Mundane Loving

Once in a while I’ll catch a picture that radiates so much love it threatens to consume anyone who looks at it. That’s how I feel about this picture, er, the last picture. Claire-bear was eating lunch; an everyday, mundane activity, and I, of course, had my camera set up just snapping lunch pictures because well, exhibit A:

But then, as I jumped off my seat to save a flying tofu parmesan, she leaned her little head over signaling she wanted a kiss. So, naturally, I snapped a few pictures, all the while complying to the kissing demands and this one? This one is my favorite. It’s post messy lunch kiss, and it fills me with so much mushiness that I almost can’t stand it. Even though all our conversations are mostly one sided, she doesn’t need words to tell me she loves me, and for that I am forever thankful.

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I am enough

I woke up bleary eyed and silenced my alarm. Sighing I slipped out of bed trying to move my heavy limbs as quietly as I could down the stairs. I missed most of the squeaky spots, but I cringed as I misjudged and a creaky stair interrupted the sleeping silence. I padded my way into the kitchen, the cold tiles firm against my bare feet and pulled out a bag from the fridge.
I flipped the light on in the dining room and sat down with my supplies at the table. A quick squirt from my purelle and I put my hands to autopilot. Alcohol prep. It’s early, early enough that the sun gently rises to my left gearing up to bathe the room in a golden glow. Saline flush. I’m tired and my body aches from a poor decision involving an overpriced mattress. Alcohol Prep. I’d love to go back to bed but I know I need to do this first. I’m tired of feeling tired and so I push through this. Hook up IV. Open clamps. Now we wait.
I continue on with my internal monologue sitting alone in my empty dining room. Important questions arise; should I have my morning coffee now? Or wait until I catch another hour of sleep after this med finishes up.  I’ll wait, on the off chance it inhibits my precious sleeping.
I sit, mindlessly scrolling through pretty snapshot of Instagram; carefully cultivated perfection in a small 2×2 square centered on my ipad, when it hits me. The doubt. The self scrutiny. The self inflicted disappointment. I read a book recently that asked, “what could you do with an extra hour a day?” Well, I had one… not by choice, but I had one. And all I could do was scroll through pictures that falsified the reality of life.
I looked around disheartened. My table didn’t have a cute vignette, or fresh flowers and instead it was smothered in countless water stains from game night beers and a small mountain of medical trash.  I sat in my chair knowing my hair that I haven’t washed in more days than I care to admit wasn’t perfectly coiffed into the coveted messy bun, but rather was the more literal sense of a messy bun. I was foolishly pining after a life made up of tiny, filter ridden photos… when I had my own, very unique life. So why couldn’t I come to own it. Why did I feel the need to feel badly about wasting my hour scrolling through pretty pictures? They are just that. pretty pictures. they represent a daydream and fantasy life. But I don’t have a fantasy life, I have this one. I have one filled with a blonde haired little girl, who keeps her sounds close and chooses with careful analysis when to give out her smiles. I have a life filled with sarcastic witty banter between myself and my caring husband. I have a life filled with an extra hour of IV medicines–for now.
Mothering with an invisible, chronic illness can sometimes feel limiting, unfair and isolating. Mothers in general question everything we do; are we raising our children correctly, are we providing the best environment to thrive, am I enough? But I am enough. My daughter is loved, fed, clothed and happy. She laughs, cries and I am enough. We snuggle, we read, and I hug her close when she needs it. I am enough. I may cough and rest while she plays, but I am enough. Some days we have outdoor adventures, and times when my energy doesn’t allow, we stay inside…but I am enough. Sometimes I can’t do it by myself, but I am enough. I am enough. I am not perfect, but I am enough. I will always be her mother, heart filled with laughter and love, and I will always be enough.
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Piccs, Ports and things of the sort

If you haven’t heard I just finished up a round of IV’s.  Two Friday’s ago my Picc was placed and come Sunday night an ugly dull pain started radiating throughout my arm. In my gut I had a sinking feeling, since the only other time I had experienced this pain was when I had develop a DVT from my elbow to my shoulder.

I do indeed have another DVT in the vein that my Picc is placed but luckily we caught it early! The good news (if there is ever good news when talking about blood clots) is that they think it will break up with medicine. Bad news? Hurts like a mother f*cker. Pardon my language but my arm is killin’ me. It’s finally starting to feel better about a week later, but all that means is I want to scoop my baby that much more, and since I can’t, all the not-scooping becomes that much harder.

All in all, these problems are trivial in the grand scheme of things. 6 weeks from now this event will be far from my mind, filed away on a dusty shelf in the back of my mind. However, these happenings have lead me to a decision I’ve been avoiding for quite a few years; ladies and gentlemen it’s time for a port!

I think in this moment in time I’m done with Piccs. D-O-N-E. Never liked the blasted things anyway. With a port I’d be able to use my arms, scoop my baby (or babies*), and do simple things that keep the house functioning… like fold laundry and yank the fridge open. While a port will help ease the transition of sick to healthy it also blurs lines that I had set up in my physce. A port, to me, represented progression of my CF past a point of no return. And while I may not have jumped that hurdle completely, picking up my baby for a milky snuggle far outweighs any labels I had previously created about getting a port. So cheers to jumping hurdles, and being the best we can for the people we love.

*no, I’m not pregnant. 

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Weekend Recap

Hello Friends! We thoroughly enjoyed our weekend of sunshine over here at the Overdeep abode. Being Picc free we jumped right into a project that had been waiting patiently to be started. We ripped up our chain link fence at the front of our backyard and replaced it with wooden pickets. It makes such a huge impact on the view. We also got to use our new power tool, and let me tell you using a nail gun is a blast! Cheesy pun definitely intended. 
We splashed about in kiddie pools, did heaps of laundry, and fired up the grill for dinners. We sipped on freshly brewed iced tea, tucked babies into beds, and enjoyed evening company of neighbors. We celebrated a friends first birthday, and played outside. Let’s hope the week follows suit, and we have a spectacular one! 

Cheers to the start of a new week!
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Summertime fun with a girl on the run!

Last weekend Grandma & Grandpa Overdeep came down for a visit. Emerson was beyond delighted. They had all her birthday gifts in tow, and let’s face it, grandparents, in general, just rock! While I was not quite on my game, (thanks blood clot grr) Emerson had a blast.

Unlike her typical shy behavior around Grandpa, she had nothing but smiles, giggles and hugs for him! They played tirelessly for hours. Emmie was giving him the star treatment, and I think it’s safe to say Grandpa was loving it.

And let’s not forget Grandma. While Grandpa took care of the rough-housing and playtime, Emerson filled her snuggle quota with Grandma. It’s hard not to snuggle someone who loves to spoil you. 😉 Emmie even got to venture to the mall to find new shoes for her big feet!

She’s currently running around in the cutest, tiniest little puma sneakers you ever did see. I’ll tell ya though, who would have thought it’d be so hard to find narrow baby shoes. Hello, not all babies have feet as wide as they are long! My poor girl, she’s definitely inherited my skinny long feet. Some of the shoes were pretty laughable as she looked like she could have put both feet side by side in one shoe. Luckily, we had great success with a wonderful, knowledgeable, and dedicated saleswoman at Nordstrom. Also, a balloon was key to the countless shoes being put on and taken off. Emerson couldn’t get enough of those balloons.

She ran around the mall playground, squealing with delight, waving to Grandpa Rob every time she made it to the top of the slide structure. Finally back home, she passed out.

Other adventures included going to the zoo, being snuggled & put down for naps and bed by grandparents, sneaking chocolate donut bites from Grammy and more. If that’s not summertime fun, I don’t know what is. Our girl is so lucky to have grandparents who love her to pieces. They may not be close –yet,  ( I’m looking at you Dad! ) but their love knows no bounds.

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