It had been years since I had gone for a run in my neighborhood all alone; that is, until today.
For most of my 30’s, I would run the same route through my neighborhood every evening at 6:30pm on the dot. And most importantly, this run, for years, had always consisted of me, myself, and I. No one else.
No dogs were allowed on my run. No children were invited to come, and definitely…definitely, no husband was allowed.
And somehow, I let this important evening ritual just slip away. Runs turned into brisk walks and eventually I lost my backbone when the children pleaded to come along. It wasn’t long after that that my husband would then have his bright red Nike shoes already on, laced up, and tied tight. He’d be waiting at the front door at 6:30pm in his grey under armor shorts and white breathable cotton shirt, like a well-trained dog who hears the word “walk” and goes sprinting with his leash between his teeth on all fours to the door.
The only sacred time I had to myself had gotten lost over the years and today I was feeling desperate to get that desired time back. My alone time had turned into family time or some evenings, spouse time. Before I even knew what happened, I had stopped spending time with myself. The years trailed on, and it seems that even family time has begun to dissolve and pushed down the list of priorities. The kids are now older and in multiple sports and activities and all 6 of us, at 6:30pm every evening, seem to go, in what feels like, a thousand different directions.
Today is different. There is a supernatural force beyond my own, pulling me outside in one direction. This same force leads me to yell at the kids and tell them they can’t come with me because they have homework to finish, dishes to put away, and a desperate plea to my husband to finish the laundry because I need to run; I need to run alone; I need to clear my head. I need to be alone.
I scramble out the front door almost tripping over the porch steps to get on the sidewalk, my feet; or maybe this unknown force, has me going quicker than I can keep up. I catch myself before I faceplant on the sidewalk and I take a quick left out of my driveway. My pace is so fast I quickly pass the four houses lined up perfectly with mine without any thought at all. And then something happens. I get to the house at the top of the street and time slows down. Time seems to stand still.
It is the sort of house you see featured on HGTV in its prime state directly after getting a makeover and before the family living there has anytime to neglect its new facelift. This house has always taken my breath away but in the more than decade that I’ve whizzed by, driven by, or flown by really, I have overlooked it. I stop here to stretch. It seems an appropriate place to take a few extra moments under the shade of the gorgeous sycamore tree. The family who lives here certainly does not neglect their stoic traditional brick home. And tonight, an extra ease comes over me as I gaze at its perfect black shutters and oversized double front door to match. They glisten as the sun heads down for the evening. A soft peacefulness blows in the cool breeze, and I welcome it.
The house presents timeless wreaths hanging on each front door; I have noticed they get swapped out for ones each season. Four window boxes decorate the windows on the second story and are perfectly manicured with the most beautiful floral arrangements. I feel the same sense of timelessness within me that the home exudes, and my heart feels like it’s been beating for centuries. The arrangements in the window boxes also change around with the seasons just as the wreaths do. They are still decorated for fall today, even though winter is headed our way.  
I feel a sudden jolt in my heart as I realize I too, am heading into a new season of my own, and yet, I am feeling stuck in a prior one just like these window boxes. Nature forces change on the seasons without a choice, and I may be propelled out of my own season by force. But that is not what I want. I decide, right here, right now that my run tonight is exactly what I need to give me the space and clarity in my head to plan for the new season coming and I will be able to intentionally walk into this next chapter of my life knowing my exact footing. No one will be forcing me.
I take in the view of the second story window boxes again and stare at the vines that hang down past the tips of the windows below them. I giggle a bit out loud as I’m reminded of Rapunzel’s magical hair and cannot help but start humming, “I’ve Got A Dream”. I am about to begin my stretching routine and realize there is a mystic energy in the thick air, “Tickling the ivories until they gleam, because way deep down inside I have a dream; like everyone else, I have a dream…”
I lean down to touch my toes and even though I am just shy of 45 years old now I can still put my hands flat on the ground in front of me when I stretch. “I still got it”, I say to myself, and a smile comes across my face. As I hold this stretch with my head down low, my eyes veer up. The yard is equally manicured as the window boxes. I’m sure an average set of eyes looking around wouldn’t need any proof of this, but right in front of me under the sycamore tree is a large rock engraved with “Beautification Award 2022” boldly stating witness to the yard’s beauty. Next to the rock is a classic wrought iron bench with an intricate design swirling the iron in many directions. I’m sure I’ve walked and driven passed this bench many times, but tonight the bench is glowing alongside the shutters and front door.
The circumference of the shade from the tree branches forms a perfect circle around the bench and where the grass doesn’t grow due to the shade of the tree, there is a perfect circle consisting of short prickly vines on the ground guarding the bench. I envision myself walking through the prickly vines to sit on the bench and start to wonder if it will transcend me into some secret garden full of withered roses, lilies, and lilacs that all need me to save them and bring them back to life. A tug at my heart tells me I need to bring myself back to life. After experiencing so much loss and death this year it’s possible that I am not only entering a new season of my own life, but a season that is also life-giving.
My thoughts are getting a bit out of control, and before my mind wanders too far through the prickly vines to place myself on a magic timeless bench I’ve created to save dying flowers, I decide to reel myself in.
I step over to the brick mailbox at the edge of the street and place one hand on either side. I prop my right foot up onto the brick leaving my heal on the ground and lean forward feeling that hard stretch pull. It shoots right up the back of my leg and lets my sore calf muscle stretch out feeling so good. I breathe deeply and count to twenty. I try to focus on the run ahead of me that will clear my mind. It has been getting so noisy in my head lately and I really could use some clarity.  I take my foot off the brick mailbox flat to the ground with two feet I bounce on my tip toes a few times. I prop up my left foot to stretch that calf.
As I feel the tension pull up the back of my leg, I lean in harder and come face to face with the most elegant carriage house die-cast lamp sitting atop the brick column mailbox. The lamp looks to be 100 years old, about how old I feel right now, and I am thrusted back into some magical daydream. How many families have lived in this house I wonder? How many families has this lamp protected each night?  Has this beautiful dye-cast lamp watched over countless children that played in the front yard or that stood in line right here to catch the school bus each morning? Has this lamp heard bickering from the married couple inside on dark evenings coming from the master bedroom window, or the slamming of the front door and pealing out of the driveway at midnight? Has this magical lamp watched intently as the same couple danced in the kitchen and kissed passionately? Right below the lamp in the center of the pillar is an antique copper door flush with the brick.
The door displays just one small knob on the right and has a large calligraphy “E” in the center. Underneath in smaller print reads “The Edevane’s”. Below that in even smaller print reads “Established in 1948”. I decide the lamp is not 100 years old after all, but close. And surely many families have lived here, as I know the current family is not the Edevane’s, but I suppose it is hard to erase history. If I lived here, I would leave the original owners name here as well to honor the past. I go back to imagining this sophisticated lamp and how it must know all the contents of the mail that has come and gone in and out of this impressive copper mailbox door.
I give my head a good shake to the left and the right and figure I better get this run started so I can clear my head and stop with all the silly thoughts. A run has always been the only way I can truly clear my head, and quite possibly escape.
I may have actually been in my 20’s when I learned that I can’t escape myself entirely. It became evident that no matter how far I ran, I was, in fact, always still there; stuck with myself everywhere I go. There is no distance and no pace that can make me escape myself. Somehow, I am always still there, stuck with me. But a good run alone will allow me to escape the clutter and noise in my head, at least.
Over the last decade, most of the noise and clutter in my head came from all the people I loved; my four wonderful children, along with my husband. They were the loudest noises. All their many needs, wants and desires and somehow, I seemed to be the only one who could meet them. These noises, back then, pushed with force into my head. Pressure building up until it finally would break through and pierce my brain at a faster rate than I can process it, like a thumbtack going through a corkboard. There seemed to be no easy way to just prick the thumbtacks right out, so I would run back then to escape the noise. As I ran the thumbtacks slowly, one at a time would prick out of my head and float through the wind, some longer than others, until they hit the pavement beside me and I simply and carefreely I would run right passed them never to see them again.  
Lately, however, the noise in my head is from other loved ones. In fact, from loved ones I’ve recently lost. My dad called less than a year ago to tell me he was sick. Countless trips to see him, 18 hours away, leaving my own family behind. I left my husband to pick up all the pieces when I jumped on yet another plane without warning for the next emergency, with no date of when I would return. I still worry I didn’t spend enough time with him. I know I didn’t say all the things I needed to. And right in the middle of dad’s cancer treatments my younger brother, at the age of 38, had a stroke. More traveling to a different city to be with him as he was intubated, then recovered and did therapy to recover more. Praying and begging God, pleading with God, day after day, to heal them both.
My father and my brother; both stuck in hospital beds unable to see each other and then both buried within 6 months of each other. Dead. I’ve been managing my children’s feelings of loss. Their uncle and grandfather now gone. I’ve kept my fulltime job selling furniture; my clients happy enough and I’ve even been able to grow business; I’ve done the laundry and fed my tribe. Can you believe these people eat three meals a day…every day, and still expect someone to make their meals? I’ve gone through the emotions of sadness and despair. Anger and resentment. Loneliness and confusion. Guilt and denial. Panic and anxiety. Relief and calm. Fear and exhaustion, hope and strength. I settle tonight on a sense of strength to keep my focus on as my feet are taking me fast and my muscle memory has my body practically flying on the pavement.  
These noises are racing out of my head, finally, as I pick up speed. But they are still swirling around me like a tornado. With so much loss this year has also come betrayal from people I thought I knew. Death of a loved one reaches into your soul deeper and it exposes you; the good and the bad. Death of a loved one exposes who we are at our core. Some might call it misplaced grief, but now I understand it as exposure of the soul. I feel jaded. I want desperately to be strong, and weakness is entering my head; I’m focusing on my strength, I’m running fast. Maybe I am broken like my husband told me last month. And maybe I can never be put together again. “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall…”, my brain starts to sing as it pierces through my heart.
There is a new season ahead of me, one in which I need to bring myself back to life and mend the brokenness.  The noises in my head are not falling to the sidewalk beside me like I want them to, like they always do; something else is happening. They are following me, haunting me on my run. Maybe I am not supposed to move passed this hardship. Maybe I cannot escape this noise. Maybe some history needs to be held onto. I have released a lot of noise and like a raincloud above one’s head it is dangling above me. I was not prepared for this thunderstorm, but at least it is now above me and no longer within me.
I stop abruptly and realize I’ve already gone my usual route around the entire neighborhood, and I am standing back in front of this stunning, timeless, house. I’m sweating profusely and not sure if it’s from the brisk run or from my anxiety releasing through my pores. I feel good; better, I think to myself, but I want to linger a bit more before I go home. I need to slow my heart rate before walking back into my own external cyclone of checking homework, packing lunches for tomorrow, figuring out sports schedules for the week ahead, locking up devices before bed, getting four kids into bed, spending quality time with my husband and finally looking at my own work schedule to see what meetings I need to prepare for.
I decide to warm down slowly and take my time stretching. I hold the brick mailbox, just as I had done an hour earlier, one hand on either side. I lift my right foot up onto the brick column and lean in for a good stretch. The copper mailbox door glistens, even though the sun has already set, and when I look down, I see a large calligraphy “H” on it. I blink a few times and carefully read below it, “Jenny Hardison”. Under my name it reads “Established in 2127”. I jump back scared to touch the mailbox. I’m certain I am seeing things. Why does my neighbor’s mailbox have my name on it? I look around wondering if someone is going to jump out from behind the sycamore tree and yell, “Smile, you are on a hidden camera!”   
“Oh no,” I moan out loud as I remember that I ate those absurd gummies last night. My husband swore they were FDA approved for anxiety and sleep and honestly for the first time in months I slept.  But maybe they were laced with something. I don’t do drugs, but that must be it, I am hallucinating. I stare at the antique copper mailbox, and it still has my name on it. Is it a federal crime to open someone else’s mail, I wonder? But the mailbox clearly has my name on it. Before I can think through the ramifications of me opening my neighbor’s mailbox and before I have time to think about the Ring camera catching me on video, I’ve already swung the heavy copper door open and see absolutely nothing inside. “Thank goodness” I begin to tell myself; I am seeing things, I am hallucinating. Relief flows through my bones.
I began to close the door slowly and hope no neighbors are spying and wondering what on earth I could be doing and just like that, a pink envelope with my name appears out of nowhere. Smack-dab in the center of the box. I grab it and slam the copper door shut, looking over my shoulder.  But with no hesitation, I flip it over and there is a golden wax seal with my initials carved in it “JRH” in cursive, and if I didn’t know better, in my handwriting. The wax feels a little warm to touch like it is still settling in, but without thinking I’ve already torn the seal open on the envelop. I recognize the handwriting right away as my own and read “Dearest Jenny”, but before I get to the next sentences, a life size hologram of an old lady appears right before my eyes.
“Hi Jenny”, she says in a soft sophisticated voice. “I need to make this quick because I only paid for 2 minutes, and I know you have a lot of questions you want to ask. I cannot hear you, but I am the future you, in case you were wondering and didn’t recognize yourself.” Hell no, I didn’t recognize myself, I look 100 years old, damn!
“Technology has come a long way over the last 100 years,” she says, “I am now…well, I mean…you are now…I mean…we are now 149 years old. The average lifespan, of you can believe it, is 150 and well you know how you like to defy the odds,” she giggles, “Science has also come a long way too. We have a cure for cancer and really all diseases at this point. People still die of car accidents, well we don’t call them cars anymore, they are mini aircrafts! Murders still happen; we haven’t found a way to eradicate the evil of the human heart, but we do, however, live much, much, much longer now a days. Most people just die of old age now.”
She takes a deep breath and goes on, “Oh, and everyone is good. I wanted to tell you that. The kids are all grown, and the grands, great-grands, the triple-grands, and the quad-grands are all well and they are growing up fast!”  She shouts some weird, “Woo-hoo,” and throws her fist in the air, “We have the best family gatherings. You have so much to look forward to. And we have this new thing where we can talk to the past, well obviously, you can see that now, and it’s not new-new as they’ve had bugs and tweaks, they’ve had to work out of it, but pretty new, that we can go back and talk to our younger selves.”
She begins talking much faster now, “But again, I only have 2 minutes so here it goes…. you are a strong woman. Your strength is at your core. You are a cornerstone for your family and for your community. Your ability to provide calmness for so many people, along with a sense of order and belonging only strengthens with age for you. Many look up to you. And while you always feel a raging river inside you, you are doing a wonderful job channeling it for good. But my dearself, you need to make time for yourself. You need to be easier on yourself and meditate on the Grace that has been bestowed on you. It has been an especially hard year for you. And it’s time for you to evolve into a better, stronger version of yourself. Well, ourselves actually.” She gives a curtsey and lifts her skirt with each hand off to the sides. I’m wearing a skirt, I say under my breath, Is this really me, I think? “It is time you find a way to keep your mind healthy and sharp and escape all that obnoxious noise in your head. You need your alone time to recharge.”
She continues, “And you know” she rolls her eyes, “this big magical house you stare at all the time? It gets torn down eventually. They build a Boxhome here. The kids who live here are rotten and spoiled and the yard goes to shit.”  She’s practically yelling my name, “Jenny” but I am so mesmerized I don’t think to look or notice if anyone is watching. What’s a Boxhome I think? “You know, Minecraft homes,” she says, as if she is reading my thoughts. “Please understand that things are just things”, she says. “And things are all fleeting; they fade and wither like the grass. You are nearing death too my dearest me, now at 149 years old, you may only have 10 years left, if we really can defy odds. Even you will wither from this Earth like the grass.” She leans down and touches the grass, well actually the pavement, but I guess when she filmed this there was grass under her.
“There is only one thing that remains and stands the test of time in this world,” She holds up her finger.  “Your soul”
“So lastly, before I go, I want to tell you how important it is that you take care of yourself; but also, your husband and your children; they are your legacy.  Put all that noise in your head out on paper if you need to and share your thoughts if that is what clears out your soul, do it for both of us.”
And with that the hologram of me starts to fade away. She is losing her color and becomes fuzzy and is now black and white. “Oh, and one more thing” she’s waving her finger in my face now, “Your marriage, she starts to flicker in and out and I am a little offended that I’m waiving a finger in my own face. I make a mental note to never waive my finger again at anyone the rest of my 100+ years. “Marriage is hard but push through. You plateau in a few years and then you are on higher ground, so keep pushing through those hard days and years and you will,” she starts to flicker and I’m holding on to every word, “You will rise up,” she finally finishes. Just as I think she is gone, she appears back without any fading, darker, actually and with the loudest, strongest voice, she says, “You, my dearself, are stronger than you think, remember that, set your eyes and your soul on what is eternal.”   
I stare at the letter in my hands, and within moments it too is gone.
The copper door on the mailbox has an “E” on it again and the history of the Edevane’s family still stands. Will this house really be torn down one day and a Boxhouse built, I wonder. What even is a Boxhouse? What just happened? Will the Edevane’s name be torn down too? My turtle-like pace takes me back to my own front door and I am a bit nervous I might see a flying unicorn or pot of gold. I feel the magic in the air, but I have no idea if what I just experienced is real. It feels real.
I open my front door. There is a huge fort in the dining room. Every blanket I think we own has been strung up to the light fixtures hanging down and around the chairs and there are 4 flashlights underneath the dining room table. I think how sweet it is that at the age of 13, 11, 11, and 9, my kids still play together. Maybe we don’t have a perfectly manicured yard or a magical wrought iron bench, but we have love and memories, and I should find time to go write all this down. I look over to my husband and back at my kids and say out loud to know one and to everyone who can hear me, “I think I will start focusing on myself and what is eternal right now.”
 

this morning when we woke up together in the same bed, it marked the first day of our thirteenth year of marriage.

It it took me back 12 years ago when we woke up on this exact day, next to each other for the first time as a married couple. Our first day married.

We were here sleep deprived, not just due to all the events leading up to our "big day" but the emotions that come with it had wiped us out physically.

Not it to mention we had to get up early to drive to Atlanta to catch a flight for our honey moon. Nor the fact that after our reception ended the night before we both realized we hadn't packed for our honey moon yet and frantically through a bag of mixed matched clothes together at midnight.

Through sll all the physical exhaustion and mental, my husband of only a few hours looked over at me in the hotel bed we were sharing and said, "it's not about me anymore. It's about us and it's my job to take care of us".

​Well I'll fast forward 12 years and here we are taking care of four little ones.

But "Peace" was the furthest thing I was feeling that day.

I remember the day, like it was yesterday. My husband came home from work with his usual, "how was your day?" question as he walked through the house tripping over puzzle pieces and blocks scattered across the floor, crunching old crackers under his feet as he navigated his way through the screams of 3 small toddlers excited to see their daddy while bouncing off the walls of our 1500 sq ft home. 

In this particular "core" memory (for those of you who love Inside Out, I'm still trying to decide if it gets filed with Joy or Sadness) we were standing in the kitchen and I did not answer his question at all. 

I just looked at him.

Blankly.

I went to reach into my back pocket, but before I could reach in and pull out the positive pregnancy test he GASPED!

"OH MY GOSH! YOU'RE PREGNANT!" He shouted. "I KNEW IT," he said!. And then he said something like, "I was just thinking four kids wouldn't be so bad."

What? Was he excited about this? Four kids wouldn't be so bad? What was he talking about? How in the world did he know I was pregnant? I didn't even know I was pregnant. I was in pure shock. This dumb little test had two extremely dark lines on it but I was convinced it was a mistake. The test must have been wacky!

Because this whole conversation was wacky! Why were we talking about this anyway?

It was just weeks ago we had celebrated our daughters 3rd birthday and our twins 1st birthday. How could he be excited about another one and how in the world did he already know about this?

I quickly began to think that he must have had something to do with this.

I threw the positive pregnancy test at him as he smiled from ear to ear. I wasn't sure I liked how happy he was about this. And when I accused him of having something to do with this his response was:

"I better have had!"

I should not have been embarrassed, but I was, as I wheeled my 3 itty-bitty's into the store to buy a pregnancy test earlier that day! At least my husbands response was so much better than the check out clerks response! She looked at my cart full of kids and looked at my purchase and asked me if I knew what caused babies.

You see, I had just gotten down to a size 4! A size 4 people, after having twins! It was a huge accomplishment and back in my running shoes regularly and I was finally feeling that with the twins turning one I was ready to take care of myself again. I had cleaned out my closet of all things "maternity" and the thought of wearing another pair of maternity jeans made me want to gag!

I also had just given all of my baby stuff away in hopes that the twins would grow up faster than they should have.

You see, I loved being pregnant and I loved my babies more than life itself, but mentally I had just checked out of the "baby-stage". I had just finished nursing the twins and I mentally thought I was done. I had a 3 year old and two 1 year olds. How could I have another baby?

Not to mention we had just downsized our house. Two months prior we had moved into a smaller house to save money and here I was pregnant? I had 7 months to wrap my head around being a mom of 4 kids under the age of 4.

That's right, I said 7 months.

This was the shortest pregnancy ever for me.

Not because he was born early. As a matter of fact, he came late. It was the shortest pregnancy for me because when I finally realized I was pregnant this baby already measured larger than two months along. 

I didn't really know when my due date was so when they gave me a due date of late January based on his size I took it and went with it.

My belly was just as large, if not larger than when I was pregnant with the twins less than two years prior. Someone seriously asked me if I was pregnant with triplets.

Is that even a question people ask? Bypass twins and "Hey, are you pregnant with triplets?"

Rude.

My doctor was losing patience with me too. He did not want me to go further than a week past my "made up due date". Especially with this baby measuring as big as he was.

But here is the thing...

I really wanted to "go into labor" with this baby on my own. Like I REALLY wanted to. I hadn't asked for this pregnancy, but since he was here and coming I wanted a chance to "go into labor" on my own that I didn't have with my other two births. 

I was induced with Pitocin when my first daughter was born because my water had torn and was leaking before labor was even close to starting.

Then with the twins I scheduled to have my water broken so I could get labor moving along.

So I was determined to go into labor without being induced...

I spent days running up and down our basement stairs with toddlers in my arms for added weight. I bounced endlessly on our Exercise Ball with a toddler on each leg and one hanging on my back.

• 
  

My husband’s alarm when off that Saturday morning at 5:00am. He planned to wake up and go swimming early before the kids got up.

But I had other plans.

I wanted this baby out weeks ago. And while my husband casually  joked with me that the “baby-getter-outter” was the same as the “baby-getter-inner”, it was no joke to me.

Not today anyway.

And while that "baby getter-in and baby getter-out" had not seemed to work yet I figured I’d try and try again until it did.  

Needless to say he never made it to his swim class and my contractions started almost immediately.

Eventually we got up and took the kids to Costco to stock up on some food for the third week in a row. I'm not kidding when I say that I thought this baby was going to be born three weeks ago! So every week I'd go stock up on groceries and make freezer meals with the anticipation that he was going to be born and then I'd never get to the store again with a new baby and 3 toddlers in tow.

After Costco, we stopped at the bike shop like every mom of three about to burst out a fourth child should do.

The shop owner asked me if I was going to have the baby on his shop floor.

I was not alarmed by his question. In fact at this point I'd gotten completely used to every stranger I ran into asking me some personal or rude question about my pregnancy, my body, my baby, my family, or my business.

I had been asked that very question for the last 4 years. Since I've been pregnant for what felt like an eternity, but actually has only been 4 short years with 4 amazing children!

I knew I made people uncomfortable.

Especially men.

They saw how enormous my belly was. And it was huge. Unnatural looking really. And they couldn't help but stare as my enormous belly got thrown about while I chased three small toddlers. I'm sure all they thought as soon as I lifted one of my 30 lb kids up I might drop a baby out in front of them! And honestly, I wish I would've.

I eventually stopped paying attention to everyone around me unless spoken to.

But one afternoon when we took the kids to the Nature Center, I noticed a man staring at me and the kids. I said to my husband, "we need to get out of here that man is creeping me out. He keeps staring at me and the kids". My husband busted out laughing. He replied with, "have you looked at yourself lately? Everyone stares at you and the kids."

I loved being pregnant. But I was also tired of being pregnant. And I'm certain the world was tired of looking at me pregnant.

I smiled at the shop owner and said “Yes, It is possible considering his due date was last week. But he hasn't fallen out yet so I doubt he's coming now.”

He gave a little laugh and said, “Yeah, after having 3 you probably would know if he was coming.”

The truth is I did know he was coming. I was certain he was coming. I was hiding the intense contractions I was having all day from everyone and I hid the one I was having during my conversation with him.

We got home and put the kids down for their nap.

And as too I sat down to rest I felt my contractions slow down. I panicked.

It had been 2  days earlier that I had woken up with timed contractions minutes apart in the middle of the night and I knew he was coming. I walked around for hours timing then. I decided to lay down and I fell asleep only to wake up four hours later  to absolutely not one contraction. I was in tears because they had stopped. I called my doula right away. She told me that was my body getting ready and it would be any day now.

Her exact words were, "Jenny, no one has been pregnant forever, Axel will come soon". And I found those words so comforting because moments before I was certain I was going to be pregnant forever.

"Waiting" for this baby to come on his own was beginning to lose it's appeal as the pressure from all the people around me made me doubt that he ever was going to be born on his own. 

But I was determined to go into labor on my own with this one.

As the kids napped, I decided I better not let my contractions slow down. I called for Paul's help as he rarely says no to an opportunity and didn't say no to this one. He didn't exactly say yes either, but without agreeing,  he agreed.  I was serious about getting this baby out today. 

It was now 2:00pm and my contractions were as intense as ever and they were now regular about every 15 minutes. Maybe the baby-getter-outter was actually working.

I was however, not ready to acknowledge them just yet nor tell anyone about them. After having timed contractions two nights earlier 3 minutes apart that never intensified and dissolved after four hours I was not about to jinx this.

I left the house just after 3:00 to pick up my mom from the airport. I had several contraction now that were getting closer together but again, deep down I was worried they were going to go away so I didn’t want to get anyone excited, including myself. I hid them and ignored them the best I could. When I saw my mom, I lightly joked that "today could be the day" and deep down I was hoping I was right.

I decided I’d run errands with my mom before heading home.  I figured if I kept moving the contractions would keep coming. And it was easier to handle the contractions if I was busy doing other things rather than concentrating on the pain.

I saw a friend as we pulled into the parking lot of Target and we chatted through the car windows and right through a piercing contraction.

Later in Target a ran into my daughters friend and her dad. We chatted and I still wonder to this day if he noticed me squeezing the box of diapers in my hands as I was in the middle of a contraction during our conversation.

When my mom and I finally made it home, all the kids greeted her with pure joy and excitement. They love seeing their grandmother.

I began putting groceries away and started making dinner. 

It was close to 5:30 and as I sat the kids down and began to serve their plates, I realized that I wasn't able to hide my contractions any longer.  I grabbed hold of the counter with a hot pan of lasagna in my hand and began to moan only that moan a pregnant lady in labor can do.

My mom and my husband looked right at me and both said, "Are you ok?" And then very dumbfoundly said,  "Are you having a...contraction?"

I think I finally was coming unraveled after an entire day of contractions.

"YES!" I shouted, "That was a contraction!!! I've been having them ALL DAY."

 Because something happens when I go into labor. I get sarcastic and maybe a little passive aggressive. I was annoyed no one knew I was having full blown contractions, and yet, I had worked so hard to hide them from everyone all day, including myself.  

The kids started to get so excited. My mom started to get so excited. And I was just glad it was out in the open now and I was ready to to get this over with.

I knew what to do and was I was ready to do it.

There was no way I could show my mom where everything was so she could hold  down the fort while we headed to the hospital. My contractions were minutes apart and I was in noticeable pain and out of breath. I called our trusty babysitter Emily to come help my mom and then immediately called my doula, Wendy, to let her know this baby was coming.

My doula advised me to stay put and she was on her way to the house to help me time the contractions and labor with me until it was time to head to the hospital.  
  

So Paul and I got in the car and I called my doula back and told her to meet me at the hospital instead of coming to the house.

I hung up the phone and with out warning I began to cry. Uncontrollably cry.

I cried because I was in so much pain.

I cried because I had been in so much pain all day and was holding it in.

I cried because I had been hiding it from everyone and I finally felt that I could release it.

I cried because I felt free to be in pain and for the first time that day I could show someone else I was in pain.

I cried because I finally let myself know it was OK to be in pain.

I cried because I knew in the next minutes or hours I was going to meet this baby.

I cried in excitement to hold this baby boy in my arms.

I cried because I will never understand the miracle of life.

I cried because I was overwhelmed with the thought of a beautiful baby.

I cried the entire 5 minute drive to the hospital.

Paul foolishly tried to pull the car up to the labor and delivery roundabout at the hospital to drop me off. I gave him that look like you've got to know me better than that. The tears were gone and now I meant business.

I made him drive out to the furthest parking spot he could find so I could walk and carry my own bags figuring the walk would help push the baby down more and keep things moving along. I wanted to walk into the hospital, get checked in, have the nurse look and say, "wow, you're a 10 and he's coming right now!"

But that of course did not happen.

I got checked in and my Doula arrived within minutes with her exercise ball in hand just like the previous two times she was with me for my births. She had her hair ties and headbands and her soothing voice and she right away summoned a nurse to bring me a cup full of crushed ice.

She reminded me to stay focused, she moaned in low tones along side me reminding me keep my moaning tones low, and she immediately began to rub the wrinkles out of my forehead telling me to relax and let my body do the work.

This was not our first rodeo together. Wendy was my Doula when Lucia was born and when the twins were born. 

I give all the credit to her and my doctor and some really amazing nurses for why I was able to have Lucia and the twins natural, unmedicated, vaginal and without an epidural. And I while I was really hoping to accomplish the same thing with baby number 4, I also knew in my heart as long as we all came out on the other end alive and healthy nothing else really mattered.

So without any introductions we both got to work.

I was beyond thrilled when D'Neil walked into my room. I wanted to kiss him. He was my nurse when Lucia was born and he was fabulous. I couldn't have planned it better for him to be working that night and to be assigned to me. 

But then they gave me the discouraging news that my doctor was not on duty that weekend and a different doctor would be filing in for him. My doctor had delivered Lucia and the twins. He knew me and how I labored. He knew my birth plan and I didn't want someone I had never met before delivering my baby.

I wanted to cry.

My doula assured me that she knew the doctor on duty and I had nothing to worry about. I was relieved, but noticeably disappointed.  I began to scheme a way that I could get D'Neil and my Doula to deliver the baby before some unknown doctor I had never met showed up to take over.

But  just as I began to morn the loss of my doctor not being there a nurse with an angel's halo ring glowing around her head came in and with what sounded to me like an angelic singing voice said sang these words: "they were able to get a hold of your doctor on the phone and even though he is not on duty this weekend he will be here to deliver your baby."

A sigh of relief came over me.

I was now ready...well...until I felt disappointed yet again...

You see, I really thought being ready meant I was going to be 8-10 cm dilated when I arrived.  After all I had been having these intense contractions all day and now they were seconds apart.

Nurse D'Neil delivered the disappointing news that I was barely 5 cm and that I'd likely be there for a while.

I squatted.

I yelled.

I pushed.

I walked.

I laid down.

I cried.

I squatted more.

I walked more.

I pushed more, I yelled more, I creid more.

And I took a lot of deep breaths in between.

I listened to my husband and my doula remind me over and over and over to focus and keep calm and get my composure together; keep my moaning tones low, let my body do all the work, and did I mention keep calm?

I told my nurse D'Neil that I was ready to be checked again because I was certain I had progressed.

He looked disappointed as he told me I was only about 8 cm. I felt disappointed too.

But he had a plan. He said, "I might be able to stretch you to a 9 during your next contraction." He shrugged his shoulders and said it in a tone like he knew I would never agree to that.

And well, he looked shocked when I shouted with more enthusiasm than anything to "please, please, please, stretch me to a 9 because I want this baby out."

My next contraction did not bring me to a 9.

It brought me to a 10.

Which also brought great panic in the laboring room.

The nursing staff frantically tried to get my doctor on the phone.

It looked like D'Neil was going to be delivering this baby after all.

The doctor on call wasn't even at the hospital, so they brought in an assistant for D'Neil and everyone began prepping the room for delivery.

A nurse came in and said that my Doctor was on the phone. He was out for an evening jog and as soon as he could get to his car he'd be there. His orders were for me not to push until he got there.

He told me that when Lucia was coming and when Lochman almost fell out of me. 

"Whatever you do, don't push until we are ready"

Dumbest words ever.

And honestly, at this point I didn't care if he was there or not. I didn't care who the assistant was or if some new doctor came in to deliver this baby. I didn't care if D'Neil delivered my baby or if the baby just fell out and someone caught him.

I just knew I wanted this baby out. Because he was coming out no matter who was there to deliver him and there was nothing I could do about that or anyone else.

D'Neil got the stirrups out and kept reminding me not to push while putting my legs up.
Which left me no choice but to inform him in my most sarcastic laboring voice ever that if someone put pepper up his nose and told him not to sneeze I'd like to see what happens..

But in all honesty, I did try to wait. I tried not to push and I began to think about how I had been laboring this whole time and it had not occurred to me until now that my water had not broken. I began to imagine this baby being born completely encased in his amniotic sac. It is very rare, but does happen and is supposed to be a sign of good luck or something.  

And just as these images of my baby being born in his amniotic sac began to fade from my imagination I yelled at D'Neil that I a contraction was coming and I had to push.

D'Neil got on his baby-delivering-gloves  (that looked like normal blue gloves), and sat down right in front of the baby's crowning head.

And right at that moment my doctor swung open the door and walked in the room wearing his running attire. Yes, his running attire. A nurse opened up a hard shelled case where these oddly superhero-looking-gloves came out of and she put them on him one finger at a time. They were skin tight and as I watched them go on one-finger-at-a-time I began to imagine they had superhero baby birthing powers and the distraction of it all caused my contraction to pause.

I couldn't think of anything witty to say about his yellow-skin-tight-superhero-gloves so instead I told him that I thought it was nice of him to show up.

Just as in my previous two birthing experiences with him he swung the door open just as the baby was crowning and everyone was telling me not to push. So I said something dumb to him about changing his name to Dr. Nick because he always arrived just in the "nick" of time. I told you I get sarcastic (and a little dumb) when I'm in labor.

He laughed, sat down where D'Neil had gotten up from and told me I was now allowed to push whenever I felt the next contraction coming.

I pushed.

And with that one push I felt a massive explosion.

My water broke. It went everywhere. Well, my eyes were shut tight and so I didn't exactly see where it went, but I envisioned someone shaking up a soda can rapidly and then popping it open and I was pretty sure that is what had just occurred. I believe there was amniotic fluid on the ceiling. I squinted my eyes open just enough to see my doctor wiping his cheek.

He laughed and without mentioning the massive explosion he said, "great job, Jenny, the babies head is out! Now I need you to push again to get his shoulders out."

Was he serious? In my previous birthing experiences, I pushed once and when the babies head was out the rest of the baby just slid out...what was he talking about I needed to push again to get the babies shoulders out. He must be crazy.

But sure enough I could see Axel's head resting in the palms of my doctor's superhero yellow gloves.

So I pushed again.  

And again, my doctor said, "Great job Jenny! You got one shoulder out. Now I need you to push again so we can get this babies other shoulder out."

You've got to be kidding! What in the world was happening? Was this baby ever going to come out? I really began to think they were going to have to stuff him back inside and then I was going to be the first person to ever be pregnant forever. He was going to be the groundhog baby who saw his shadow and went back inside for another 6 weeks.

I was almost mad at the baby. But per my doctor's orders, I pushed for a third time. And that is when my doctor guided my hands down under the babies shoulders and let me pull the rest of him out. My doctor let me do this with Lucia also. What an amazing feeling.

And in that split second I was so completely overjoyed. It is a feeling that is completely indescribable. I brought my baby up to my chest and kissed him over and over and over and over.

He was perfect. Axel was perfect. 
 
I looked at this baby covered in blue and red and swollen in the face from being born so quickly and I thought to myself is it really possible to love him so much. And I was overwhelmed knowing this love I felt was just a hint of how much God loves us.

I delivered Axel's placenta without much thought or warning because my attention was all on my beautiful baby in my arms. My doctor worked the blood in the umbilical cord toward the baby before directing Paul where to cut it. And while my doctor checked to make sure I didn't need any stitches, I thanked him, made a few more jokes about his name and then spent the next two hours holding Axel and feeding him before anyone took him for his vitals.  Those first few hours of his life with the exception of his first weigh in were mine and Paul's alone.  

When they did his "quick" weigh in before I fed him, it wasn't as quick as I wanted. 

He was 9lbs and 4 oz. They weighed him twice to be sure, then checked the scale and weighed him a third time. He apparently didn't look like a 9 lb baby so everyone was confused...that was until they measured him. He was 22" long.

The baby nurses said they couldn't remember the last time they had a 22" baby born there. Lots of 21" babies and a few that made it close to 21.5" but never a 22" baby that they could remember. 
​

Paul asked our babysitter to stay a little longer so he could bring my mom over to meet Axel. Axel was only minutes old when my mom got to see him. Of course I made her wait a few hours to hold him since I wanted him all to myself.

He was finally here.

My “Father of Peace”.

My Axel Andrew.

The kids came the next morning and spent hours with us.

So, this might be the most delicious thing ever!

If you know me then you know I'm not very good at following recipes. I typically look at what I have in my fridge and Google those ingredients only to read a few recipes and combine the best ideas of each and then substitute the extra stuff based on what I have available in my cupboard...and wallah!

Sometimes...ok I'll brag...a lot of times, I get a winner like this dish that is so incredibly delicious I wish someone would write down what I just did and turn it into a real recipe so that I myself could look it up later and make it the same way again!

but so often I don't write any of it down and when I go back and try to make it again it's never as good because I can't remember what I did. So I'm making a vow to you and myself that I will write down some super yummy ideas that turn into delicious feasts and make it a real recipe.

So here it goes. And please ask any questions in the comment section if something doesn't make sense. I'm not a real recipe writer.

- 2 tablespoons of coconut oil
- 1 cup of uncooked Quinoa
- 2 cups of water
- 3 chick on bullion cubes
- 1/2 cup of plain hummus
- a handful or two of baby spinach or spring mix
-1 cup of shredded cheese
- 1 medium sized butternut squash cubed
- 1 1/2 cups of broccoli
- 1/2 cup of milk
- 1/2 cup of Parmesan cheese

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees
2. Grease a 2 qt oven safe baking dish with 1 tablespoon of coconut oil.
3. Pour the cup of uncooked quinoa in the dish.
4. Bring two cups of water with 3 cubes of chicken bullion to a boil. (You can do this on the stove top or in a microwave safe bowl/measuring cup)

5. Add one cup of hummus to the boiling water and bullions and stir together until hummus has thinned out completely.
6. Pour hummus mixture into baking dish onto the quinoa.
7. Lay spinach leaves or spring mix on top of quinoa.

8. Sprinkle 1/2 cup of the shredded cheese on top and bake uncovered for 20 minutes.
9. While quinoa is baking place broccoli into boiling water on the stovetop for 10 minutes.
10. While broccoli is boiling, sauté the cubed squash (unpeeled) on the stovetop in remaining tablespoon of coconut oil. Sprinkle with salt, pepper and garlic salt.
10. Drain broccoli, add remaining 1/2 cup of shredded cheese to broccoli and 1/2 cup of milk and stir together until broccoli becomes shredded.

11. After 20 minutes, remove the quinoa from the oven and add the broccoli and the cubed sautéed butternut squash.
12. Sprinkle the 1/2 cup of Parmesan cheese on top and cook uncovered for an additional 15 minutes.

13. Remove from oven and let cool for 10 minutes. Serve while it's still warm, enjoy and share it with a friend!

14. Write a comment and let me know what you think!

You guys I bought this coffee table from a yard sale website and as almost all the furniture I get from these types of places, it stunk! And it stunk bad. Maybe not as bad as the gun cabinet remodel, but still bad. Which means I have to hide it from my husband. He just doesn't have the same vision for "things"  (okay, we can call it "junk") that I have.

Trust me, he has some great visions for other things, like our coffered ceilings we put up in the office, our mudroom bench we built in the garage, the crown molding he put up in the dining room and the window bench he built in the kitchen! 

But when it comes to old furniture, it's usually just trash to him. And if I hear "why in the world did you bring that into my house" one more time, I'll quit refinishing furniture all together. So for your sake and mine, I have to hide it...until he see's how great it turned out and then he drools over it with me and tells me what a good job I did!

So, like any good wife hiding something from her husband, I "ran errands", came home and backed my car into the driveway, pulled the dirty smelly coffee table out of my trunk and carried it around to the back of the house and set it by the back door. I quickly found a tarp and covered it. I figured sitting outside in the fresh air would probably do this piece of wood some good anyway. It seriously needed to air out.

So the first thing was breaking it down to get it cleaned up so I could begin turning it into what I envisioned! I knew I wanted to re-stain both surfaces in a light wood color and I wanted to paint the outer edges and the legs. I wasn't sure what color yet.  

So I got out the vinegar, lysol and bug sprays and went to work sanitizing this sucker!

Unfortunately I did not get a photo of it before I unscrewed it all. But you can see it was just your average dark cherry wood coffee table. Nothing special really and the fact that I paid the lady any money at all for it should tell you I paid too much. In my opinion these dark cherry pieces are a dime a dozen and are quite unattractive. But trust me, I'm not saying all dark cherry is terrible. I have many dark cherry wood pieces in my house I love deeply. But I also have some I can't wait to get my sander on!

I sanded it down the best I thought I could do. I cleaned it up, prepped it for staining and begun applying a pecan finish stain. I love this mimiwax product! I've been using it on all my Growth Chart Rulers as well!

It was only after I began to apply the stain that I realized what I thought were imperfections in the wood veneer were actually old cherry finish marks that did not come off with my original sanding and stripping.

I  was not happy with the way this was turning out and went back to sanding and stripping for a second time!

As I mentioned above, I knew I wanted to paint the edges and the legs, but I wanted to sand them as well. It is so important to me to start with what was originally there. I do not like the idea of covering up the ugly. I love getting rid of the ugly completely and starting fresh!

And so I began sanding and stripping for a second time until I was finally happy!

I restrained the top surfaces for a second time. Then I taped around the interior edges where I was going to paint. I really had not decided on a color yet but as I was browsing through Lowes I stumbled upon their "sale" section of paint. There was the perfect gallon for sale for $9 and the color was a cottage white!

And since I love bargains, I bought it! I starred at it for a few days before I decided to shake it up, pop the top off, and start painted!

It's simple really. It is just like putting on a nice smooth coat of nail polish! Seriously.

You really don't want more than two or three thin coats or else it'll look pasty and thick and might even start to peel or clump up.

Each coat should go on very thinly. The first cost should not look finished at all and should still show lots of imperfections.

But by the time you put that second coat on it should smooth out the imperfections of the first coat and should look perfect! There is the occasional time where a third coat is needed.

It is important to let each coat dry completely before putting on the next coat!

So basically if you can't paint your nails without it looking like a hot mess than you will likely not be able to paint furniture either.

I'm sure you can guess what happened. I pulled the painting tape off of the top only to find that some of the paint had leaked through. I was certain this was going to happen and was prepared with a razor blade in hand. I gently use the razor blade to scrape off any leaked paint. I razor-ed all I could until the paint formed a straight line around the perimeter of both surfaces.

Painting was complete! Wood staining was complete! Now it was time to apply a polyurethane to protect my new project from any scratches or marks!

Polyurethane should be applied in the same way as painting! Two or three thin coats!

However rather than using a paint brush to apply the poly, I use a foam sponge brush. It' leaves way less streaks and goes on super smooth!

Don't forget to clean any brush or sponge that you use a polyurethane on outside or in a bucket (not the sink!) with a paint thinner product! Otherwise your brush/sponge will harden and get ruined (not that I have any first hand knowledge of this!