Saturday, April 2, 2011
What are you doing this weekend?
We're spending our weekend watching General Conference. It's one of my favorite weekends of the year. You should check it out, and feel free to ask me any questions you have about Conference or The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints :)
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Kara: The Birth Story
If you've read the post before this one you'll understand when I say that when I started nearing the end of my pregnancy I was VERY ready to be done being pregnant.
I'm pretty sure that I was saying "Whenever you're ready, baby!" starting at about 36 weeks; however, I'm glad she didn't come that early.
A little less than a week before Kara was born, I went into the hospital for a non-stress test (where they monitored my contractions, blood pressure, and the baby's heart rate). I was having two a week and normally they were in my doctor's office, but my doctor was in Hawaii on vacation for the week (poor guy) so he had me go to the hospital to have the test done. When they hooked me up to the monitors, my first blood pressure reading was outrageous. 196/100. Scary. The nurse took it again and it was right about the same. She looked at me and said "If your pressures stay this high, you're having your baby today." I was seriously excited about that prospect. The nurse asked the on-call doctor what to do and he had some blood drawn, kept me on the monitors, and asked for a urine sample. The best part? He wanted to be positive that the urine sample wasn't contaminated in any way, so I got a catheter. Ouch. Thanks, doc.
Anyway, much to my dismay, my blood pressure dropped. The nurse assured me it was for the better since if I had had to be induced because of my blood pressure I would have had to be on magnesium sulfate, and that would have made me very nauseated.
I went home and packed my hospital bag; it really could be any time now, I decided, and I wanted to be ready!!
That Friday I took my last final in the morning and then laid in bed and watched The Holiday. I kept hoping for contractions, but no such luck. On Saturday, I could not stop cleaning. Seriously. I cleaned our whole house, including our baseboards, and the inside of our fridge and freezer. That night Alma and I went to the mall to get Christmas presents for our families (it was December 11th, after all); Alma was on the phone with his sister-in-law asking her what she wanted for Christmas and apparently she asked what I was doing at the mall since I was on bed rest. "We're ready for the baby to come," Alma said, "She's allowed to walk around now!" (That was totally Alma's diagnosis, not my doctor's, but I was glad he was with me as far as being ready for the baby to come)
That night I tried some natural self-induction methods (they're kind of personal, otherwise I would share. But if you're interested, ask me) and headed to bed. Around two in the morning I started having some contractions. I had had plenty of braxton hicks contractions, but these were different; they were painful, and started low in my abdomen and worked their way around to my back. I knew they were real, and I was excited. They were probably coming every 5 minutes or so for about an hour, but they weren't too unbearable. And then I woke up a few hours later, and I knew it wasn't the real deal. They had stopped long enough for me to fall asleep, and when I woke up, I wasn't having any. I was seriously bummed.
I went to church that day and was telling everyone about my "close call" the night before. I had a doctor's appointment the next day and was hoping to go in and find out I was dilated far enough to warrant hospital admission. One woman, upon hearing my story, said "I bet you'll have your baby tomorrow." I laughed and said I hoped so!
That afternoon I went for a long walk around our neighborhood, and that night, since I had had contractions the night before, I did the same self-induction methods I had done the night before.
At around midnight, I started having dull contractions. I could sort of sleep restlessly through them, so I figured they were no big deal. At two in the morning, I woke up to a contraction. It was the same as the night before; real contractions about every five minutes, but this time, they started to get more intense. I changed positions multiple times to see if that would make the contractions stop, but they just kept coming, and they just kept getting more intense. At about 3:30 I decided to get out of bed and walk around to see if that would slow the contractions down; I went online, checked Facebook, and tried to find an online contraction timer. I didn't find one, mostly because I was very impatient, and I had to stop what I was doing every so often to breathe through my contractions. I decided to go to the bathroom, and once I had finished my business, I seriously considered straightening my hair. I got so far as to get my straightener out and plugged in, but then I decided I was being ridiculous and my hair didn't look THAT bad anyway. Plus, I was in quite a bit of pain at this point.
I finally decided it was time to wake Alma up at about 4:15. "Sorry to wake you," I said, "but I'm having contractions and I need help timing them." Alma bolted up and as if he had rehearsed this moment; he grabbed paper, a pen, and both of our cell phones. One to see the time, the other with the stop watch feature open. Alright, he said, let me know when the next one starts. And with that, he started timing the contractions.
A few days later, Alma told me that he thought I was going to be the type of woman who was having contractions every ten minutes and was ready to go to the hospital, so he was really surprised when he started timing them. "Uh, honey, we need to go to the hospital," he said after a few minutes of timing, "You're having contractions about a minute and a half apart, and they're lasting for 45–60 seconds." Even though I was glad they were close together, I kept saying we needed to wait longer; I really didn't want to get sent home from the hospital. After a ton of my protests, Alma said, "Honey, I'd rather have you get sent home than have a baby on our bedroom floor." I finally agreed, and we got ready to go. It seriously took me about five minutes to get my pants on because I kept having to stop and bend over with contractions. We grabbed our last minute stuff and headed out the door at about 5:10am.
The whole way there I kept thinking that the contractions were getting further apart. But then I would have one, and it would seriously hurt. The hospital was about a ten minute drive from our house, and it seemed especially quick since there was zero traffic. We got to the hospital and parked; I sat in the car through one contraction and then had to stop for two more between the car and the women's center entrance to the hospital.
When we got inside I felt pretty dumb as I leaned on a chair through a contraction; I didn't want the nurses to think I was faking. Ha. Alma told one of the nurses my name, birth date and due date, and then another nurse took me back to a triage room. She handed me a sheet and told me to undress from the waist down, she left and said she'd be back in a few minutes. I remember thinking it was silly that I had spent so much time putting my pants on only to get where I was going and have to take them off again.
Once I got situated the nurse came back in and checked me. I was 4cm dilated and 90% effaced! Definitely better than I was expecting. She then hooked me up to the same monitors that I was always on for my non-stress tests. Because I had been in so many times for non-stress tests, I had already answered all of the questions they ask, so all she had to do was make sure nothing had changed in the week since I had been in. It was about 5:45 by this time and the new shift comes in at 6, so the nurse said she would come in to say goodbye when she left, but that someone would check me in an hour to make sure I was still dilating. About 15 minutes later I started feeling very nauseated. I asked Alma to grab me a trash can and I proceeded to throw up. The nurse came back in and said "Did I hear you throw up?? That's a great sign that you're in active labor!" I jokingly said, "Wow, I've been in active labor for nine months now!" She then grabbed me a barf bag for just in case and left again.
At this point, the contractions were pretty intense, and lying in the same position was NOT helping. I would grab the handles on the side of the bed and tense up with every contraction. I looked over at Alma during one of my breaks and asked, "Will you think I'm a wimp if I get an epidural?" He reassured me that he would definitely not think I was a wimp, so I pretty much immediately pressed my call button and asked, "When can I get an epidural???" My nurse came back in and said she would check me again and as long as I was progressing, I would get put in a room, have IV fluids pumped into me, and then I could get an epidural. (I was pretty scared when she said I would have to get a liter of fluid in me before I could have the epidural; I was in quite a bit of pain, and I didn't think I could handle it.) She checked me and in a half hour I had progressed to 5cm and 100% effaced; I was definitely getting admitted!
A group of nurses came in to help me get to a room; they offered me a wheel chair but I refused—I was tough, I could walk down the hall! I had to stop a few times on my walk during contractions, and what's worse is that I didn't get to put my pants back on, so I was walking down the hall holding the railing with one hand to support myself during contractions and holding my sheet up with the other hand so that I wouldn't be exposed in the middle of the hall. We finally got to my room and they handed me a gown and told me to use the restroom, completely undress, and put my gown on. The gowns they have there snap up on the sleeves; it made for easy access during breastfeeding, which was great, but the gown they gave me had the sleeves unsnapped. I asked Alma to come into the bathroom with me to help me. I undressed and asked him to please snap up the sleeves on my gown while I peed. Well, this is how you know it was time for my epidural: mid-pee, I had a pretty intense contraction; I grabbed the hand rail and held onto my belly. At this point, Alma, being the concerned and loving husband that he is, stopped snapping my sleeves and put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't touch me, just snap up my sleeves!" I snapped. He apologized and continued snapping. This is how you can tell I was hormonal: when that contraction ended, I started to cry and apologized to Alma for being so mean. He seriously had to calm me down because I was so upset that I had been mean to him. Ha.
Finally, that fiasco was over and they got me all situated in my bed. They still needed to give me fluids before I could get my epidural, and I was already VERY ready for the epidural. The nurse came to give me the IV and I swear she poked me about 4 times before deciding she just wasn't cut out to give me an IV, so she called another nurse who promptly did it in one stick. I got pretty frustrated at the first nurse, especially since I ended up with bruises on both hands and both wrists.
By the time I got my epidural I was dilated to 6cm. Sometimes I feel like I should have just gone all the way without the medication since I was over half-way there when I got it anyway. But it really was SO nice to have. The anesthesiologist was a very nice man. He came in and explained everything to us before beginning. He kept insisting that we name our daughter Zarahemla, which I thought was ridiculous. Anyway, he got me situated on the bed and told me not to move at all while he was inserting the epidural. This worried me because I had begun shaking fairly violently during contractions. He said that would be fine, but not to voluntarily move. Alma offered me his hand and the doctor started the procedure. I remember him telling me it was going to hurt, and I laughed because I was in labor; a poke in the back was nothing compared to the contractions I was having! He got it in with no problem and complimented my self-control when he was finished; poor Alma's hand was killing him, but I hadn't moved a muscle besides my shaking.
Once the epidural kicked in I felt great. I kept telling Alma how nice it was. I was really able to relax; I hadn't realized how tense my whole body had been for the last few hours.
Please excuse how gross I look, but here's me after my epidural, nice and comfortable:
From there on out, things were pretty easy. You aren't allowed to eat at all while you're in labor (just in case you have to have an emergency c-section and have to put you under; they don't want you to aspirate), so the nurses offered me a variety of drinks and of course the classic ice chips. But, true to my pregnant form, every time I had something to drink, I threw up. Bummer. I was also very shaky for my whole labor. Everyone said it was a common reaction to the epidural; it just felt like I had really bad chills all the time, it got kind of annoying, but it was really no big deal.
When I was 7cm my doctor came in and broke my water.
I progressed pretty quickly and it seemed that every time someone checked me I was at least another centimeter dilated. Also, each time the nurses checked me they commented on how Kara's head was "right there!" and that it was "definitely a head!" Probably around the twentieth time they said this I asked if I could feel too. They allowed Alma and me to feel Kara's head, which was really neat.
I was completely dilated at 1:30pm, and so was the lady in the room next to mine. We both had the same nurses, but she had had four children before, so they said they would have her push first since she would probably be faster and then they would come to me. Well, about an hour later my nurses came in and said the other woman was going to have a c-section; she was just having a really hard time getting her baby out. My nurses went with her so I got new nurses right when it was time to push.
The new nurses were really nice and got me all set up to push at about 2:45. They had me start pushing to see how I would do before calling my doctor. With one push Kara was crowning; everyone was amazed and asked if I was sure if I'd never done this before. They had me push through one more contraction before calling my doctor in. When he got there, he started getting everything set up, and just for good measure, I threw up while sitting in the pushing position. With my doctor there I pushed twice and her head was out. I couldn't believe it. One more push and out came my beautiful little girl!
Here she is right after birth:
It was amazing to hear her cry. I couldn't believe she was mine; she was real; she was healthy; she was beautiful. She was born on Monday, December 13, 2010 at 3:03 pm; she weighed 6lb 10oz and was 20 inches long. She got two 9s on her apgars and I got to hold her about 10 minutes after she was born.
Here's us together the first time I got to hold her (again, excuse my swollen, gross self):
She was so tiny and so beautiful.
She is definitely the second love of my life:
I'm pretty sure that I was saying "Whenever you're ready, baby!" starting at about 36 weeks; however, I'm glad she didn't come that early.
A little less than a week before Kara was born, I went into the hospital for a non-stress test (where they monitored my contractions, blood pressure, and the baby's heart rate). I was having two a week and normally they were in my doctor's office, but my doctor was in Hawaii on vacation for the week (poor guy) so he had me go to the hospital to have the test done. When they hooked me up to the monitors, my first blood pressure reading was outrageous. 196/100. Scary. The nurse took it again and it was right about the same. She looked at me and said "If your pressures stay this high, you're having your baby today." I was seriously excited about that prospect. The nurse asked the on-call doctor what to do and he had some blood drawn, kept me on the monitors, and asked for a urine sample. The best part? He wanted to be positive that the urine sample wasn't contaminated in any way, so I got a catheter. Ouch. Thanks, doc.
Anyway, much to my dismay, my blood pressure dropped. The nurse assured me it was for the better since if I had had to be induced because of my blood pressure I would have had to be on magnesium sulfate, and that would have made me very nauseated.
I went home and packed my hospital bag; it really could be any time now, I decided, and I wanted to be ready!!
That Friday I took my last final in the morning and then laid in bed and watched The Holiday. I kept hoping for contractions, but no such luck. On Saturday, I could not stop cleaning. Seriously. I cleaned our whole house, including our baseboards, and the inside of our fridge and freezer. That night Alma and I went to the mall to get Christmas presents for our families (it was December 11th, after all); Alma was on the phone with his sister-in-law asking her what she wanted for Christmas and apparently she asked what I was doing at the mall since I was on bed rest. "We're ready for the baby to come," Alma said, "She's allowed to walk around now!" (That was totally Alma's diagnosis, not my doctor's, but I was glad he was with me as far as being ready for the baby to come)
That night I tried some natural self-induction methods (they're kind of personal, otherwise I would share. But if you're interested, ask me) and headed to bed. Around two in the morning I started having some contractions. I had had plenty of braxton hicks contractions, but these were different; they were painful, and started low in my abdomen and worked their way around to my back. I knew they were real, and I was excited. They were probably coming every 5 minutes or so for about an hour, but they weren't too unbearable. And then I woke up a few hours later, and I knew it wasn't the real deal. They had stopped long enough for me to fall asleep, and when I woke up, I wasn't having any. I was seriously bummed.
I went to church that day and was telling everyone about my "close call" the night before. I had a doctor's appointment the next day and was hoping to go in and find out I was dilated far enough to warrant hospital admission. One woman, upon hearing my story, said "I bet you'll have your baby tomorrow." I laughed and said I hoped so!
That afternoon I went for a long walk around our neighborhood, and that night, since I had had contractions the night before, I did the same self-induction methods I had done the night before.
At around midnight, I started having dull contractions. I could sort of sleep restlessly through them, so I figured they were no big deal. At two in the morning, I woke up to a contraction. It was the same as the night before; real contractions about every five minutes, but this time, they started to get more intense. I changed positions multiple times to see if that would make the contractions stop, but they just kept coming, and they just kept getting more intense. At about 3:30 I decided to get out of bed and walk around to see if that would slow the contractions down; I went online, checked Facebook, and tried to find an online contraction timer. I didn't find one, mostly because I was very impatient, and I had to stop what I was doing every so often to breathe through my contractions. I decided to go to the bathroom, and once I had finished my business, I seriously considered straightening my hair. I got so far as to get my straightener out and plugged in, but then I decided I was being ridiculous and my hair didn't look THAT bad anyway. Plus, I was in quite a bit of pain at this point.
I finally decided it was time to wake Alma up at about 4:15. "Sorry to wake you," I said, "but I'm having contractions and I need help timing them." Alma bolted up and as if he had rehearsed this moment; he grabbed paper, a pen, and both of our cell phones. One to see the time, the other with the stop watch feature open. Alright, he said, let me know when the next one starts. And with that, he started timing the contractions.
A few days later, Alma told me that he thought I was going to be the type of woman who was having contractions every ten minutes and was ready to go to the hospital, so he was really surprised when he started timing them. "Uh, honey, we need to go to the hospital," he said after a few minutes of timing, "You're having contractions about a minute and a half apart, and they're lasting for 45–60 seconds." Even though I was glad they were close together, I kept saying we needed to wait longer; I really didn't want to get sent home from the hospital. After a ton of my protests, Alma said, "Honey, I'd rather have you get sent home than have a baby on our bedroom floor." I finally agreed, and we got ready to go. It seriously took me about five minutes to get my pants on because I kept having to stop and bend over with contractions. We grabbed our last minute stuff and headed out the door at about 5:10am.
The whole way there I kept thinking that the contractions were getting further apart. But then I would have one, and it would seriously hurt. The hospital was about a ten minute drive from our house, and it seemed especially quick since there was zero traffic. We got to the hospital and parked; I sat in the car through one contraction and then had to stop for two more between the car and the women's center entrance to the hospital.
When we got inside I felt pretty dumb as I leaned on a chair through a contraction; I didn't want the nurses to think I was faking. Ha. Alma told one of the nurses my name, birth date and due date, and then another nurse took me back to a triage room. She handed me a sheet and told me to undress from the waist down, she left and said she'd be back in a few minutes. I remember thinking it was silly that I had spent so much time putting my pants on only to get where I was going and have to take them off again.
Once I got situated the nurse came back in and checked me. I was 4cm dilated and 90% effaced! Definitely better than I was expecting. She then hooked me up to the same monitors that I was always on for my non-stress tests. Because I had been in so many times for non-stress tests, I had already answered all of the questions they ask, so all she had to do was make sure nothing had changed in the week since I had been in. It was about 5:45 by this time and the new shift comes in at 6, so the nurse said she would come in to say goodbye when she left, but that someone would check me in an hour to make sure I was still dilating. About 15 minutes later I started feeling very nauseated. I asked Alma to grab me a trash can and I proceeded to throw up. The nurse came back in and said "Did I hear you throw up?? That's a great sign that you're in active labor!" I jokingly said, "Wow, I've been in active labor for nine months now!" She then grabbed me a barf bag for just in case and left again.
At this point, the contractions were pretty intense, and lying in the same position was NOT helping. I would grab the handles on the side of the bed and tense up with every contraction. I looked over at Alma during one of my breaks and asked, "Will you think I'm a wimp if I get an epidural?" He reassured me that he would definitely not think I was a wimp, so I pretty much immediately pressed my call button and asked, "When can I get an epidural???" My nurse came back in and said she would check me again and as long as I was progressing, I would get put in a room, have IV fluids pumped into me, and then I could get an epidural. (I was pretty scared when she said I would have to get a liter of fluid in me before I could have the epidural; I was in quite a bit of pain, and I didn't think I could handle it.) She checked me and in a half hour I had progressed to 5cm and 100% effaced; I was definitely getting admitted!
A group of nurses came in to help me get to a room; they offered me a wheel chair but I refused—I was tough, I could walk down the hall! I had to stop a few times on my walk during contractions, and what's worse is that I didn't get to put my pants back on, so I was walking down the hall holding the railing with one hand to support myself during contractions and holding my sheet up with the other hand so that I wouldn't be exposed in the middle of the hall. We finally got to my room and they handed me a gown and told me to use the restroom, completely undress, and put my gown on. The gowns they have there snap up on the sleeves; it made for easy access during breastfeeding, which was great, but the gown they gave me had the sleeves unsnapped. I asked Alma to come into the bathroom with me to help me. I undressed and asked him to please snap up the sleeves on my gown while I peed. Well, this is how you know it was time for my epidural: mid-pee, I had a pretty intense contraction; I grabbed the hand rail and held onto my belly. At this point, Alma, being the concerned and loving husband that he is, stopped snapping my sleeves and put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't touch me, just snap up my sleeves!" I snapped. He apologized and continued snapping. This is how you can tell I was hormonal: when that contraction ended, I started to cry and apologized to Alma for being so mean. He seriously had to calm me down because I was so upset that I had been mean to him. Ha.
Finally, that fiasco was over and they got me all situated in my bed. They still needed to give me fluids before I could get my epidural, and I was already VERY ready for the epidural. The nurse came to give me the IV and I swear she poked me about 4 times before deciding she just wasn't cut out to give me an IV, so she called another nurse who promptly did it in one stick. I got pretty frustrated at the first nurse, especially since I ended up with bruises on both hands and both wrists.
By the time I got my epidural I was dilated to 6cm. Sometimes I feel like I should have just gone all the way without the medication since I was over half-way there when I got it anyway. But it really was SO nice to have. The anesthesiologist was a very nice man. He came in and explained everything to us before beginning. He kept insisting that we name our daughter Zarahemla, which I thought was ridiculous. Anyway, he got me situated on the bed and told me not to move at all while he was inserting the epidural. This worried me because I had begun shaking fairly violently during contractions. He said that would be fine, but not to voluntarily move. Alma offered me his hand and the doctor started the procedure. I remember him telling me it was going to hurt, and I laughed because I was in labor; a poke in the back was nothing compared to the contractions I was having! He got it in with no problem and complimented my self-control when he was finished; poor Alma's hand was killing him, but I hadn't moved a muscle besides my shaking.
Once the epidural kicked in I felt great. I kept telling Alma how nice it was. I was really able to relax; I hadn't realized how tense my whole body had been for the last few hours.
Please excuse how gross I look, but here's me after my epidural, nice and comfortable:
From there on out, things were pretty easy. You aren't allowed to eat at all while you're in labor (just in case you have to have an emergency c-section and have to put you under; they don't want you to aspirate), so the nurses offered me a variety of drinks and of course the classic ice chips. But, true to my pregnant form, every time I had something to drink, I threw up. Bummer. I was also very shaky for my whole labor. Everyone said it was a common reaction to the epidural; it just felt like I had really bad chills all the time, it got kind of annoying, but it was really no big deal.When I was 7cm my doctor came in and broke my water.
I progressed pretty quickly and it seemed that every time someone checked me I was at least another centimeter dilated. Also, each time the nurses checked me they commented on how Kara's head was "right there!" and that it was "definitely a head!" Probably around the twentieth time they said this I asked if I could feel too. They allowed Alma and me to feel Kara's head, which was really neat.
I was completely dilated at 1:30pm, and so was the lady in the room next to mine. We both had the same nurses, but she had had four children before, so they said they would have her push first since she would probably be faster and then they would come to me. Well, about an hour later my nurses came in and said the other woman was going to have a c-section; she was just having a really hard time getting her baby out. My nurses went with her so I got new nurses right when it was time to push.
The new nurses were really nice and got me all set up to push at about 2:45. They had me start pushing to see how I would do before calling my doctor. With one push Kara was crowning; everyone was amazed and asked if I was sure if I'd never done this before. They had me push through one more contraction before calling my doctor in. When he got there, he started getting everything set up, and just for good measure, I threw up while sitting in the pushing position. With my doctor there I pushed twice and her head was out. I couldn't believe it. One more push and out came my beautiful little girl!
Here she is right after birth:
It was amazing to hear her cry. I couldn't believe she was mine; she was real; she was healthy; she was beautiful. She was born on Monday, December 13, 2010 at 3:03 pm; she weighed 6lb 10oz and was 20 inches long. She got two 9s on her apgars and I got to hold her about 10 minutes after she was born.
Here's us together the first time I got to hold her (again, excuse my swollen, gross self):
She was so tiny and so beautiful.She is definitely the second love of my life:
Friday, March 18, 2011
Kara: The Pregnancy
WARNING: LONG!
Obviously, this is coming to you quite a bit late, but I really should document my pregnancy, so why not do it here?
A couple of posts ago, I talked about how long it had taken us to get pregnant. A year, people. A year. And, to top it off, we had a miscarriage in the middle (so I guess, it took us six months, a miscarriage, and another six months...). So needless to say, I was seriously excited when I got my positive test.
Here's something I wrote on another blog about the moment I found out:
That's the actual test! I still have it under the sink in my bathroom, too. I don't know if I'll ever actually do anything with it. But I can't bring myself to throw it away.
I found out that I was pregnant on April 15, 2010; I was just a couple days short of 4 weeks along. It was kind of hard to find out so early because it made my pregnancy seem to last for an eternity, plus, my OB doesn't see his patients until they are 8 weeks along. I remember calling my doctor's office and letting them know I was pregnant and needed an appointment. When they started to schedule me for 8 weeks I tried really hard to get them to do it earlier. "I've had a miscarriage in the past, shouldn't I come in earlier to make sure everything is ok?" I asked. But no, they said if things weren't ok there wasn't much they would be able to do about it. "Come in if you have any abnormal pain or cramping," the nurse said (which I thought was ridiculous since the only time I'd ever been pregnant before had resulted in a loss. What the heck is normal pregnancy-related pain?!?) So I had to wait. And that was a LONG 4 weeks!
Since I had had no sickness with my previous pregnancy, I actually remember really hoping to start having morning sickness with this pregnancy. In my head sickness meant that everything was going well. And, boy, did I get my wish. Starting at about six weeks I was nauseated. At first it was nothing more than intense nausea; I just felt SO sick, but didn't really throw up. Then it started to escalate. I started vomiting one to two times a day. When I went in for my eight-week appointment, I got to see my sweet, tiny baby and hear her heart beat; she looked like this:
Also at that appointment, my doctor offered me a prescription to help with my nausea. I agreed, but when I got home I realized I had forgotten to ask the nurse for it; I figured I would be ok—I could handle throwing up every now and then. But the next day I started throwing up a bit more frequently, so I called my doctor and got my prescription called in. All better, right? No such luck. As the days went on, I continued to get more and more sick; I couldn't go to work because I was rather useless as an employee—I spent half of the day in the bathroom and the other half with my head on my desk. I stayed home and watched television all day. I felt useless, and in reality, I kind of was. It got so bad that I could hardly walk up our stairs. Alma would bring me a sampling of different drinks in the morning before leaving for work so I could see if any would stay down. I always had a bowl next to me, just in case, and some days I decided it was just better if I camped out on the bathroom floor next to the toilet.
Then one day I started throwing up in the early morning and just couldn't stop. I lost count of how many times I had thrown up at around 30. Alma came home and tried to get me to have a popsicle; I threw it up. He tried Gatorade; I threw it up too. Then I didn't eat or drink anything, and I still threw up. My medicine was not working since I couldn't keep it down long enough to digest. I remember throwing it up completely whole and then trying to take the same pill again (really gross, I know...). So we finally decided to head to the ER. We got there and they found Kara's heart beat, which was nice to hear, and then they gave me a medication called Zofran that dissolves under your tongue and gets into your bloodstream quickly. They then proceeded to give me three glasses of orange juice. I was fine for about an hour, but then that all came up too. They finally decided to give me 2 liters of IV fluid with liquid Zofran in the IV as well. I finally got home around 2:30 am and I think I slept until noon the next day.
Upon hearing about my day at the ER, my doctor gave me 2 more prescriptions for nausea, but when I ended up in urgent care a week later for more IV fluids, my doctor decided it was time for IV therapy. Luckily I didn't have to get to many more IVs. I started feeling better around 20 weeks and my first prescription got my nausea under control.
Here's me at 23 weeks; finally feeling pretty well:
I also got to have an ultrasound around this time, but unlike the last one, my baby actually looked like a baby in this one. It was a lot of fun to see her moving around, to know that there really was a little tiny person growing inside of me, and to find out she was a girl!
Here are some images from that ultrasound:
Once I got to feeling well, I thought the rest of my pregnancy would be smooth sailing. I signed up for 18 credits at school and prayed that Kara would come no sooner than one week early so I could finish my finals. Everything was fine for about half of the semester, but at 30 weeks I went in for a regular appointment and had high blood pressure. The doctor made the nurse check it repeatedly, but it wouldn't go down. In fact, it just kept going up. My doctor ordered a handful of tests for me at the hospital (which was literally right next to his office) and sent me over.
I was there for a couple of hours; they hooked me up to monitors that regularly checked my blood pressure, the baby's heart beat, and whether I was having contractions. The baby was fine, I wasn't contracting, and my blood pressure went down, so the nurse called my doctor to let him know. Even though everything looked good, he ordered a 24-hour urine test (that's right, folks, I got to collect my pee for 24 hours!) and instructed me to stay in bed for the next 2 days. I was to come back in two days to see how everything looked and at that point my doctor would decide whether I was on bed rest for the rest of my pregnancy or not.
Honestly, for the two days I had to wait to go back to the doctor's, I felt fairly confident that all would return to normal after my appointment, so I emailed my professors (remember how I was taking 18 credits?!) and let them know what was going on, but that I would probably be back by the next week.
When I went back to my doctor, the nurse came in to check my blood pressure, "118/76" she said. And I knew that since my blood pressure was great, I wasn't going to be put on bed rest. My doctor came in and started looking through my chart and said, "Well, your blood pressure looks good, BUT there was some protein in your urine. You know what that means? Bed rest." I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor, I turned bright red, and tears filled my eyes all at the same time. "Permanently?" I asked. "No," he responded, "just until the end of your pregnancy." My mind was racing and I had no idea what to do. Obviously my baby was the most important thing, but I was taking a full course load and working. I didn't have time for bed rest.
My doctor wrote a nice note explaining the circumstances and sent me on my way to follow up the next week. That day I emailed all of my professors with the doctor's note attached. Here's what I said:
Also, here's the doctor's note:
I actually was really fortunate to have the professors that I did; they all were willing to work with me. I ended up having to do a lot more work than I would have in a normal semester, and I had a lot of help from friends who recorded lectures for me and shared their notes. It was very stressful, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to finish, but I did, I finished the semester and took my last final just 3 days before Kara was born. And I even had a pretty darn good GPA.
Here's a picture of me 2 days before I got put on bed rest. 30 weeks:
The rest of my pregnancy was fairly uneventful. I was on bed rest until Kara was born, and toward the end of the pregnancy I was going to the doctor twice a week to be monitored. My fluid levels were a little low toward the end too, but they never got too low.
Here's an image from an ultrasound I had at 32 weeks (the hospital lost my original ultrasound information, so I got a second one for free!):
I started throwing up again around once a day at about 32 weeks, and I had HORRIBLE heart burn. I think we went through 3 Costco size bottles of TUMS. I was feeling pretty miserable as I neared the end. Here's a post from another blog that I wrote about how awful I was feeling:
Like I said, I was pretty miserable toward the end. But what's funny is that now, when I look at pregnant women, I kind of want to be pregnant again. Sure, I was nauseated, had horrible heartburn, had a constant back ache, and peed on myself occasionally, but I've never liked my body more than I did while I was pregnant. I really did feel beautiful. I was supporting a life other than my own, and my shape showed it. My belly was a constant reminder of the gorgeous little girl inside of me, and I loved feeling Kara kick, roll, and get the hiccups (she got the hiccups ALL the time). So while pregnancy had its down sides, I definitely loved it, and I plan to do it again one day :)
Here's the last picture I have of me pregnant with Kara. This was at 38 weeks even. She was born 2 days later:
Obviously, this is coming to you quite a bit late, but I really should document my pregnancy, so why not do it here?
A couple of posts ago, I talked about how long it had taken us to get pregnant. A year, people. A year. And, to top it off, we had a miscarriage in the middle (so I guess, it took us six months, a miscarriage, and another six months...). So needless to say, I was seriously excited when I got my positive test.
Here's something I wrote on another blog about the moment I found out:
Anyone who's ever had a positive home pregnancy test can remember the moment. The second when you look at the stick that you've just peed on and actually see a positive result, whether it be a +, or two pink lines, or just the word pregnant.
I can't tell you how many sticks I've peed on in my life. But they always seemed to come back negative. So when I saw the positive test, I had to look again. I almost brought it to my neighbor's house to ask if she saw the second line too because I was sure I had tricked myself.
But when I was sure, I cried. Happy tears mixed with the words, "I'm pregnant," spoken only to myself since no one else was home. I looked at myself in the mirror in our bathroom and could already feel myself growing. My waist wasn't any bigger, but my heart was already making room for the little girl I'll meet this December.
That's the actual test! I still have it under the sink in my bathroom, too. I don't know if I'll ever actually do anything with it. But I can't bring myself to throw it away.I found out that I was pregnant on April 15, 2010; I was just a couple days short of 4 weeks along. It was kind of hard to find out so early because it made my pregnancy seem to last for an eternity, plus, my OB doesn't see his patients until they are 8 weeks along. I remember calling my doctor's office and letting them know I was pregnant and needed an appointment. When they started to schedule me for 8 weeks I tried really hard to get them to do it earlier. "I've had a miscarriage in the past, shouldn't I come in earlier to make sure everything is ok?" I asked. But no, they said if things weren't ok there wasn't much they would be able to do about it. "Come in if you have any abnormal pain or cramping," the nurse said (which I thought was ridiculous since the only time I'd ever been pregnant before had resulted in a loss. What the heck is normal pregnancy-related pain?!?) So I had to wait. And that was a LONG 4 weeks!
Since I had had no sickness with my previous pregnancy, I actually remember really hoping to start having morning sickness with this pregnancy. In my head sickness meant that everything was going well. And, boy, did I get my wish. Starting at about six weeks I was nauseated. At first it was nothing more than intense nausea; I just felt SO sick, but didn't really throw up. Then it started to escalate. I started vomiting one to two times a day. When I went in for my eight-week appointment, I got to see my sweet, tiny baby and hear her heart beat; she looked like this:
Also at that appointment, my doctor offered me a prescription to help with my nausea. I agreed, but when I got home I realized I had forgotten to ask the nurse for it; I figured I would be ok—I could handle throwing up every now and then. But the next day I started throwing up a bit more frequently, so I called my doctor and got my prescription called in. All better, right? No such luck. As the days went on, I continued to get more and more sick; I couldn't go to work because I was rather useless as an employee—I spent half of the day in the bathroom and the other half with my head on my desk. I stayed home and watched television all day. I felt useless, and in reality, I kind of was. It got so bad that I could hardly walk up our stairs. Alma would bring me a sampling of different drinks in the morning before leaving for work so I could see if any would stay down. I always had a bowl next to me, just in case, and some days I decided it was just better if I camped out on the bathroom floor next to the toilet.Then one day I started throwing up in the early morning and just couldn't stop. I lost count of how many times I had thrown up at around 30. Alma came home and tried to get me to have a popsicle; I threw it up. He tried Gatorade; I threw it up too. Then I didn't eat or drink anything, and I still threw up. My medicine was not working since I couldn't keep it down long enough to digest. I remember throwing it up completely whole and then trying to take the same pill again (really gross, I know...). So we finally decided to head to the ER. We got there and they found Kara's heart beat, which was nice to hear, and then they gave me a medication called Zofran that dissolves under your tongue and gets into your bloodstream quickly. They then proceeded to give me three glasses of orange juice. I was fine for about an hour, but then that all came up too. They finally decided to give me 2 liters of IV fluid with liquid Zofran in the IV as well. I finally got home around 2:30 am and I think I slept until noon the next day.
Upon hearing about my day at the ER, my doctor gave me 2 more prescriptions for nausea, but when I ended up in urgent care a week later for more IV fluids, my doctor decided it was time for IV therapy. Luckily I didn't have to get to many more IVs. I started feeling better around 20 weeks and my first prescription got my nausea under control.
Here's me at 23 weeks; finally feeling pretty well:
I also got to have an ultrasound around this time, but unlike the last one, my baby actually looked like a baby in this one. It was a lot of fun to see her moving around, to know that there really was a little tiny person growing inside of me, and to find out she was a girl!Here are some images from that ultrasound:
Once I got to feeling well, I thought the rest of my pregnancy would be smooth sailing. I signed up for 18 credits at school and prayed that Kara would come no sooner than one week early so I could finish my finals. Everything was fine for about half of the semester, but at 30 weeks I went in for a regular appointment and had high blood pressure. The doctor made the nurse check it repeatedly, but it wouldn't go down. In fact, it just kept going up. My doctor ordered a handful of tests for me at the hospital (which was literally right next to his office) and sent me over.
I was there for a couple of hours; they hooked me up to monitors that regularly checked my blood pressure, the baby's heart beat, and whether I was having contractions. The baby was fine, I wasn't contracting, and my blood pressure went down, so the nurse called my doctor to let him know. Even though everything looked good, he ordered a 24-hour urine test (that's right, folks, I got to collect my pee for 24 hours!) and instructed me to stay in bed for the next 2 days. I was to come back in two days to see how everything looked and at that point my doctor would decide whether I was on bed rest for the rest of my pregnancy or not.
Honestly, for the two days I had to wait to go back to the doctor's, I felt fairly confident that all would return to normal after my appointment, so I emailed my professors (remember how I was taking 18 credits?!) and let them know what was going on, but that I would probably be back by the next week.
When I went back to my doctor, the nurse came in to check my blood pressure, "118/76" she said. And I knew that since my blood pressure was great, I wasn't going to be put on bed rest. My doctor came in and started looking through my chart and said, "Well, your blood pressure looks good, BUT there was some protein in your urine. You know what that means? Bed rest." I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor, I turned bright red, and tears filled my eyes all at the same time. "Permanently?" I asked. "No," he responded, "just until the end of your pregnancy." My mind was racing and I had no idea what to do. Obviously my baby was the most important thing, but I was taking a full course load and working. I didn't have time for bed rest.
My doctor wrote a nice note explaining the circumstances and sent me on my way to follow up the next week. That day I emailed all of my professors with the doctor's note attached. Here's what I said:
Professor,
I've attached a letter from my doctor explaining that I am to be on bed rest for the remainder of my pregnancy. It's extremely frustrating, but I guess life is what happens when we make plans, right? Anyway, the withdraw deadline has passed, so please let me know what we can do to work things out. If there is any way to complete the course from home, I would love to do that (I need something to keep my mind occupied); however, I completely understand if that's not possible. If I can't continue the course this semester, is a medical incomplete the next choice?
I apologize for the inconvenience. Please let me know what needs to be done.
Thank you
Also, here's the doctor's note:
I actually was really fortunate to have the professors that I did; they all were willing to work with me. I ended up having to do a lot more work than I would have in a normal semester, and I had a lot of help from friends who recorded lectures for me and shared their notes. It was very stressful, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to finish, but I did, I finished the semester and took my last final just 3 days before Kara was born. And I even had a pretty darn good GPA.
Here's a picture of me 2 days before I got put on bed rest. 30 weeks:
The rest of my pregnancy was fairly uneventful. I was on bed rest until Kara was born, and toward the end of the pregnancy I was going to the doctor twice a week to be monitored. My fluid levels were a little low toward the end too, but they never got too low.Here's an image from an ultrasound I had at 32 weeks (the hospital lost my original ultrasound information, so I got a second one for free!):
I started throwing up again around once a day at about 32 weeks, and I had HORRIBLE heart burn. I think we went through 3 Costco size bottles of TUMS. I was feeling pretty miserable as I neared the end. Here's a post from another blog that I wrote about how awful I was feeling:
I'm posting this here because I really want to complain and my husband is at school. Plus this blog is all about pregnancy, so even though no one is going to want to read this, I'm posting it.
I am only 33w3d. Now, I know that means my due date is in less than 7 weeks, but it also means that I have a little over 6 weeks to go (ish...). The problem is that I am already miserable!
I'm an emotional wreck since I've been on bed rest, mostly because I feel useless.
I have heartburn ALL the time.
My nausea has come back; usually in the middle of the night and in the morning.
Sleeping is almost impossible with the heartburn and constant having to pee.
My back hurts pretty much all the time, unless I'm lying in just the right position
I've been feeling this way for a little while now, so why did I decide to post about it today?
Last night:
I went to bed like normal; it was about 11 and I took some tums right as I laid down and had 4 more on my dresser for when I woke up with the horrible heart burn. 12:30 rolls around and I wake up with heart burn. Normal; I sit up, chew 2 tums and lie back down. 2 rolls around, same story, only I really had to pee, so I got up and peed and then took my 2 tums. 4 am rolls around, and if you've been counting, you know that I'm out of tums on my dresser. I woke up with heartburn and the slight urge to pee, but I really didn't feel like getting up. So, I rolled over and got the hugest wave of nausea and heartburn. I immediately sat up because of how intense the nausea was, I got up and half-ran to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before throwing up...whatever was in my stomach. To top it off, my bladder control isn't the greatest so I definitely peed while throwing up. Once I was done barfing, my mouth tasted awful so I rinsed/gargled with mouth wash, and then got in the shower, since I had peed all over myself. Don't forget, it's 4am. Finally, I got out and dried off. I stumbled my way back to our bedroom and got on some clean clothes before getting back into bed and shivering/listening to my husband snore until I fell asleep (which I swear was at least an hour later...).
Like I said, I was pretty miserable toward the end. But what's funny is that now, when I look at pregnant women, I kind of want to be pregnant again. Sure, I was nauseated, had horrible heartburn, had a constant back ache, and peed on myself occasionally, but I've never liked my body more than I did while I was pregnant. I really did feel beautiful. I was supporting a life other than my own, and my shape showed it. My belly was a constant reminder of the gorgeous little girl inside of me, and I loved feeling Kara kick, roll, and get the hiccups (she got the hiccups ALL the time). So while pregnancy had its down sides, I definitely loved it, and I plan to do it again one day :)
Here's the last picture I have of me pregnant with Kara. This was at 38 weeks even. She was born 2 days later:
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Remembering Ms. Maddie
I started reading Another Day Stronger just under a month ago. It's a beautiful blog written by Maddie's mommy, Kellie. Maddie passed away one month ago today. So today's post is in honor of sweet Maddie. I am so grateful for my little girl, and Kellie's blog has reminded me to snuggle Kara a little longer every day, and to be so grateful for every second—even when Kara is screaming at 4 am. Thank you, Kellie, for being so strong. Your Maddie will never be forgotten.
This is Kara on Sunday—3 months old.
This is Kara on Sunday—3 months old.Sunday, March 13, 2011
Just because it's right, doesn't mean it will be easy.
When Alma and I were first married, we thought we had our lives all planned out. We knew when we would graduate, when we would have kids, and where we would live after we graduated from school.
Then life happened.
Alma got a full time job working for the university as a web developer, so his graduation was postponed for a full year, and now that we are just about done with school, we actually have no intention of leaving where we are for at least another couple of years. We have a nice home with room to grow, we love the people we go to church with, and Alma's job is wonderful and offering a raise when he graduates.
But this post is about kids.
Originally, we were planning on getting pregnant so that we would have our first baby a few months after I graduated (which would mean I would be about six months along right now). But for some reason, I really felt like we needed to start trying earlier than we were initially planning on. [A lot of people scoff at the LDS culture—big families started at a young age—but having a family is very important to us. If you're interested in why Mormons place so much importance on family, click here.] So, after a lot of discussion and prayerful consideration, we decided to start trying to get pregnant. This was in April of 2009. I can vividly remember a conversation I had with Alma a few weeks before we made our final decision in which he said, "You know as soon as we start trying, we are going to get pregnant." And I think this is the mentality that we both went into trying with. I mean, we owned our home, could afford a child, and would love a child so much, why wouldn't the Lord immediately bless us with one? Right?
Wrong.
In the beginning, we really only decided not to prevent pregnancy any more. But after a few months of that, I started getting concerned and so we started actively trying, with no success. Anyone who has ever had to really try to have kids can tell you that it's an emotional roller coaster. Every month my hopes were up, and every month I ended up in tears. I couldn't understand what was wrong with us. Then, finally, in September of 2009, we found out I was pregnant. I was thrilled. We tried to keep it a secret, but it slipped to quite a few people before I had gone in for my first doctor's appointment. When I was 8 weeks along I went to the doctor for the first time. I told Alma that it was fine if he couldn't come, he had work and I would be fine by myself. So I went alone. I sat in the waiting room for a few minutes before the nurse called me back. They did all the normal checks—weight, blood pressure, etc.—and then the doctor came in. He examined me and then took me back to the ultrasound room so that we could verify how far along I was. I remember lying on the table excitedly, I was so ready to see our little tiny baby. The ultrasound tech started the ultrasound and the first thing she said was, "looks like baby is over here," as she pointed to a place on the screen. But then, she got quiet as she searched the area where it "looked like baby was." Everything looked right, except for the fact that there was no baby. She snapped a couple of pictures and then left to get the doctor. He came in and explained what the possibilities were: I was either just not as far along as I thought, or I had a blighted ovum. But either way, I needed to come back the next week for another ultrasound. I left his office and barely made it to my car before I was sobbing. I went back the next week, and the week after that to check for a baby again. But there was nothing. I had miscarried. And I was heartbroken. I couldn't understand why this would happen. I was angry that it had happened. I blamed myself. I blamed God. I cried. A lot.
But even with all of the hurt, I wanted to try again as soon as we could. So we did. And I went through another 4 months of emotional roller coaster. I had taken so many home pregnancy tests it was absurd. I was sure every month that I was pregnant because I had some symptom—nausea or exhaustion, or whatever else.
I cried so many times and I remember telling Alma that I didn't understand why the Lord wouldn't bless us with our righteous desire. "Having kids is the right thing to do, so why are we having such a problem?"
Obviously, we eventually did get pregnant. I hardly believed my eyes when I saw the positive home pregnancy test. And it has been such a blessing to have Kara as a part of our family. But I think I needed that trial in my life. The Lord taught me that just because I'm trying to do what's right, doesn't mean life will be easy, but that He still loves me, and I can lean on him when I'm weak.
So I'm grateful for that trial.
Then life happened.
Alma got a full time job working for the university as a web developer, so his graduation was postponed for a full year, and now that we are just about done with school, we actually have no intention of leaving where we are for at least another couple of years. We have a nice home with room to grow, we love the people we go to church with, and Alma's job is wonderful and offering a raise when he graduates.
But this post is about kids.
Originally, we were planning on getting pregnant so that we would have our first baby a few months after I graduated (which would mean I would be about six months along right now). But for some reason, I really felt like we needed to start trying earlier than we were initially planning on. [A lot of people scoff at the LDS culture—big families started at a young age—but having a family is very important to us. If you're interested in why Mormons place so much importance on family, click here.] So, after a lot of discussion and prayerful consideration, we decided to start trying to get pregnant. This was in April of 2009. I can vividly remember a conversation I had with Alma a few weeks before we made our final decision in which he said, "You know as soon as we start trying, we are going to get pregnant." And I think this is the mentality that we both went into trying with. I mean, we owned our home, could afford a child, and would love a child so much, why wouldn't the Lord immediately bless us with one? Right?
Wrong.
In the beginning, we really only decided not to prevent pregnancy any more. But after a few months of that, I started getting concerned and so we started actively trying, with no success. Anyone who has ever had to really try to have kids can tell you that it's an emotional roller coaster. Every month my hopes were up, and every month I ended up in tears. I couldn't understand what was wrong with us. Then, finally, in September of 2009, we found out I was pregnant. I was thrilled. We tried to keep it a secret, but it slipped to quite a few people before I had gone in for my first doctor's appointment. When I was 8 weeks along I went to the doctor for the first time. I told Alma that it was fine if he couldn't come, he had work and I would be fine by myself. So I went alone. I sat in the waiting room for a few minutes before the nurse called me back. They did all the normal checks—weight, blood pressure, etc.—and then the doctor came in. He examined me and then took me back to the ultrasound room so that we could verify how far along I was. I remember lying on the table excitedly, I was so ready to see our little tiny baby. The ultrasound tech started the ultrasound and the first thing she said was, "looks like baby is over here," as she pointed to a place on the screen. But then, she got quiet as she searched the area where it "looked like baby was." Everything looked right, except for the fact that there was no baby. She snapped a couple of pictures and then left to get the doctor. He came in and explained what the possibilities were: I was either just not as far along as I thought, or I had a blighted ovum. But either way, I needed to come back the next week for another ultrasound. I left his office and barely made it to my car before I was sobbing. I went back the next week, and the week after that to check for a baby again. But there was nothing. I had miscarried. And I was heartbroken. I couldn't understand why this would happen. I was angry that it had happened. I blamed myself. I blamed God. I cried. A lot.
But even with all of the hurt, I wanted to try again as soon as we could. So we did. And I went through another 4 months of emotional roller coaster. I had taken so many home pregnancy tests it was absurd. I was sure every month that I was pregnant because I had some symptom—nausea or exhaustion, or whatever else.
I cried so many times and I remember telling Alma that I didn't understand why the Lord wouldn't bless us with our righteous desire. "Having kids is the right thing to do, so why are we having such a problem?"
Obviously, we eventually did get pregnant. I hardly believed my eyes when I saw the positive home pregnancy test. And it has been such a blessing to have Kara as a part of our family. But I think I needed that trial in my life. The Lord taught me that just because I'm trying to do what's right, doesn't mean life will be easy, but that He still loves me, and I can lean on him when I'm weak.
So I'm grateful for that trial.
Friday, March 11, 2011
From the top...
We started this blog together before we got married. Let's just say it failed.
Seriously failed
In the three years we've had this blog, we have a total of 14 posts. Sad, I know.
So, I've decided to start fresh. And I can't think of a better way to restart our family blog than with introductions (even though I doubt anyone who doesn't actually know us will ever read this). But anyway, here it goes:
I'm Joy
I'm 21 and just about to graduate from BYU with a BA in English and an editing minor.
I love rock climbing, snow boarding, and surfing (although I haven't surfed in years, but I guess that's what I get for moving to Utah).
I also love my new job—I'm a stay at home mom to my sweet little girl, Kara. I won't lie; becoming a mom was a huge adjustment for me, but it just keeps getting better as she gets older. Aside from playing with and taking care of Kara, I love to clean my house and to cook for my sweet husband.
One day, when I get a little more adjusted to this whole mom thing, I want to start a freelance editing business. But for now, I'm just loving life!
This is Alma. He's 25. (Sorry he looks like he's 12 in this picture—it was the closest I could find to a picture of just him, and it was taken a few months before we were married)
He is also about to graduate from BYU, but he will earn a BS in mechanical engineering with a math minor (showoff).
He works for a company called LucidChart as a web developer and he loves it (most of the time). [It really is an awesome tool; you should check it out if you have time.]
He also really enjoys rock climbing and snowboarding.
He is a wonderful husband and father, I couldn't ask for anyone better (and even if I did, I doubt I could find better).
This is Kara. She's just about 3 months old and is such a smiley baby. She started rolling from her tummy to her back a few days ago (although she's stubborn, and won't do it much, especially if there's a camera involved). She's very vocal and loves to squiggle and wiggle. We love her to pieces and are so enjoying watching her learn and grow every day.
Sorry that this picture is so tiny, but here's me in high school. Before I met Alma I lived in sunny Southern California. I played water polo and swam in high school. And I loved to hang out at the beach with my friends whenever I could. I worked at McDonald's my senior year (my first job, and, hey, Bill Gates started out at McDonald's!) and drove a 1992 Toyota pick up truck. Life was good, but not as good as it was after I met Alma ;)
Before meeting me, Alma grew up in Northern California. In high school he played volleyball and had a number of different garage bands. He and his family loved to go backpacking and camping. In July of 2005 he left for Denver, Colorado where he served a two-year mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He got back in July of 2007 and we met two months later!
Finally, here's a picture of us around when we met. We met at school on September 7, 2007. I was reading at a bench outside of the bookstore and he came and sat next to me. We talked for about an hour, went on our first date that night and have been inseparable ever since! :)
So that's us in a nutshell.
Now let's see if I can actually keep this blog thing up...
Seriously failed
In the three years we've had this blog, we have a total of 14 posts. Sad, I know.
So, I've decided to start fresh. And I can't think of a better way to restart our family blog than with introductions (even though I doubt anyone who doesn't actually know us will ever read this). But anyway, here it goes:
I'm JoyI'm 21 and just about to graduate from BYU with a BA in English and an editing minor.
I love rock climbing, snow boarding, and surfing (although I haven't surfed in years, but I guess that's what I get for moving to Utah).
I also love my new job—I'm a stay at home mom to my sweet little girl, Kara. I won't lie; becoming a mom was a huge adjustment for me, but it just keeps getting better as she gets older. Aside from playing with and taking care of Kara, I love to clean my house and to cook for my sweet husband.
One day, when I get a little more adjusted to this whole mom thing, I want to start a freelance editing business. But for now, I'm just loving life!
This is Alma. He's 25. (Sorry he looks like he's 12 in this picture—it was the closest I could find to a picture of just him, and it was taken a few months before we were married)He is also about to graduate from BYU, but he will earn a BS in mechanical engineering with a math minor (showoff).
He works for a company called LucidChart as a web developer and he loves it (most of the time). [It really is an awesome tool; you should check it out if you have time.]
He also really enjoys rock climbing and snowboarding.
He is a wonderful husband and father, I couldn't ask for anyone better (and even if I did, I doubt I could find better).
This is Kara. She's just about 3 months old and is such a smiley baby. She started rolling from her tummy to her back a few days ago (although she's stubborn, and won't do it much, especially if there's a camera involved). She's very vocal and loves to squiggle and wiggle. We love her to pieces and are so enjoying watching her learn and grow every day.
Sorry that this picture is so tiny, but here's me in high school. Before I met Alma I lived in sunny Southern California. I played water polo and swam in high school. And I loved to hang out at the beach with my friends whenever I could. I worked at McDonald's my senior year (my first job, and, hey, Bill Gates started out at McDonald's!) and drove a 1992 Toyota pick up truck. Life was good, but not as good as it was after I met Alma ;)
Before meeting me, Alma grew up in Northern California. In high school he played volleyball and had a number of different garage bands. He and his family loved to go backpacking and camping. In July of 2005 he left for Denver, Colorado where he served a two-year mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He got back in July of 2007 and we met two months later!Finally, here's a picture of us around when we met. We met at school on September 7, 2007. I was reading at a bench outside of the bookstore and he came and sat next to me. We talked for about an hour, went on our first date that night and have been inseparable ever since! :)
So that's us in a nutshell.
Now let's see if I can actually keep this blog thing up...
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Moab
Ok, so this post is coming to you almost six months late. But considering the fact that it's been just shy of a year since our last post, that shouldn't surprise you. :)
Sometime early in the summer (I honestly don't remember if it was April or May?) we went down to Moab with Cindy and Andrew Cox. We went to camp for the night, and the boys wanted to go climbing. We camped at a fun little spot that required a short hike through a big metal tube. It was SO hot, and there were a ton of bugs! Alma and I got down there first and set up camp and Cindy and Andrew got there a little later. We ate s'mores and hit the sack. The next morning, we were up pretty early so the boys could go climbing before it got too hot. We ate breakfast and headed out. Cindy and I went into town to get some water and Gatorade while Alma and Andrew started climbing. When we got back they were just finishing up their first climb and were drenched in sweat. It was way too hot to climb.
After we had some water, we decided that since we had all driven four hours to get down to Moab, we couldn't just leave. So we went to Arches National Park. Lucky for us, it happened to be free national park weekend, so we didn't even have to pay to get in! We drove through the park and occasionally got out to go for short hikes to see the scenery. But I must say that driving in the air conditioned car was MUCH nicer than being in the sweaty, bug-filled heat.
After we looked at everything we felt like we wanted to, we found a picnic bench in the shade and all shared a yummy lunch. Then we headed back home! It was a nice little weekend getaway :)
Sometime early in the summer (I honestly don't remember if it was April or May?) we went down to Moab with Cindy and Andrew Cox. We went to camp for the night, and the boys wanted to go climbing. We camped at a fun little spot that required a short hike through a big metal tube. It was SO hot, and there were a ton of bugs! Alma and I got down there first and set up camp and Cindy and Andrew got there a little later. We ate s'mores and hit the sack. The next morning, we were up pretty early so the boys could go climbing before it got too hot. We ate breakfast and headed out. Cindy and I went into town to get some water and Gatorade while Alma and Andrew started climbing. When we got back they were just finishing up their first climb and were drenched in sweat. It was way too hot to climb.
After we had some water, we decided that since we had all driven four hours to get down to Moab, we couldn't just leave. So we went to Arches National Park. Lucky for us, it happened to be free national park weekend, so we didn't even have to pay to get in! We drove through the park and occasionally got out to go for short hikes to see the scenery. But I must say that driving in the air conditioned car was MUCH nicer than being in the sweaty, bug-filled heat.
After we looked at everything we felt like we wanted to, we found a picnic bench in the shade and all shared a yummy lunch. Then we headed back home! It was a nice little weekend getaway :)
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