Chapter 3: I Lay Me Down and Slept and Awakened, for the Lord Sustained Me

DISCLAIMER:  This post contains some pretty gnarly pictures of my tummy scar.  If it's difficult for you to see or if you will not be able to have a conversation with me after I return home without thinking of my gnarly scar, please don't continue scrolling down. 

It was the second day after our surgery that the realization hit me- I didn’t need surgery. There was nothing wrong with me.   I had walked into the hospital on February 3^rd as a completely healthy, pregnant mama.  Yet two days after my surgery, I had a 13 inch incision down my belly, they were thrilled beyond reasonableness that I could sit on the edge of my bed and I couldn’t lift myself up from a laying position with the help of Matthew, a nurse, or my mom.  Most disturbing and upsetting of all, I’d had to take a sponge bath.  Sick out. 

Going back a few days, we called to accept our surgery on Wednesday, the 28^th of January.  At that time, I assumed I’d be back home in Oklahoma to be on bed rest after three weeks of recovery in Nashville and that, at some point in the pregnancy, we’d travel back to deliver our baby at Vanderbilt.  However, the Friday before Matthew and I were supposed to leave for Nashville, I was already scurrying around my house like a crazy lady- I’d had my last day at my office the day before, leaving the best job I’ve ever had, made up of the best people I’ve ever known, knowing that I’d not be able to return after all of this to the same job under the same conditions.  As I ran around like a crazy lady on Friday, knowing it was the last couple of days for me to be an able-bodied mother for several months- I got a call.  Not from a doctor, but from a social worker saying she was calling to see if we needed her to secure us an apartment for the 3 months that I’d be living in Nashville.  3 months?!  After we unraveled all of the information, it had been decided that given the distance we lived from Nashville, the availability of resources to us in the event of an emergency and a slew of other factors, they could only allow us to have surgery if I agreed to stay and live in Nashville until delivery. 

The idea that I had cried and cried only days before over leaving my children for 3 weeks seemed completely insignificant compared to the prospect of 3 months.  What mother does that?  Who leaves their babies for 3 months?  And what about all of the logistics?  Where would I live?  Who would live with me?  Who would take care of our kids while Matthew worked?  All of these questions would have quickly made up our minds with a resounding no for surgery only days before, but at this point, we were committed.  We had it in our hearts and minds that we were giving this surgery to Poppy.  

God worked it out.  Within an hour, Matthew’s mom had committed to leaving her life in Santa Fe- leaving behind all of her hobbies, new husband, new home, everything to come sit with me for 3 months.  My mom generously offered to watch our kids every night that Matthew was at the fire station- every third night. The pace at which people moved to make our lives work in this was really astounding. 

On Saturday we spent our “last day” as a family of 4 under “real-ish” conditions.  I got to cook a meal for my family- we made a family favorite- french toast.   I could pick up my kids for the last time and I actively played with them for the last time until after our baby was born.  We went to the Children's Learning Museum in north Tulsa- I went through the packing tape tunnel more times than I can count and each time remember thinking what a gift it was to be able to do. 

Matthew and I got on a plane on Sunday, January 31^st- I said good bye to my house, my home, my whole family at the airport…knowing when I returned it would be at least three months later and I’d come home with a baby in my arms.  Only a month prior, there is no way that even a fraction of this scenario could have possibly been on our radars. 

So the day of surgery came- kind of a blur- the range of fears in my head went from the fear of getting an epidural (in previous pregnancies, I chose to ensure a total of 27 ½ hours of labor as opposed to being stuck in the spine by one little needle- terrifying) to coming out of surgery without my baby.  In some ways, the insignificant worries were better to focus on so that we didn’t have think about the magnitude of what was really out there.  I just kept telling myself that all I had to do was get to the hospital, get an IV and lay down for a nap- I didn’t have to worry about putting myself to sleep, or keeping myself alive, or the fact that they’d take my uterus outside of my body and rest it on my lap or whether or not they’d be able to keep my baby alive or if the repair on her back would be done properly. “Be still and know that I am God” has never had a more clear meaning.  And sleep I did- apparently this surgery has the same amount of anesthesia as they give a transplant patient- one of the greatest amounts of any surgery.  Matthew and other family members, both those at the hospital and those waiting by their phones at home, had the harder part- to wait the 2 ½ to 3 hours for us to come back.  My mom said that after I was taken out of the room, Matthew stood in the space where my bed had been wheeled away from for the whole several hours that I was in surgery, not sitting down- just waiting for his wife and his baby to come back to him. 

The first thing I remember after coming out of surgery was Matthew standing by my head repeating everything the doctors had told him- the repair had been done “brilliantly” they “had high hopes for this baby”. Most of all, I heard was that our baby was still there. She was alive.  God had brought us both through surgery.  I just remember feeling the sides of my tummy, knowing that she was still there.  I think I said about a million times “I’m still pregnant, I’m still pregnant.”  Our little girl was still there.  Poppy had handled everything like the fierce little lady that she is and she was still alive.  We still got to have our little girl. 

Far less profoundly due to my post-anesthesia state, and thanks to my mother who sat quietly in the corner, writing down everything that was said, I apparently also asked the world renowned Anesthesiologist that had taken care of me during surgery if he had seen my boobs- yes, I asked this right in front of my mother and husband- and also asked if someone from Duck Dynasty was in the room.  I also promised that we’d take Poppy to Disney World- I don’t intend to go back on that one. 

And so after two days or so, I realized- I didn’t need surgery.  There had been nothing wrong with me.  This was all done for this tiny little baby, probably weighing less than 2 lbs.  By all selfish standards, she has never done anything for me.  Some people might treat our story as a testament to the sanctity of life and it CERTAINLY is- they gave my baby anesthesia, she responded to pain and had to recover from a surgery, more than 20 medical professionals scrubbed into a surgery to take care of her- not me. I was fine, so for sure, those are all testaments to how precious life is and that the life they were improving the quality of had already begun.  But the bigger take away that was left on my heart was a picture of salvation.  When we were helpless, Christ came to earth to endure scars and undergo completely unnecessary things so that WE could have life.  When I think of the love that I have for Poppy and I haven’t even seen her, I haven’t heard her cry, I don’t know if she’s a good sleeper or has brown hair or has a cute personality or if she’ll, in fact, have chubby cheeks, but I know that Matthew and I love her enough that we’d restructure our lives for three months, watch our loved ones restructure theirs, even allow myself to leave my other children for a time and take such dramatic medical measures.

I am NOT trying to compare myself to Jesus Christ- I really hope this post isn’t taken that way.  I don’t see myself as heroic because of this process and I know that ANY parent placed in this same situation would make the same choices we have, and if they wouldn’t it would be for completely unselfish and legitimate reasons.  The love between a parent and a child so profoundly displays the love that God has for us.  I could never have fathomed how much my heart could love until I met my son, and I experienced that same love again when I met my daughter.  I guess laying in a bed post-surgery, seeing a scar that feels ugly and irreversible and seeing the measures so many others, along with Matthew and I, were willing to take, helps me see and appreciate the love that Jesus has for me more profoundly. 

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine how Jesus could love us or we feel like we’ve heard it our whole lives and it’s sometimes a little bit cliché.  But it meant something new and different for me to experience that level of sacrifice for my baby and know that it doesn’t even scratch surface for the sacrifice that I know has been made for me.

And completely unlike salvation, I know that who Poppy is and who she will become will be far greater than someone else’s scars- she has her own scars and has had to exhibit her own strength to survive.  I hope that someday my scars and the scars that our family all bare from this process will tell her that we loved her before we ever knew her, that she has amazing worth that goes beyond reasonable measures, and that God was faithful to bring her through so much before she even took a breath in this world.  I hope that it will give her confidence and that it will also draw her to the God who created her and loved her even more than we can imagine- but that we can imagine even more closely than we used to be able.

Chapter 2: He Gently Leads Those that Have Young

Two things that have to be said after my Chapter 1 post:

First, spina bifida is not the most devastating diagnosis that can be had.  We didn’t realize this at first.   I can’t imagine that anyone ever gets pregnant HOPING that their child will have a disability or a handicap that will impact their entire life; however in the days and hours that followed our original diagnosis, this heavy, burdensome monster of a lot in life became something far less devastating.  True, my child is not here yet and I have no idea what she will be like when she does get here, but the overall prognosis of spina bifida is not the most devastating thing that a person can hear.  Our lives will probably be more complicated than most- they might involve things like leg braces and urologists and physical therapy and way, way more dr’s appointments than I care to imagine at this point in my life, but I fully expect that our lives will also involve innumerable hugs and kisses, another spunky Cox child that is both sweet and stubborn, and I am PRAYING for some chubby cheeks for this sweet baby- on both ends J.  We lived in a place for a number of hours before we received clear answers where we didn’t even know if our baby would be even born, so by comparison this is a huge gift. 

The second thing that you all need to know is that God has sovereignty over PBS show scheduling.  Yes, He does.  The day after we learned about our little girl, Matthew and I both stayed home from work with Gavin and Harper.  There were a lot of people to call and, even at this fresh, early stage, a lot of decisions that had to be made.  I came out of our bedroom after a phone call to see Matthew, Gavin, and Harper all sitting on the couch watching “Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood”- a favorite in our house. Tears were streaming down Matthew’s face.  I sat down with them to see that the episode that was on showed a little girl coming to play with the regular Daniel Tiger crew, only she had braces on her legs and wore crutches on her wrists.  

The theme for the days show was “In some ways we are different, but in so many ways, we are the same”.   (True fans of the show just sang that line rather than reading it).  The end of the episode showed two real life brothers playing in the park; one of them could walk normally, the other had little braces on his legs.  His mom had to lift him onto the swing, but he laughed and played alongside his brother.  Even at that fresh and early stage, with our news being less than 24 hours old, seeing that happy little boy on our television screen gave us both a hope, a picture of a life of challenges, yet happiness that might resemble ours. 

There are lots of details in this next chapter of our story, some of which are probably more boring than others, but the biggest directional detail was that Matthew and I had to decide if we wanted and would be candidates for a fairly new in-utero surgery for our baby.  In this surgery they would actually go inside of me and perform surgery on our baby to close her back.  Still pregnant.  Crazy.  Even now (spoiler alert- we did it), it is crazy to think that I’m 31 weeks pregnant, but our baby is recovering from a surgery that happened 7 weeks ago.  A doctor has touched my baby…technically my baby has been delivered and then put back inside of me.  Pretty miraculously crazy.

We knew from our first appointment that this was potentially an option for us, but there were several obstacles.  First, only 10-15 hospitals in the country even perform this surgery.  While it’s statistically proven as a “standard of care”, it’s still fairly controversial because this is the first and only intra-uterine surgery currently done where the alternative for the baby is not fatal.  Most babies that undergo intra-uterine surgery for other diagnoses have a condition that they will likely die from if intervention does not occur; however in the case of spina bifida, it is intended only to improve the quality of life after the baby is born and reduce risks of common spina bifida complications.  While this has proven successful, it still is accepting a huge amount of risk- fetal death, premature birth, risks to the mother that wouldn’t exist in a normal pregnancy.  To date there have only been less than 600 fetal surgeries related to spina bifida in the entire world.   

Another obstacle specific to us was that Poppy had two holes in her heart.  For a baby to be a candidate for the surgery, doctors do not want the baby to have any other “anomaly” that might further complicate the surgery.  We were told that the two holes in her heart weren’t serious under normal conditions, but dr’s would be hesitant to accept a baby with a condition like this.  One of the very first things that we asked people to pray for was not that the dr’s would be open to operating on our baby with two holes in her heart, but that God would completely close the two holes so that it wasn’t even a factor for them to consider.

Matthew and I had to quickly decide if we wanted to be evaluated by the Texas Memorial Hermann Children’s hospital in Houston for the surgery, the center that our Tulsa doctor had the closest connection with.  We set up a 3-day evaluation trip for the following week.  The surgery had to be completed by 26 weeks gestation and at the time I was 21 weeks pregnant, so we knew that we only had 5 weeks to explore all of the surgery’s options, be accepted, and have the surgery done; otherwise we would lose our window of time.  In our initial conversations with Houston, things sounded positive, but as they reiterated the “red flags” of our case, Matthew and I felt compelled to have a 2^nd opinion set up immediately.  Matthew, who had researched the surgery more broadly (I, to this day, haven’t Googled a single thing related to spina bifida) said that Vanderbilt in Nashville was one of the leaders in developing and researching this specific surgery. 

We began to explore setting up a second opinion at Vanderbilt, hoping that if perhaps Houston said no, Vanderbilt might be more “liberal” with their criteria since they were more experienced.  Our Tulsa doctor facilitated this as well and the second to last week in January took Matthew and I on a whirl wind medical trip to Houston and Nashville. 

Our first stop in Houston was a day long evaluation of Poppy and I involving multiple ultrasounds, a fetal echocardiogram and a fetal MRI (which- heads up- means as Poppy’s mom, I had to go too!)  The amount of nerves and fears and fragility that we walked into that clinic with on January 19^th was overwhelming.  Any mother and father that have sat in a room where a doctor gave life changing news can likely attest to this new feeling that is now present in any other appointment, ultrasound, call from a dr that follows.  I’m still waiting for it to go away.   It’s like your innocence of belief in normal outcomes has been lost and any realm of possibilities of badness is suddenly open to you.  Where ultrasounds used to bring a sense of excitement to see and experience our baby, now I waited to see what else could be wrong.  What more could they find out? 

However, God showed us a real miracle on January 19^th.  When the cardiologist read Poppy’s echocardiogram, there was no evidence of holes in her heart.  She couldn’t see them.  Holes that were confirmed by two ultrasounds in Tulsa only 13 days previously were now gone.  I know our God is a God who hears.  I suppose the cynic in me could say “well if He could heal her heart, why couldn’t He just close up her spine.”  But rather, I believe that God gave us this miracle to let us know that we weren’t going through all of this on accident.  He didn’t forget about Poppy. He hadn’t overlooked her on Week 4 of her fetal development when her little spine was closing.  He made her fearfully and wonderfully.  He had His hand on her life, on her spine, on her heart.  The Cardiologist in Nashville confirmed the same thing- her heart looked perfect.

Super LONG story short- we were denied surgery in Houston. Her case wasn’t bad enough to assume all of the associated risks, they felt.  We left Thursday evening for Nashville believing wholeheartedly that they’d say the same thing; however Friday after a similar evaluation process at Vanderbilt we were told, much to our surprise, that they thought Poppy and I were good candidates for fetal surgery. 

One paragraph could not even hold the agony of making the decision to accept surgery for Poppy.  Looking back, I can see that God answered every prayer, led us completely on our own to pursue opportunities at Vanderbilt, God had even closed the holes in her heart to make her a candidate for surgery; however in those next few days of deciding whether or not to follow through with the surgery, all Matthew and I felt was the weight of the outcomes of this surgery falling on us.  There was a sense of peace knowing that God had created her the way she was- after some wrestling, I had come to realize that Matthew and I hadn’t done something to cause her spina bifida; however if we chose to have the surgery and something bad were to happen, WE were the ones that made that choice.  There was also the choice to accept giving up the rest of my pregnancy to bed rest, not being able to lift, bathe, play with my children, see my friends, go anywhere, leave my job.  I also knew that I’d have to stay in Nashville for 3 weeks after the surgery.  I cried and cried at the thought of not seeing my children for 3 whole weeks.  And what if Poppy couldn’t sustain the surgery?  What if my body couldn’t sustain the surgery or the recovery?  What if we actually made things worse with the myriad of negative possibilities that we would open ourselves up to?  How could two kids be expected to make that decision for their own child?  I secretly hoped Vanderbilt would call and decline the surgery and take the opportunity off of the table. 

Tuesday morning- 24 hours before we had to give our final decision to Vanderbilt about whether we’d have surgery 6 days later- God led me to these verses:

“But you, O Lord, are a shield around me. 

You’re my glory and the Lifter of my head…

I lie down and sleep and awake again, because the Lord sustains me.”

Psalm 3:3 & 5

This surgery would close our daughter’s back to release the pressure that was pulling down her back and her spine and brain.  One of the intended outcomes was that it would release the back of her brain from being pulled down and flattened, to lift that part of her head back up into its original shape and place.  God can do that.  And God could also sustain Poppy and I while we slept under the hand of many doctors and allow us to awake again. 

My last thought on this chapter of our story was that this was the baby that we always loved.  We learned that the spine forms in the 4^th week of pregnancy. I found out that Poppy was coming into our lives during that 4^th week.  Likely the day that I saw two blue life-changing lines, her little spine was already in place.  Maybe not, I don’t know, but this was always the Baby #3 that God had for the Cox family.

I remember the night I felt her move for the first time.  I had just put the kids to bed and Matthew was at the fire station- it was Christmas time.  I felt the tiny little flutter of a life inside.  I remember the overwhelming feeling of gratitude, of “if I could just capture this moment and remember it forever”.  You can’t take a picture of what that feels like, so I took a picture so that I would remember that moment.  Just a moment of maternal bliss over the baby God had given us.

And that baby was Poppy.  This Poppy.  It always has been. Not a Poppy made differently or “normally”, but this very little girl made exactly how she is. 

Photo credit to my sis, Katie Goodson, for awesome pics 2 and 3.  

Thank you for doing a crash maternity pic session with 12 hours notice.  Love you! 

Chapter 1: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart

Okay- so the OCD in me feels the need to catch you up since the last time that I posted, which was remorsefully June of 2014.  Once upon a time there was a girl named Jordan who made a satirically, yet unfortunately true post about always being asked if she was pregnant, when in fact she was not.  After June, many other events happened in the Cox family life- mundane, exciting, real life things, none of which she took enough time to blog about.  In September of 2014, we went on our first family vacation, just the four of us.  I’m pretty sure it was some of the happiest memories of my life.

We went to Branson and Kansas City.  

The kids shared a room, 

we fed ducks,

we went to Silver Dollar City,

we ate breakfast on a balcony,

we met friends at Great Wolf Lodge,

we swam and basked in the magic of watching our kids be kids.

The day we returned home, I decided to see if I couldn’t top our unbelievable vacationing experience by adding good news of great joy.  We found out that Baby Cox #3 would be coming in May, 2015.  

While we didn’t celebrate with quite the same abandon and blissful ignorance as two kids generally do when they find out about their first pregnancy, we were still excited and looked forward to our life as a family of five.  We greeted 2015 with slightly reserved excitement and anticipated some scattered obstacles- I knew that I’d have a job transition at some point in the year and we knew our life would reshuffle when Baby Cox #3 made his or her entrance.  All was good and our biggest unknown was whether our growing baby was a boy or a girl, a question we had decided to wait to find out until his or her birth day. 

So that’s the “story of us” from June until now, and now that you are adequately caught up, we transition to a dark room on January 6^th.

******

I got greedy.
That was the line that kept passing through my head, amidst many other thoughts.  We’d anticipated January 6^th like it was Christmas- the day of our 20 week ultrasound.  Halfway through what was supposed to be a standard, happy appointment, my OB/GYN came walking through the ultrasound room door.  As any expectant mother knows, that’s not supposed to happen.  I even told him that- he walked in and I said “you’re not supposed to be in here.”  He proceeded to tell us that something was wrong and it was serious.  I looked at Matthew and asked “is this really happening?”  The doctor then proceeded to tell us that there was something at the bottom of our baby’s spinal cord that wasn’t supposed to be there and it was interfering with things all the way up the rest of the structure.  He pointed to some specific places on the ultrasound, but I didn’t really hear what they were.  Matthew was processing things a lot better than I was- he actually said “isn’t that spina bifida?”  Dr. W. told him yes.  I knew I’d heard of the condition, but what any of it meant wasn’t coming to mind. 

We asked if the pregnancy was viable.  He said he didn’t know.

We asked if our baby would have any quality of life.  He said he couldn’t answer that.

He hugged my shoulder and I knew that he was telling us everything that he could. 

In a flurry of events, Dr. W said he was referring us to a high risk doctor in the same building and they just might be able to work us in over the next couple of hours. They let us leave through the “sad door”- the back door that I had actually never seen in that office before, but I’m sure all the doctor's offices have, so that crying and devastated couples don’t have to walk through the waiting room where all of the happy people with normal pregnancies are waiting to do happy, normal things, like leave urine samples and get glucose tests.

So we waited in a dark room at the high risk doctor to have more questions answered. We’d had to answer a questionnaire about any potential genetic abnormalities from both of our gene pools- it instantly gave me a feeling of “whose fault was this?”  I jumped from thought to thought and question to question while Matthew’s demeanor was more content to wait until the dr could come in and actually tell us something.

What did I do wrong?  My favorite thing in the world is to be pregnant.  How could I have messed this up?  My mind raced back to late-August, early September for any haphazard or careless thing I might have done.  Too much caffeine?  Did I breathe in too much chlorine at Great Wolf Lodge?

I feel so sorry for our kids. They were SO excited to get a baby brother or sister.  We talked about it every night, they kissed my belly often, and Gavin had even offered up the names Ryan and Kaylee as baby name suggestions- very thoughtful suggestions coming from a 4-year-old, if you ask me!

We’re going to have to tell people.  I imagined a disparaging Facebook post or a never ending series of phone calls to explain to family members, or a “Did you hear about the Coxes?” type of scuttlebutt. 

But the line that kept crossing through my mind was I got greedy.  We had two perfectly healthy kids, a beautiful family.  While our lives certainly weren’t perfect, we were happy with our clumsy, happy, quirky, slightly frazzled version of it.  Now we’d gone and messed it up.  How could we possibly go back in time 1 hour or 4 months or whatever length of time it would take to wake up from this completely awful dream we were having? 

The doctor came in, another ultrasound was done.  It wasn’t a mistake.  She talked about all the things that were wrong as we looked at the projected version on the screen above.  The long and short of it was that the baby’s spine had not completely come together towards the bottom and rather than the nerve endings being encased in the spinal column, there was a little sack on the baby’s back.  The tethering on the spine was pulling down its brain, which caused different things to not form correctly,  and could eventually cause hydrocephalus, which fortunately hadn’t developed yet.  The right leg didn’t move- it appeared to be “fixed”.  There had two holes in the heart.  Phrases that I’d never cared about before like “Chiari 2” and “banana shaping” and "myelomeningocele" were used liberally, talking about my child.  It was one thing after another- I kind of wanted to say “enough already!”

But then they showed the face of a baby that was undoubtedly ours.  They told us that our baby was a girl.  I wasn’t looking at an unfortunate collision of cells that had failed to form correctly.  I was looking at my daughter.    

We left that day with glimmers of hope.  Spina bifida was explained to us in more layman’s terms.  Nothing was “fatal” (could they have picked a more gentle term to use with two crushed parents?).  There was potential that she could have a mostly normal life, but “normal” seemed like It seemed like an ugly word suddenly. 

It was surreal to leave the appointment and be expected to be able to function well enough to drive a car.  We had driven separately to our appointment.  How did the world expect us to process things like stopping at a stop light while I was also processing that my daughter’s spine wasn’t the same as everyone else’s?  We had regular things to do that night, like take our son to gymnastics.  His world was about to be rocked and I wasn’t going to dare let him miss his gymnastics class.  I cried through most of the class, wondering if the little baby inside of me would ever be able to jump on a trampoline or do a somersault.

Forty-two days have passed since that appointment and there are more chapters to tell- two medical trips at major facilities, a groundbreaking in-utero surgery, a bedrest that is forcing me to leave my children, husband, home and life that I know to take care of this little one inside of me.  I don’t mean to color it all "pretty" by summing it up with a Bible verse.  I really don’t.  This doesn't feel "pretty", but at the same time, I do have this sincere belief and hope and peace that God is writing a beautiful story for this little girl that we call Poppy.  Some days seem so, so dark and the chapters that follow this telling of Chapter 1 seem completely unbelievable to me, even as I’m living it.  At the very second that I’m writing this, I’m sitting on a stranger’s bed 612 miles away from my home.  I haven’t been able to hug my children since February 1^st and my stomach is forever scarred to look an Egyptian hieroglyphic.  None of those things are happy.  But God is still good.      

My friend texted me a verse on the night of January 6^th, as we tried to fall asleep in our new world.  I don’t know just yet if it is a theme for this season of our lives or the theme for Poppy’s whole life, but without being trite, it reminds me that God didn’t forget about us. It's a reminder that, just perhaps, He perfectly formed her in this way for a complete plan and purpose that someone else with a fully formed spine might not be able to fulfill.  I really hate feeling like I have to tie a bow around my emotions and make it all pretty, like it’s just the Baptist way to give something difficult a purpose.  And again, all of this is not pretty.  Or fun.  Or charming.  Or heroic.  But it’s our portion and it's where we are today.  

“He will feed His flock like a shepherd.  He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep carrying their young. 

“Look up into the heavens.  Who created all the stars?  He brings them out like an army, one after another, calling each by its name.  Because of his great power and incomparable strength, note a single one is missing. 

“Have you never heard? Have you never understood? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth.  He never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of his understanding.  He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless.  Even youths will become weak and tired, and young men will fall in exhaustion. But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.  They will soar high on wings like eagles.  They will run and not grow weary.  They will walk and not faint.”

Isaiah 40: 11, 26, 28-31

And the one thing I can say with certainty as I sit at Day 42, looking back on Day 1: He has carried us. 

A Non-Pregnant Woman's Guide On Not Inadvertently Calling Someone Fat

The weirdest phenomenon happens to me.  All the time.

I am approached by people on an embarrassingly regular basis, congratulating me on the shape of my tummy, asking me whether my belly is a boy or a girl or poking at my belly button and commenting on how "fluffy" I am.  Darn it if that doesn't sound like all of these people are asking me if I am pregnant!  I wish I could say I was lying, but alas, I am not.  I've come to expect it and even occasionally enjoy the funny awkwardness, now that I've mastered the art of making people squirm and all.  Yes- I have had to tell a male colleague that my stomach doesn't really have a gender, but if it did, I'm sure if would be a girl, since that is what I am.  I have also had to tell a stranger or two that they need not ask my children in a baby voice if they are excited about their new brother or sister.  

Part of me wants to say, "Come on, peeps!  I know I'm no fit model, but is it really THAT bad?"

THIS is me being pregnant (circa 2010)

And THIS is me more recently on a strict frappucino diet 

(come on!  Starbucks 1/2 price happy hour in May?!  You know you had more than three in a week too!)

While I'm certainly not going to be confused as a Crossfit enthusiast, I  don't exactly feel "basketball in my shirt" big.  Right?!

I also don't quite buy the excuse that I receive on occasion that the person only asked me because I was "glowing".  While I don't deny that I could have the tendency to glow, I bet you a dollar to a donut (fat joke?) that when a skinny girl is "glowing", nobody asks her if she is pregnant.  

Just a few thoughts.  While I agree that rather than writing a post unabashedly exclaiming to the world how out of shape I am, I probably should be planking or doing crunches or running around my kitchen island with 3 lb hand weights velcroed to my bingo arms; however as a working mother of two kids, ages 3 and under, I've come to live with a certain level of acceptance.  No, I don't think that I should accept things forever, but for this minute in my life, I'm just not at a velcro strapping, crunch-while-I'm-juicing type stage.  And since most of my life is lived in a place of neurotic inadequacy, I don't view this as defeated. I view this acceptance as allowing grace for myself.  

I also could agree that perhaps one could make more flattering clothes choices.  Yes.  You're right.  I called my personal stylist and we have an appointment on Tuesday.  Wait.  I forgot.  I don't have one.  

I have 3 rules when it comes by buying clothes: 

1. I saw it.

2. I liked it.

3. It was cheap.

Seriously.  The last time I was in a dressing room, my 3 year old announced loudly to the world that he could see my hiney.  You don't get to do very much twirling and viewing when, along with trying on the clothes, you are also attempting to feed your 2-year-old a snack (a snack that cannot be messy or you risk transferring snack residue onto the clothes that you are trying on), keeping your son from crawling out of the bottom part of the  dressing room door, and trying to keep them both engaged in a game of "ew" or "yay".  That's right- I let my kids vote on the clothes I purchase by answering "ew" or "yay" when I put something on.  Let's just say that I have veto'd many an "ew"...which perhaps could be the source of me purchasing so many maternity-esque type shirts. 

So how does this happen?  You can probably guess. It's easy math.  

two babies + uncrunched tummy + tendency to glow + blousy shirt/empire waste cothes= 

pregnancy inquiries

Here are a series of pictures of me not being pregnant and a potential reason for the confusion: 

Blousy shirt.  Blame it on fashion.  

Although how cute would this pic be if someone was in a "delicate condition" and did enjoy taking pictures of herself in elevator mirrors?! 

Blousy shirt again

and check out that hot non-baby daddy!

Blousy shirt/unflattering hold position

Gut emphasizing slouch

but super awesome family pic.  Thank you, Erika! 

Not particularly pregnant looking, but I just really like this shirt.

So, I will leave you with my criteria for asking a woman if she is pregnant since a fluffy tummy is clearly not the only indicator of pregnant status or condition.  A fluffy tummy must be accompanied by at least one or more of the following:

• rubbing of the belly-  And I would specify a loving rubbing of the belly.  Other small gestures around the belly area could indicate disagreeable BBQ or an attempt at a discreet adjustment of a tight waste line
• a noticeable pregnant-like waddle or swollen feet
• conversations about child birth, breast feeding and/ or placenta encapsulation
• wearing a shirt that says "Bun in the oven" "Baby on board" or "ask me about my baby daddy" (I kind of think this one can stand on its own.  If you're wearing this shirt and you're not pregnant, who can you really blame?)
• Is she holding a new born?  If yes, than the chances are very great that she just gave birth to this child. I HIGHLY recommend that you not ask this woman if she is pregnant.  If you would like a case in point, I would refer to the Babies R Us manager that asked me this 5 days postpartum.  I think he has nightmares about me to this day.  
• Is her tummy large beyond a reasonable doubt?  Think along the lines of a criminal trial here.  

If she looks like this:

it is questionable.  There are many reasonable doubts.  

I warn you- do not ask, congratulate, pet or predict a gender.  This woman is not pregnant.

However if a reasonable doubt is marginal, you may proceed.

If she looks like this: 

reasonable doubts have been safely mitigated.  

She is either 

a) pregnant 

or 

b) you may call grocery store security because someone is shoplifting watermelons. 

Disclaimer: This post was intended for the humor, enjoyment and self deprecation of the writer.  No judgement on behalf of those making pregnancy inquiries has been rendered.   

...but I forgot to blog about it. Part 2

Just in time for the World Cup, I'd like to take you all back the Winter Olympic games.  Quite the fun time in the Cox house. Even now, Gavin will occasionally ask if we can turn on the "bolympics".  My kids enjoyed nearly every watchable moment of the Olympic games from the opening ceremonies to Evgeni Plushenko's historic acquiescence of what was to be his gold metal skate.  All of these moments were watched and felt by Mr. Gavin Cox.  We had some pretty precious moments...and I can only tell you that I am counting down the days until the summer Bolympics.

Most of  our dinner times were stationed in front of the TV.  This isn't  common in the Cox house since we TRY to have dinner around the table- one of the only "normal" things that we do.  We break our rule occasionally and felt that the Winter games were a great opportunity to do this.

When Gavin wasn't strapped to his high chair, he was down on the floor, participating in whatever sport it was that we were watching. 

This is Gavin and Harper actively participating in the opening ceremonies.  

And this is Gavin "cross country skiing".  If you can't tell, he is using our dissembled alphabet puzzle from the last picture- the T and the P make excellent ski poles, if you don't mind an extreme "hunch" position.

They also both passionately participated in men's, women's and pairs figure skating.

 One of our more interactive moments was Gavin reenacting when Evgeni Plushenko bowed out of his final Olympic skate after a fall that resulted in a back injury.  Gavin would- very mime-like, since the television coverage of it had muted sound while the commentators said what was going on- act like he was going to do a big jump, then with much aplomb would fall onto his back.  He'd then come over to Matthew and I on the couch and show us his lower back. With head hanging low, he'd join us on the couch and tell us that he could no longer skate.  It was quite the dramatic occasion...and took place almost every night for a week following the actual event.

I also quite enjoyed the night that we were watching pairs skating.  Gavin and Harper and I were dancing in the living room while the couples skated.  Gavin said with the most convicted and excited voice you can imagine- "Hey Mom!  Get onto my shoulders!".  Sweet boy.  I love that he so vividly expected that this was a likely scenario!   

Gavin and Harper both wholeheartedly participated in the skeleton event, while I watched on and cried in a combination of their cuteness along with the victory of Noelle Pikus Pace. 

 Probably the gold medal winning moment of the 2014 Olympics was an A-shift Saturday for Matthew (meaning he worked all day) that coincided with the tail end of a mommy bout with the flu and walking pneumonia.  Kiss of death.  We had a stroke of genius though when my little brother Connor came over and decided to create our own Olympic games.

I carefully handcrafted skis with cardboard and duct tape and provided ski poles out of dowel rods (we only have one P and one T- clearly, that would not suffice a 3 person race).

 Throw in a mountain made of pillows and couch cushions and you have quite an exciting evening.  

We had a blast!  Uncle Connor was quite the excellent ski coach and the materials were used for both down hill events as well as cross country/ hall way races.  

The fun extended into the next day and a few days thereafter.  

  So many priceless moments!  

Our competitive spirit was stimulated again a few weeks later with March Madness.  As you know from previous posts, this is a highly anticipated in the Cox, Jeffers, et al household.  This year, we decided that both kids were old enough to participate in the bracketology.

Both parents employed different bracket picking tactics dependent on the child's developmental aptitude for picking the best winner:

Gavin was able to decide based on the best candidate between two name choices

while Harper picked by selecting the ranking with their division.  

All in all, it was highly competitive and ridiculously fun; however our efforts did not prove very fruitful for either of the kids.  I believe that Harper is probably the only person in the world to pick two 11 seeded teams to go head to head and Gavin decided to pick a winner based on the team's ability to have a name that rhymes with good friends.  "Hey Mom!  Duke rhymes with Luke!"   In a typical year, this would have been fine, but a team whose name's rhymes with Flercer quickly upset the Luke/Duke naming strategy.

  

Our little slice of the world is fast paced, unpredictable but filled with lots of love, window watching, cooking events and cuddling.  

All of our days aren't perfect.  These are truly some of our high light moments.  We have many that we'd gladly leave on the cutting room floor...except for that life doesn't have edits. 

It just has love and now and doing the most with the time that we have.

PS: I'd be remiss not to mention that ONCE I was able to french braid Harper's hair.  It has never happened before and, so far, has yet to happen again; however it was a one time immortalized moment that I can now put on my mom resume.  

Boom.