took some time to ride the free trolley.  It takes you through downtown, then up the hill towards Purgatory, than loops back to town.  Days earlier we’d spent 8 hours in the car driving from Phoenix to Durango so why an hour long excursion in a non-air-conditioning trolley was fun only a kid would be able to answer that one.  At one point, we were the only passengers until the trolley stopped and picked up a woman.  She walked onto the trolley, looking for a place to sit.  I could see her taking inventory on the kid to parent ratio when she looked at the counselor and I and said “Are all these yours?”

Here it comes.

Prepare yourself, Laura.  Emotional boxing gloves in place. 

“They sure are, plus one on the way,” the counselor said patting my tummy. 

That man has a way with words.

She did a head count and watched for a moment as Mayer and Reef wrestled over a seat.

Those boys were not helping.

She walked down the isle, and sat right behind me. 

“Oh my gosh,” she said.

I might need an emotional crash helmet for this one, I thought.  Ready for impact!

“I would love to have another baby,” she said.

Wait, what!

I turned in my seat and comfortably faced her.  Did this woman really just say what I think she did.

“I have three daughters and would love to try for another, but I’m too old.  You’re so lucky.”

I’m not sure if she saw my face light up or not, but I was beyond touched.

“Thank you,” I said.  “It’s a lot of work, but worth it.”

“Do you know what you’re having yet?” she asked.

I explained to her we are going to wait a while, I wasn’t that far along yet.

“I can tell you’re having a girl by the wrinkles on your face,” she said and leaned into my ear.  “I had the same wrinkles.”

Compliment or insult, I decided it was pretty cool to be told I was having a girl by a stranger.  What a cool lady.

But, really where are the people waiting to tell me I’m in over my head?

The world’s overpopulated?
But you've already got your girl!

We don’t have enough resources?

Children are a nuisance?
It's too difficult in this day and age to raise children.

Or the dreaded sexually explicit comment -
 "You do know what causes that, don't you?"

Really, I’ve got this.  

I’m prepared – as soon as I find someone who wants to take me on.

Right after I found out I was pregnant, I went to the vitamin store in search of the best prenatal.  I asked an assistant for help and she started asking all sorts of questions. 

How many children I already had? 

How old was I? 

Was this baby a surprise?

Finally!  Somebody ready to fight me on this when she started “compliment gushing” all over me.  It was really quite disgusting; praising me, telling me how gorgeous I am, what a blessing this was and she felt a beautiful female spirit near me. 

“You’re having a daughter,” she said.

Then she had the nerve to sing “Happy Birthday” to me (I told her I’d just turned 42) in the middle of the store in the most angelic voice I’ve ever heard.  Where are these nice people coming from?  I’m just not ready for all this!

My neighbor the caterer brought me this beautiful ”BLESSING” banner after she found out then news.  

It’s made with pages from an old Bible that was beyond saving.  She even used pages from the book of Psalms.  PSALMS!

I’ve had meals brought in by family and friends.  My mom made me acorn squash and organic chicken.  I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

When I was really discouraged one day, my sister-in-law Heather spent some time with me talking about the blessing of babies; how once all this passed I would have a little treasure to hold and I really felt it.  She was so sincere.  It's helped me keep perspective ever since.

My friend Melanie gave me all her maternity clothes and let me tell you, they are cute. 

Not one shirt in strawberry or sailboat print, nothing pastel pink; nothing polyester either. Just cute 100% cotton maxi dresses, skirts and ruffle shirts.  Things I would really where even if I wasn’t pregnant. 

Nothing but love.

You people out there are all just too nice. 

What is this world coming too!