Happy 2nd Birthday Landon & Your Birth Story

Today he turned two. I can't hardly look at him on his day without bawling. My heart is so heavy. Heavy with thankfulness, gratitude and happiness. Without God's love and mercy for us -- for him, we would not be here today. Happy. Celebrating. For you and your strength, little love, we are thankful.

He is just so, so cool. He is amazing. He is so funny, so sweet, so bashful and so smart. He makes our world spin and I cannot believe two full years have come between now and the worst time in our lives.

We had a little gathering of wonderful friends for barbecue, cupcakes and a few presents. He was so happy. He mostly ignored bashfully all the attention. He loved his huge Mickey Mouse cake. Big sis helped blow out his candles and between giggles he stuffed his mouth full, with a fork of course. His friends, Jordyn, Kael, Kellan, Ryan and Addi helped him with his gifts (newborn Isaac slept through the fun)!

Earlier in the day we gave Landon his new birthday bike. Oh, was he totally stoked! He pushed that little bike around for hours!

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This winter I have vowed to start and finish your first-year handmade scrapbook and for that I write (re-write in a sense) your birth story.

The day before your birth day we drove to Great Falls to visit Dr. Key. Something we had done countless times over the past few weeks. With ultrasound (and often stress-tests) we checked on you. We were checking on you, little man. Checking to make sure you were still tolerating everything that was going on inside of you. Your liver was huge and your heart a little small. The fluid inside of you was making your liver and heart work extra hard. Your tiny body was under so much stress. With every week that passed, however, other parts of you grew, and got stronger. Those 6 or so extra weeks that you stayed strong inside mama made all the difference in your story.

This trip to Great Falls, however, was different. It was different because since our initial visit with Dr. Key, the visit at 24 weeks --- when your condition was diagnosed, when our lives came to a screaming halt and when he said you should be delivered in the next day or two --- you improved a little every visit. This time, however, Dr. Key was seeing right-sided heart failure. Your heart could no longer do the work necessary to keep you alive. He predicted this day would come and it was time. It was time to bring you into this world. With a deep breathe, a deep sigh of terror, we drove back to Helena, packed what we needed and in less than an hour we were on the road to Missoula. You would be born in Missoula. Mama, Daddy, and Addison were born there. Our family and friends - our support system - was there and although we credit in a big part, Dr. Key, for saving your life, we wanted you to be born in the Missoula NICU.

So we drove straight to the NICU parking lot. Papa was there to pick up and care for Addi. She was terrified to say goodbye to us. She knew you were sick and she was very worried. Her little self could in no way truly understand what was happening. She knew brother was going to be born and for some reason everyone around her wasn't smiling.

Daddy and I waddled, slowly, into the hospital. We didn't want to go in. I hoped that if we lingered long enough we would wake up. We feared the worst. We didn't really want to know the truth. You would be born ... and then what?

Mommy had carried you for just under 30 weeks. You should have remained snuggled in your pouch for two and a half more months. Nothing we wished for now would change where we were. We made the best decisions for you that we could. And we wanted so bad for you to be okay, and this was your only shot. Being born now was the only way to save your life.

Our Missoula OBGYN agreed with Dr. Key, after seeing you in ultrasound, that the only thing they could do was deliver you and see what happened. This night before you were born was a living nightmare. Daddy slept a bit at mama's side in a sticky, plastic chair. I uncomfortably sat upright cradling you in my belly for the last time. Nurses came and went constantly. Monitors beeped and alarmed. I was given several shots of medicine to boost your lung development. Tears dripped onto my Landon-shelf for most of the night. I couldn't feel you move. You had gone silent. You were so sick, you didn't even wiggle to let me know you were there and okay. The monitor's constant sound let me know your heart was still beating, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to feel you. I remember giving my belly a little nudge trying to encourage you to move. I didn't sleep at all. If these were my final hours with you I wasn't about to sleep through them.

Mama was prepped for a Caesarean-section surgery the following morning, early. Before walking to the surgery room the neonatologist had a private conversation with just Daddy and I. These words will forever be burned into my memory, "He has less than a 3% chance of living through his first hours. Please, don't expect much." She left and I collapsed one more time into Daddy's arms and then I was off. I laid on the table, so scared, so vulnerable. I made sure my nurse tested that I was numb. In all that you were going through, I didn't want to feel you being taken from me.

And then in an instant we were separated from each other. There was nothing else my body could do for you. You made the tiniest attempt to cry, a squeak and then you were intibated, stuck with an IV, set into a warmer and quickly wheeled away to the NICU. I still have nightmares thinking about what you had to go through, the terror, the pain. As you left I saw your limp body and lifeless-looking face. Small, but not so tiny. Your face and abdomen was swollen, but you looked like a baby, my baby. I had no idea who you were with or where you were. I had no idea about anything. Terror. That is the only word I can use to describe it all.

You were gone. I was, for the first time in many months, alone. I was sewed up and taken to recovery. Daddy stayed with me until I told him to go be with you. He came back in tears. I am sure he was given the gravest of news. And seeing you must have been so hard on him. But you were alive, barely, but you were alive.

I remember laying in recovery having the oddest conversations with the nurses and our friend, Aleta. Odd because they were normal. I cried off and on, but for the most part I was numb, emotionally numb.  I think at that point I had reached my limit. In an attempt of self preservation my body temporarily shut down and I stopped feeling.

You were born at 9:48 AM and at 3:30 PM I was able to see you. Those hours we were apart I slept, cried and pumped my breast milk. I sat in a wheel-chair at your bedside. I had to reach up over the plastic bedside to touch your tiny fist with the tip of my finger. I was afraid to touch you, but it took all of my strength not to stand, pick you up and hold you against me where you belonged. I was mad at myself for crying. Mad because the tears were fogging my view of you. I was afraid to take my eyes off of you. And I was mad because you were the one laying there. I was fine, you were the one enduring all of that. You were medicated with pain medicine to ease your pain and tranquilizers to make you stay calm. You didn't move at all. The machine that was breathing for you inflated your chest.  Your eyes were swollen shut. Your arms and legs were so small and skinny. Your belly was huge.  Your head was so big and so round with fluid.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. So many cords and wires. Monitors and tubes. Under all of that was you. My Landon.  I had no clue what to expect from a NICU. I was in shock. It was like having an out-of-body experience. I could see myself there, but it wasn't really happening.   Nurses stayed close. Every second of that first day was like an eternity. Many things changed those first hours. So many obstacles you overcame those first hours. Things changed and happened in your body. Medicine did it's job. Pump-like mechanisms worked to clear off all that fluid. Machines took the stress off of your lungs so your energy wouldn't be used for breathing. Your heart was getting better. Getting better at an intensely fast rate. Things I don't even know or fully understand were happening.  All I heard was you were okay, for now. The doctor's and nurses really could not explain it all.  You were not out of the woods by any means, but you were stable.

Other than staring at your face, the rest of your birth day is a blur for me. I was there when later that day Daddy took Addison to meet you. She cried as she placed the pink bunny she got for you in your bed. She explained that the bunny would keep you safe and let you know that she was your big sister and she loved you. She slightly held your hand and whispered, "I love you brother." Other family and friends surrounded us in the hospital, many were accompanied in to see you in your first hours.

To everyone's surprise Mr. Moon survived his first hours, his first day -- you survived your birth day. They didn't really know what they did right! They were shocked every hour you remained strong. And with that day behind us, our six and a half week stay in the NICU began. On September 1st we brought our little miracle home and life was so sweet.

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Happy birthday my sweet boy. You make mama so happy and I cannot imagine my life without you. I love you and I look forward to all your birthdays to come.

This Is Our Independence Day

Our small town Independence Day celebration kicks off on July 3rd with a concert in the park and a boxing/MMA smoker at the rodeo grounds.

Addi and her best buddy, Sigrid. 

Fourth of July Main Street Parade!

Landon is oblivious to the water being sprayed by the firetrucks because of his cowboy hat!

Addi and her friend, Emma.

Eating the candy as fast as he grabs it off the street!

We enjoyed a hot, sticky, dirty afternoon watching the rodeo. 

It can get a little intense. Nothing a quick prayer won't take care of!

Addi and her buddy, Cole.

We had a neighborhood BBQ and fireworks watching party down the street! It was a blast and the driveway and street was packed with friends ooh and awing at the town's enormous firework display.

We are so thankful for this neighborhood full of awesome kids. 

Figuring out a Pop-It.

The day after the fourth there is a festival in the park and duck races down the creek.

Proud to be an American and proud to be apart of this amazing community.

Talking Table Time Machine

I never really expected a simple battery change to send me spinning back in time. She used to love her Fischer Price music table. It is brightly colored, just the right height for a toddler and full of bi-lingual songs and activities. It's where she learned to stand and take assisted steps. She loved hiding her binky in the little green compartment. She would get a huge, full-face smile on her face when she figured out how to reopen the little door and found it again. Because she couldn't yet walk around the table she would spend longs lengths of time redoing the same activity over and over again. The songs on that table were like a soundtrack to her little toddler self. I, unknowingly, associated the music on that table to her and her huge bald-headed smile.

While packing up Landon's room I found this favorite toy of Addi's. I remember I put it there months and months ago when the batteries died when I didn't have any new ones to replace them. I then forgot all about it. Landon sure was excited to rediscover it.

The table was turned upside down on my kitchen floor and Landon helped put new batteries in. As the new batteries clicked into place it started singing a familiar tune, "Uno, Dos, Tres...." and my heart sank and I was taken back in time four years. I was now in our Salt Lake City house. It was equally hot and muggy, just like today. She was playing at her table in only a diaper. She had a innocent glow about her, from the sweat I'm sure! Her skin was tanned from the carefree days of playing outside in the Utah sunshine. She was a chunk and her arms and legs each rolled into the cutest baby fat you'd ever seen. Her huge cheeks and bright blue eyes made up her face. She was just learning how to stand. She would hang on to the table and do little baby squat dancing while cracking up.  So happy. So content. So easy to please. So eager to be with me in every moment.

Last night was one of the most difficult nights being her mother. Since returning from vacation she has refused to go to bed. A few nights we have cuddled her or let her fall asleep on our floor. For a few nights we give her the benefit of the doubt and let her readjust after a week away. We try to understand that maybe she really is terrified to go to sleep. But last night I could just see her manipulating the whole situation. It was a downward spiral that after the two hour battle of kicking, screaming (I had to close up all the windows it was so loud), yelling horrible things at me, clinging and fighting it left me physically and emotionally exhausted. She was so defiant and I felt as though I was totally loosing all control and it felt like that may be the moment that I never get it back. I walked outside to take a breather and move the hose. I heard her running through the house and heard her through the door screaming,  "My mommy has left me all alone in the night." (Daddy got called into the hospital about 30 minutes into it and I asked if I could go take the call instead!)  Eventually after very little negotiation on my part - she was too irate to even talk to me - and repetitively putting her back into her bed she gave in and fell asleep.

She woke this morning as if nothing had every happened. She was just shocked when I calmly told her she would not be allowed to play with her friends or go swimming today based on her behavior last night. I said, "Maybe it will help you think about how you act tonight." I don't know why things she says still shock me, but she asked right after that, "Well is tomorrow Friday?" I said, "No, but why does that matter?" I then remembered that her friends would not be home on Friday. She was already planning her behavior based on whether or not her friends be around the next day. Subtle things like that make me think she is not really having night-time terrors and just challenging us. Daddy had trouble sleeping alone when he was little and because of that he tries to reason with her, reassure her, let her manipulate the situation a little more. I am happy with his patience and soft-tempered attempts at working through the problem with her, but I feel like it is time to put our foot down.

She is definitely changing. She challenges us in everything, everything. She is outwardly defiant and almost impossibly argumentative at times. I am so ready to pull my hair out.... If only that little talking table that my baby Addi loved so much really could take me back to that time, for a extended vacation. It was easier then. I wasn't expecting discipline to be so hard so early. I had it in my mind that I had a solid thirteen years or so before the defiancey of hormone-driven adolescence would knock down our door. Before now you could reason with her or just tell her the way it was going to go and she basically accepted it simply because Mommy or Daddy said so, and she whole-heartily trusted us. Now, everything is a battle. Addi is always right and lookout if you try to tell her otherwise.

I made her sit on her bed this mid-morning for a full 15 minutes where she was to reflect on the things she said, the way she acted and how she would act differently tonight. When the 15 minute kitchen timer went off I went in to talk to her and found this.... what a peaceful, sleepy angel .... when she's fast asleep!

I rant on this blog because I love her. I release my feelings and frustrations here, instead of towards her. It is my battle to take on and because I love her I won't give up on her. Sometimes I feel at a loss of what to do and how to do it right, but I know it's only the beginning of these little challenges and I will not let her down by giving in.

{Uploading those baby Addi picture had me sitting in a puddle of my own tears. I miss her, little her and I am feeling a little grief that baby Addi has so quickly been replaced with big, independent Addi.}

A Hike

At the end of the trail lived a waterfall. Our friends and neighbors, Matt, Maddie and Hudson joined us on this hot Sunday afternoon for a hike. The trailhead was hidden down a two-track road, nestled up in the Blackleaf Wildlife Management Area.

After an hour or so walking through aspen covered trails, wildflower covered hillsides and jumping rocks along the dried up creek bed, we found the stream. Instantly the kids ran to the cold, deep, mountain stream pool and nearly collapsed into it's cool, regenerating water. Even Landon was trying to wiggle free from the safe hold of the pack on my back. Once released he kicked off his shoes and waddled into the cool waters.

After cooling off in the creek, Matt and his kids had to head back to town. My kids and I decided to keep making our way up the trail to the waterfall. After another 30 minutes or so Addi said, "I'm sorry Mama, I really don't want to ruin your fun hike, but I really, really cannot hike anymore. Let's come back with daddy so he can carry me to the waterfall!"  And with that we turned back. It was okay with me. I was looking at the time and I really did not want to be walking down through that thick, aspen covered trail in the cool hours of the evening - that's the perfect time for the lazy day bears to start moving about.

I love with all my heart the solidarity of walking through the wilderness. The love the quiet, hot air. I love the peaceful rustle of the aspen leaves. I love hearing the stream in the distance and you just know you are close.  As a mother, walking through grizzly bear country, alone, with your babies, brings on different feelings. Intense instinctually feelings that make your mind wander to worse case scenarios and how I would handle those scenarios. I think of it as muscle memory. I practice in my brain, repeatedly, so if the time came where I had to win a bear confrontation, I would in fact win. I don't let it ruin my time in the woods, but I certainly am prepared and any rustle of the brush or hearing an animal spook in the trees has me on high alert. It happened on this day. My heart rate was so rapid it put a wrinkle in my shirt (!), I squeezed Addi's hand, pulled her behind me and quick-drew my bear spray. Was it a bear moving through the brush in the middle of this hot day, I don't know, but just the sound of something moving behind us had me jumping! My reaction wasn't actually quite calm and did not cause Addi to get scared,  but for a while I hiked with my bear spray out of the hostler, unlocked, loaded and ready to go!

The best part about the hike: we were not confronted or eaten by a bear! ;)